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 THE CURSE

   By KATZMAREK

   Chapter Five.

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   Karen drove home in the little Mazda.  She turned the little car into
the long driveway, past her parent's house, and down the back to the
sleep-out that was her home.

   At this time of the year the gravel was heavy with dew and rutted.  She
liked to swerve a little down the last part and feel the back of the car
begin to drift.  With a shower of stones she brought the car to a halt
outside her door.

   Junior had a smile on his face - like most guys, she thought, he liked
his thrills.

   As usual, her parents were long in bed.  They'd had her, their only
daughter, later in life and they were now well into the sixties.  Since she
was sixteen, however, they'd allowed her to live in the sleep-out so she
could have over who she wanted, could come and go when she liked, have her
own life.

   Her parents had both arrived as war orphans in the early fifties.  Her
father was Austrian, her mother Czech.  Arriving with nothing, they built
their own lives here with humility, strength, and hard work.  As a girl,
Karen knew little but long work hours, thrift and clean living.

   There was always music in the household - opera, the classics and jazz.
Both her parents played the piano and her mother sang.  Karen had been
taught piano and the violin as a child but it hadn't taken.  She complained
her fingers were too thick and she couldn't move them around fast enough.

   Her old drum kit was piled up against the wall of the lounge.  It was an
old Tama with a Zyn cymbal set, battered, and bought for 100 bucks at a
garage sale.  She was now so inured to Freddie's huge Premier outfit, there
was scarcely much point in setting it up.  When The Curse earned a bit of
money for gear, she thought, she'd buy her own professional kit.  She'd
feel less like a bludger.  Discarded on her twoseater was a catelogue from
the Ludwig Percussion Instrument Company of America.  She'd already picked
out her future kit and it was spread over the centre pages.

   "Ever seen a punk band with such a big drum kit?" Michelle had asked her
one day.  "And how do you suppose you're going to carry that around on
tour? You'll soon get sick of setting up, breaking down and loading out."

   'Maybe?' she thought, but she didn't intend to play punk and rock
throughout her career.  Freddie had played jazz - why couldn't she learn
that style as well?

   Freddie had taught her the brushes, the felts, and the sticks he called
'knobbies.' He'd showed her the rimshot, the snap, the roll and the shot he
called the 'slap and tickle.' There was little he didn't know and was
willing to pass on to his devoted protege.

   "Lori Barbero plays with reversed sticks, overhand, like this?" she'd
told Freddie one day.

   "Alright if you're built like a wrestler," he'd replied, "but it'd be
real tough on the forearms and wrists."

   As usual, he was right, and it was a tough technique to master.

   Her parents had indulged her desire to be a drummer.  They thought it a
worthwhile hobby, providing it didn't detract from her studies.  They'd no
idea she intended to make it a career and would be horrified.

   Junior took out his tobacco pouch and began to roll.  Karen knew his
parents would lecture him for weeks if they discovered he smoked.  Her
little sleep-out was one of the few places he could go to relax with no
fear his behaviour would be reported back.

   She kind of felt sorry for him.  Although his parents were liberal in a
way she was envious of, there was little the poor guy could do without
earning some sort of criticism.

   His childhood was spent moving from place to place.  He'd changed
schools so often they'd become a pastiche - Junior having little idea which
schools his memories came from.  Then there was the separation from his
father as Freddie went on lengthy tours, leaving him and his brother alone
with a bitter mother.

   Freddie senior became a larger than life concept in his imagination.  He
was a figure that visited his mother sometimes and played ball with him. 
Then he was gone again and his mother's face dimmed with sadness
afterwards.

   His brother Mike was older and had left the nest.  He rarely came
visiting, these days, and had never got over his resentment towards his
father.  Mike had gone up to Auckland, to drama school, and Junior had
known for years he was gay.  Liberal, that his parents professed they were,
it was still a bitter pill for them to swallow - preferring to ignore it.

   "What would you like to hear?" she asked Junior.

   Karen had a huge collection of CDs that covered most styles of music. 
She'd had a generous allowance growing up and ploughed most of it into
music.

   "Your choice," he replied, "surprise me?"

   "Fleetwood Mac?"

   "Huh?

   "Like when they were a blues band?  Y'know, Mick Fleetwood was a really
good drummer."

