DISCOTHÈQUES
It is 10:30 p.m. as the young couple hurry along the deserted waterfront alley. Then, with a quick backward glance, they disappear through an old wooden door innocently labeled International Exports, Ltd. Inside sits the late-working receptionist known as Annabelle Luck. “We need a safe house,” whispers the man. “Are you sure you haven’t been followed?” Annabelle whispers back. “Stand over by the bookcase.”
Even a paperback Bondsman can guess what happens next: Annabelle flicks a series of switches and the bookcase lifts smoothly away, revealing a narrow, darkened secret passage. Anxiously, the couple enter, tripping an electric eye at the end. Wall panels slide away, and they have made the transition into the intriguing world of James Bond without so much as pausing to holler U.N.C.L.E.
Irresistible & Inexhaustible. International Exports, Ltd., a discothèque that opened in Milwaukee last week, is the nation’s first full-blown spy nightspot. The fun is in the trappings, and few were left unsprung on opening night. Waitresses dressed in abbreviated black trenchcoats served drinks; red-vested bartenders whipped out fake automatics from their shoulder holsters to light customers’ cigarettes. Rooms bore such names as Hari’s (for Mata Hari) and M16; the bar was inevitably the Interpol, backed by a mammoth world map with clocks telling the time in Moscow, London and Hong Kong. A closed-circuit TV screen in each room scanned the outer “office.” The walls were studded with Sten guns and silhouette targets; table lighters were shaped like hand grenades. The powder room was decorated with photographs of Honor (“Pussy Galore”) Blackman.
A trifle cute, perhaps—but irresistible to the inexhaustible supply of secret-agent fans. Lawyer David Baldwin, who owns International Exports, Ltd., with three other attorneys, all in their 30s, plans to make it even more irresistible. Though the discothèque is already drawing capacity crowds, he is selling 250 special memberships at $50 each; with membership come such added advantages as chauffeur service in a yellow 1933 Rolls-Royce limousine, private mailboxes hidden behind a movable wall on the premises, and a key to the back door. To ensure the proper ambiance, Baldwin and his partners are giving away 100 memberships to the best-looking girls they know.
Smart Booth. Baldwin is ready to expand at once. “In St. Louis, the same kind of place might be located behind a shoeshine parlor, in Chicago, behind a Chinese laundry.” His goal: a national chain of spy clubs with members identified through individual “passports.” Meanwhile, he is hoping that Milwaukee’s city fathers will relent and approve one of his favorite gimmicks. It is a telephone booth in the rear of the bar, patterned after the one used by TV Agent Maxwell Smart. When a patron dials the proper digits, the rear wall of the booth slips open onto stairs leading to a secret back door. So far, fearing that bookies might copy the device, the fathers have said nyet.
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