Lebensraum at the Top

On Munich's Briennerstrasse, the wealthy West German can buy anything from culture to divorce, a mink to a Mercedes. Yet many new-rich businessmen crave a far more elusive commodity--Weltstellung, or status in the world. At 12 Briennerstrasse, even this can be had.

No. 12 houses the Madame Club, where the new industrial upper crust can taste the delights of Lebensraum at the top. From its front courtyard, part of a neo-Renaissance palace built by the old nobility, to the comely blondes from Berlin who tend bar, the club exudes an easy opulence that suggests a Bavarian version of Rome and la dolce vita.

Open-Dior Policy. Named for a glossy magazine ("Society's largest journal for the most elegant group") that claims 1,800,000 readers, mostly under the dryer, the club is owned by Madame's genial Editor Heinz Weigt, 51, a barber's son who turned from shaves and facials to champagne and ego massage. The club's chief aim is to make the new tycoons feel socially accepted--if only by other new tycoons. Nevertheless, for dues of $7.50, as a West German magazine delicately pointed out, "one does not have to be rich to belong. It is enough if one sufficiently admires and respects wealth."

Since this includes most West Germans, membership at first was limited to 1,000. Last week it passed the 1,300 mark and will soon, in its founder's words, be "a pleasant, exclusive circle of 2,000." Grumbles one member: "It's getting more exclusive with every thousand." Though the entrance is marked Members Only, Heinz Weigt confesses: "The manager has instructions to let in attractive nonmembers." As a result, the club's decor consists partly of aspiring starlets in hopes of catching a producer's eye with their daring decolletages. The open-Dior policy reached such extremes at a recent jump-for-joy contest at the club that one ample young actress leaped clear out of her sheath. The members cheered.

Lollo Is 101. By hook or by looks, Germans scramble avidly to get in on Madame Club's frequent gala nights. As many as 400 guests cram into the high-columned room (legal limit: 80), often sit two-deep at the candlelit, mirror-topped tables. House champagne costs only $4 a bottle, but vintage Moet & Chandon at $12 is swilled and spilled by the Jeroboam. The entertainment consists mostly of commercials. One recent evening Meat Packer (and charter member) Kurt Distler presented a program devoted to a new, deep-frozen brand of sausage. Status seekers come anyway to get their names and faces in the papers.

As catnip, canny Heinz Weigt has bestowed membership on a sprinkling of industrial and show business high society, claims as his most illustrious guest aging Hjalmar Schacht, Hitler's economic wizard. Gina Lollobrigida has membership card 101. Other card carriers include German Stars Curt Jurgens and Winnie Markus, Tape-Recorder Tycoon Max Grundig, onetime Boxing Champ Max Schmeling, Film Producer Ilse Kugaschweski, and one registered aristocrat: Friedrich Carl Prince Fugger von Babenhausen.

Caviar Every Day. Another lure is a flock of door prizes that recently included a purebred horse and a white Fiat. At his big January ball, Weigt announced last week, a $25,000 hunk of Italian Riviera will be given as a prize. Less successful was his plan to solve the servant problem by auctioning off a maid; it was abandoned after critical comment from a Bavarian radio commentator. Shrugs Weigt: "Servant problems are all the wives ever talk about in this place. All the men talk about is how to get out for an evening without their wives." To promote togetherness and the illusion of belonging to a fast international set, Ringmaster Weigt also organizes hunting and opera parties, luxurious weekend junkets. Last May he led 25 paying guests and a covey of models to the U.S. for two high-flying weeks. "It was a wonderful trip," allows Weigt, "but you do get tired of eating caviar every day."

Last week Heinz Weigt completed plans for a move to bigger and plushier quarters, which a Munich hotel is providing free. With the club will go one present fixture: an enlarged Watteau etching, from which an 18th century siren peeks suggestively out at the bar as she heads for the shrubbery with her lover. Muses Weigt: "She is the symbol of the club. You see how her wink follows you all around the room? She already has everything--yet she still wants something more."

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