   "If you say so," he said, "d'you think of anything else besides
drumming?"

   "Umm, not really," she grinned, "I'm going to be the best.  Freddie said
I should go to California, he said..."

   "My dad says a lot of things," Junior interrupted.

   "Ok, what's the problem?" she asked with a sigh, "what's your dad said
now?"

   "He gives me this big lecture the other night about going to Uni next
year.  He never once asked me what I want to do."

   "You don't want to?  What're you planning to do?"

   "I dunno.  I really like hanging around with you guys.  I wish I could
be like a permanent roadie.  Mum and dad would have a fit!"

   "They would," she laughed, "but is that a career?"

   "Depends?" he said, "there'd be other bands.  I could get experience
with handling the equipment, security?"

   "Security?  You?" she laughed, "a skinny runt like you guarding the
stage?"

   "Lighting?  Sound?  Lots of stuff I could do."

   "Well, to be a lighting technician you need your electricians' ticket.
Sound engineers usually do that course up at the community college.  You
still need some sort of qualification."

   "Dad dropped out of school when he was fifteen.  He did College of
Education for his teaching certificate a few years back, otherwise he's got
shit."

   "That was a different era, Junior.  Now it's all scraps of paper... 
shit like that."

   "I know how to set up and mike the drum kit?"

   "Junior, that's enough for us, but what if you had to apply for a job?
'What qualifications have you got?' That's the first question."

   "So?  I'll do community college and be a sound engineer?  I can then
work in studios, concerts, all kinds of stuff."

   "If that's what you want to do, why not?  You just have to convince your
parents."

   "Yeah, I know," he said, sullenly.  "You don't want to talk to dad for
me, do you?"

   "No," she shivered, "you've got to do that solo."

   Karen was tired and needed to go to bed.  She didn't want to kick Junior
out nor drive him anywhere.  In any case, it was a long way back to town.
He sometimes stayed the night on the twoseater, but he was way too big and
his feet stuck out over the end.  She had a good sized double bed, of
course, but she wasn't sure what message that would send.  He was, after
all, an 18 year old guy.

   "Junior?" she said, "I really need some shut eye.  Do you really want to
sleep on that couch?  It doesn't seem comfortable to me."

   "I'll be alright."

   "Look," she told him, "I've got tons of room in my bed but I don't want
you to get the wrong idea."

   "Umm, sure," he brightened, "you can trust me."

   "Junior, your a guy!" she smiled.

   "So?  So?"

   "C'mon, then, but keep over your side, okay?"

   "As if..."

   Meanwhile, Mick's head was bursting with a confusion of thoughts and
images.  The barely functioning conscious part was sensing the potential
danger in the atmosphere gathering around him.

   He looked sidelong at his girlfriend Michelle, smiling sweetly, but with
words dripping with sarcasm.  To his left, he saw Anna with her eyes
narrowed like a cat ready to spring.

   Michelle was trying to spar with Sabra, but he remembered something
about his ex girlfriend Michelle couldn't possibly know.  She was a master
of the put down, the 'cut off at the knees' comment, that'd sent many from
the room furious, their ego crushed.  Michelle was a mere morsel to her.

   At the same time, Sabra couldn't know just what a furious temper Anna
had.  Mick found himself moving a bottle a little more out of her reach. 
Anna's rage could be unfocussed, unbridled and irrational and she'd leap at
the defence of Michelle if she thought her friend was getting a hard time.

   He felt himself withdrawing and the talk around him fading to a mumble.
Mick lost all sense of time - it could be an hour, though common sense
suggested it was less than a minute.

   "Anna, isn't it?" Sabra continued, "you're a beautiful girl and, I hear,
you have a great voice.  I'm based in the States, now, and manage the third
largest talent management company in California.  If you and the girls need
any advice, give me a call?  This is my mobile."

   Mick was dimly aware of a fan of business cards appearing on the table
in front of him.

   Anna relaxed - reading the card carefully.  Mick felt her vigilance
fade, leaving Michelle to face Sabra alone.  'Divide and rule' Mick
thought, 'was a favourite Sabra tactic.'

   "I didn't catch the gig, Mick..."

   "Huh?" He was startled by the mention of his name.

   "I was having dinner with some industry people when someone said you
were playing up here.  I was too late, I'm sorry."

