The Journey Man Extracts: The Summit Club in Hillbrow. Remember it?

Back in 1994, when the New South Africa was but a pup, photographer Greg Marinovich and I popped in to the lunchtime strip sessions at The Summit – just for a bit of social research.

It was seconds to showtime, and the place was heaving with yuppies, students, large fellows with ponytails and slinky topless waitresses weaving skilfully through the crowd.

I always thought a properly-endowed topless waitress could get away with murder, serve weak whiskies and snaffle change from under a client’s nose.

At The Summit, not one of the tipplers found it possible to focus on the girls’ faces, however. Their eyes were firmly fixed at points south of the tray horizon. And I could not blame them, not one bit.

The Solo Summiteer

There were a few empty spots at a table, where we met a solo Summiteer named Billy. Damn interesting fellow.

Billy was an avid Scope fan [the magazine I was working for back then], and a bit of a publishing fundi as well. He slagged off our opposition (I think it was Hustler at the time and not, as you might imagine, National Geographic) and bought us a drink.

Somehow, we warmed to Billy.

Who, it turned out, was a bit of a story himself. A behavioural psychologist by profession, Billy told us he was something of an expert in the field of club stripping.

“This is the first time I’ve been to The Summit – but I’ve been damn near everywhere else.”

Billy lived suburbia to the max, with a regular girlfriend, a steady job and all the stuff you could fill a large home with. He was well-connected in the city and played golf regularly at a snooty club.

On the other hand, Billy also surfed the low dives of Jo’burg. And this made him our perfect travelling companion for the next three hours.

Strictly Come Stripping

First, he wanted to know everything about our assignment. What aspects of the New SA sex boom were we covering, what did we expect to earn from Scope, were we allowed to sample the wares and where could he sign on as an assistant in this case?

“You know,” he said, sipping his Amstel, “Most academics have no idea about the kind of lifestyles you’re covering here. Let’s do a textbook on the world of South African sleaze. I could help you guys. A lot.”

The next dance, starring a girl called Mickey, blew my gaskets. Not because she was super-special up there, no. It was because she was up there dancing in full view of her mum.

Mother sat stage left, cigarette in one hand, vodka and Coke in the other, watching her daughter perform in an atmosphere of oil, perfume and pure lust.

While Mickey danced about in a black frilly nothing, Mother peered around the curtain, looking like a tired old jumble sale parent who schlepped her kid off to dance lessons, swimming lessons, extra maths classes and now, for a change, an afternoon of stripping.

“Mickey’s car packed up today,” she told us later. “So I had to drive her around. This is one of four shows she’s been booked to do. I must admit, I never thought it would get this raunchy. She’s a naughty girl.”

Look Ma, No G-String!

Mickey took a boy out of the crowd, slowly undressed him, had a little private moment with him on a chair and slipped out of her dress.

“Ah, she’s just lost two points,” said Billy.

“Why?”

“She looked at her watch. You never look at your watch when you’re stripping. You’re not supposed to even wear one.”

Mickey began her fire act, while Mother lit another smoke. Mickey burned the young guy’s ass with her flame stick, and then roasted his nuts.

The boy hopped around on stage, and all his mates fell about laughing. He could not believe half his ball hairs had gone up in smoke.

After the fire act, which was really nothing remarkable, Mickey poured ice water on the poor boy’s groin, flipped him onto the floor and slapped at his wandering hands.

All the while, I could not keep my eyes off Mother.

“An amusing six out of ten,” said our expert. “But I’m still concerned that she glanced at her watch. That really spoils the fantasy.”

He said nothing about the buzzkill of having your Mama sitting there watching.