   "Perhaps you should have had a feed here instead?" Michelle said.

   "Yes!" Sabra dismissed Michelle's comment and turned back to Mick.  "I
see you're doing well for yourself?" she said, eyeing Mick's hand firmly
clasped to Michelle's, "you always did like them young and blond."

   Mick felt Michelle stiffen beside him.  He gave her hand a cautionary
squeeze.  He knew he had to take control or there'd be a colossal catfight.
He gathered himself together "It's nice to see you after all this time," he
told her, "maybe we ought to catch up - are you in town long?" Hopefully,
he thought, the answer was 'no.'

   "Just a few days," she replied to Mick's relief, "actually, I do have
some business to discuss with you.  Can we do lunch, maybe tomorrow?"

   "What business?"

   "It's personal!"

   Michelle's eyes narrowed.  On his left, Anna was still reading the
business card and dreaming of superstardom.

   "Are you really from California?" Anna asked in wonder.

   "Yes, honey, I moved there about 15 years ago...  with my husband."

   "What do you mean personal?" Mick asked, "what do we have to discuss?"

   "All I can say is it's important.  It's important to you as well, Mick,
so don't stand me up."

   "Sabra, I..."

   "I really need to be elsewhere, Mick, great catching up and make sure
you call, huh?" With that she swept out.

   Terry and Freddie then came over and Mick assured them everything was
alright.  He then drew Michelle to her feet and fled - not wishing the
questions, the concern.

   The pair drove home in silence.  Sabra's unexpected appearance had sent
long supressed memories flooding though his mind and he was grateful to
Michelle she chose not to interrogate him.

   He remembered the fights and arguments, now - often over trivial things.
The Dodger had mentioned he was known as 'Comeback' because he always had
the final word.  If that was true, what of Sabra?  They must have spent
many a long night each trying to end the argument with a suitable touche.

   The following days would be spent making up in the most passionate way
possible.  That was what remembered most and the final dream of his
'Sabby.'

   Mick thought she'd matured into a true beauty - perhaps more than during
their energetic sex sessions.  She still kept her glorious bust but her
hips had flared a little, creating a better proportion to her body.

   "Y'see Anna?" Michelle said after they got in the door, "'are you really
from California?'" she mimicked, "Jesus!"

   "Yeah!" Mick chuckled, "keeps her eye on the ball, doesn't she?"

   "Her ball!  I bet she's phoning Sabra right now - probably has her
airline tickets booked."

   "She can't bail on us that quickly," Mick assured her, "we have a legal
partnership, now.  There's a process - sufficient notice - that kind of
thing."

   "If Anna thought Sabra could make her into a star in America, you watch.
She'll be on that plane and nothing'll stop her."

   "Maybe, but things are never quite that simple.  I don't think Sabra's
here to poach her, in any case."

   "So what she here for, Mick?  What's she after?"

   "Beats me," he replied, "I guess I'm gonna find out tomorrow?"

   "You going to meet her?"

   "Why not?  Hear what she has to say.  What harm could there be?"

   "You tell me?"

   "Michelle?  You heard her?  She lives in the States and she's married? I
doubt she's come all this way to take up where we left off all those years
ago.  Perhaps she just wants to explain why she took off like that.  Maybe,
y'know, it could be some kind of closure for me?"

   "You're naive, Mick.  If she wants closure, fine, stay away.  That's
easiest."

   "So what's your problem?"

   "My problem is that you're way too easy going and I don't fucking trust
her.  I don't like her eyes and I don't like the way you stared at her
fucking tits.  That's my problem, Mick."

   "Was I staring?" he asked in surprise.

   "Oh, like superglued, Mick.  Any closer to her cleavage and...  I
thought you were going to dive straight in there."

   "Really?"

   "Yeah, really!"

   "Y'coming to bed?"

   "Why, feeling lucky?" she pouted.

   "Feelin' tired," he grinned, "I was lucky when I first met you."

   "Aww!" She came into his arms, softly.

   Mick smiled to himself as he guided her to the bedroom.  He sure knew
what to say, he thought.

   They made tender, smoochy love that night and fell asleep in each
other's arms.  Around ten, Michelle rolled out to make them breakfast and
brought it back on a tray.

   Mick slowly woke to toast and freshly brewed coffee.  He decided then to
call Sabra and get the meeting over with.

   She was up for it - saying yes in a busy voice.  Mick felt he'd been
squeezed into the schedual for today and felt a strange kind of privilege.

   Michelle drove into town with him.  She'd arranged to meet Anna for
lunch in the park and would wait for him there.

   Sabra had chosen a fairly upmarket restaurant with a garden out back.  A
liveried waiter brought them out drinks on a silver tray.  Sabra was paying
and that suited him fine.  She appeared in a hurry, talking quickly and
glancing at her watch every couple of minutes.  The performance was making
Mick edgy.

   She explained a little of what she did in America, how the company had
developed, and about her husband with whom she ran the firm.

   "He's a nice man, Mick, you'd like him."

   "I'm sure I would," he said, "any kids?"

   "Ah, just the one, Mick, but she's not his." Something in her tone of
voice alerted Mick to the bombshell that was about to follow.  Even before
she said the words, he'd figured it out.  Nevertheless, it came as a
complete shock.  "She's yours, Mick.  Yours and mine."

   "What?"

   "We have a daughter, she's nineteen, now."

   "Are you serious?  If this is a windup?" He knew it wasn't.  Sabra
wouldn't be that cruel, even for old times' sake.

   "No, Mick, it's the truth.  When we split..."

   "You mean when you walked out?" That comment slipped out.  He'd thought
himself finished with the resentment and it disappointed him to learn he
wasn't done yet.

   "Okay, I walked out," she agreed with a sigh.  "When I left I was
pregnant.  I sorta thought I was but I wasn't sure.  A month later I turned
up positive.  I didn't know what I should do," she turned to look into his
eyes, "I even thought of coming back, but it wouldn't have worked.  Someone
had to end it, Mick, and I knew you couldn't.  I had to be the strong one."

   "Whew!" Mick let the air out with a whoosh.  "So why didn't you at least
call?  I've got a kid and you never hit me up for maintenance, never
thought to at least let me know?"

   "No, I didn't!  Hindsight is a wonderful thing and maybe I should've
said something but I didn't.  I wasn't in a good space at the time - wasn't
for months and months.  It was a tough time for me..."

   "You imagine what it was like for me?" Mick snapped.

   "Maybe, but would knowing you had a child make anything different?"

   "Maybe?  You never gave me that chance."

   "No, I didn't and I'm sorry.  What more can I say?"

   "Maybe tell me about her for a start?  Do you have a picture?"

   "Ah, no, Mick, I don't," she said, sadly.  "I don't even know where she
is.  I gave her up for adoption at birth.  I left soon after for the
States. I don't know what happened to her."

   "Holy shit!"

   "I just couldn't face it, Mick.  I wanted to start a new life.  I hoped
I'd forget all about her but I haven't.  That's mostly why I'm here.  It's
unfinished business and I need to clear it up."

   "Okay, so did you?"

   "It's a closed adoption, Mick," she said, "I can't find out unless she
gives consent.  Her adoptive parents may not have even told her.  The
authorities can't help."

   "Could she find out and call you?"

   "In theory.  She'd have to go through a third party and, so far, I
haven't heard a word.  At 18 she's entitled to know who her birth parents
are.  I thought that, just maybe...  but, no, she hasn't contacted me."

   "Hmm, but she still might know?"

   "Yes.  She might contact you as well.  That's why I think you needed to
know."

   "Damn right I did!"

   "I'm really sorry to put this on you right now.  Especially now that you
seemed to have put your life together."

   "Ah, yeah!"

   "Now I need to go.  I'm sorry to have to fly.  You'll ket me know if you
hear from our daughter?  I'll leave you a contact."

   "Sure, ah, do you know her name?"

   "No.  I haven't even that to go on.  Bye!"

   With that, she swept out of the restaurant.  Mick remained a little
while, lost in thought.  He shambled out later and headed to the park to
find the girls.

   Mick didn't know how to tell Michelle.  He knew she'd be more than
curious, even anxious, but it was a lot to have to take in.  With Anna
hovering, he chickened out, saying he'd talk about it later.

   That night they were due at The Dodger's for dinner.  He figured he'd be
able to discuss it with her afterwards.

   These two weeks would be good for the band, he thought.  It was a good
opportunity to take stock, to consolidate the partnership and to get
everything onto a legal basis.  It'd give security to them all.

   Mick and Freddie had been fielding calls from promoters wishing to book
the band.  They'd become the defacto managers, but it was a role neither of
them wished to have.  It was time to sign up with a booking agency and to
look for someone willing to take over the administration side of things. 
It was so important, in Mick's experience, to find someone they could all
trust.  In the past, bands had been badly ripped off and he'd no wish to
see that happen to The Curse.

   Flyblown wanted them in the studio as soon as possible.  They needed to
get a CD out to capitalise on the momentum gained from both 'Darkside' and
the Uni gigs.  Mick suggested that the girls write some more so they had a
good pool of ideas from which to craft an album.  The record company had
released a 'CD single' of 5 songs and through their established deals with
Sony, had managed to get them distributed into the chain stores.

   Even so, with CD sales generally on the downturn, due to file sharing
and the advent of alternative, Internet based, sources, the profit from CDs
was unlikely to generate much income for the band.  What they needed to do
was tour, which required an organisation and money to get the band on the
road.

   Mick had originally planned for a couple of festivals later in the
summer.  The money would be good and the costs minimal.  But, with the
band's popularity building within the University scene, he knew the
pressure would be on them for a spring tour of the main centres.

   The English band, The Cure, was due for s short tour of the country. 
Mick thought to try to get on the bill as the opening act.  It'd give the
band an opportunity to learn from an experienced act and expose them to an
audience, he thought, would be receptive to what The Curse was trying to
do. He and Freddie would need to do some fast footwork because competition
for the gig would be hot.  Management, agencies, contracts, publicity,
lawyers and accountants - there was a lot to do before The Curse could hit
the road.

   Dinner at The Dodger's was a pleasant hiatus from the problems besetting
Mick.  The Dodger's wife, Michelle's mum, was generous and welcoming in a
very Lancashire kind of way.  As English immigrants from way back in the
sixties, their memories of the UK were of family, community and old
fashioned values.  No-one left hungry from The Dodger's table, no-one, and
the fridge was well-stocked with beer.

   The Dodger wanted to talk about old times - about the high jinks of
touring in the seventies, and the personalities and parties.  Mick's bands
had often encountered The Dodger's various outfits and had shared
equipment, personnel, drugs and women.  Mick trod carefully, mindful that
Michelle was listening to every word, every scandal.

   "Different ball game, nowadays," The Dodger conceded, "costs, see?  Too
fucking expensive to tour like that these days."

   "Thank God!" interrupted his wife, "I don't want my daughter at the
mercy of you old party animals."

   "Ah, well, Mick's a changed man, now, isn't he?  He wouldn't do any of
that stuff, would you Mick?" The look he gave Mick was enough for him to
readily agree.

   It was getting late and Michelle's mum insisted Mick stay the night. 
The problem of sleeping arrangements was resolved when she suggested the
twin beds in her daughter's old room.  'There was hardly any point,' she'd
told them, 'in pretending you don't sleep together.'

   Michelle was in a happy mood - being pleased their relationship was now
out in the open and, apparently, had received her parents' approval.  She
sat on her old bed grinning from ear to ear as if testing the springs.

   "What are you planning?" he laughed.

   "Oh, nothing," she grinned, "unless you have any ideas?"

   "What, here?  With your parents next door?"

   "So?  If they had a problem you wouldn't be here."

   "Maybe?  Still, I wouldn't feel right..."

   "Perhaps I can help you there?"

   Mick got into bed in his shorts.  Michelle began to strip, and he
watched with growing excitement.  She began to tease him a little like a
stripper, jiggling her breasts before sliding her bra off one strap at a
time.  Her panties she slid down slowly, peeling them off her foot and
tossing them at Mick.  "You like?" she asked, standing askance with her
hands on her hips.

   "Not much room for two?" he insisted.

   "I seem to remember there was always enough," she told him, "least I
never had any problems before."

   "Just how many, ah..."

   "Never you mind," she laughed, before pulling back the covers.  "I see
you've got over your nervousness?"

   "It has a mind of its own," he smiled, before sliding his hand over her
arse.

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   KATZMAREK (C)