Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 THE CURSE

   By KATZMAREK(C)

   Chapter Seven.

   ---------------------------------------------------

   Karen was unprepared how messy the whole business was.  Junior had
ejaculated all over her hand and tummy and she'd had to change the sheets.
Then it was a shower and she'd insisted he have one after her.

   But, he hadn't waited and, the minute she'd popped under the water, she
heard him push through the hanging cloth and into the tiny cubicle.  He was
stiff as a board and rearing to go again.  She'd objected at first but
relented, allowing him to sponge her down and soap up her tits.  She did
the same to him, finishing off with jack, and another sticky mess to rinse
off.

   He was lying in her arms, now, with a contented smile on his face.  It
was Karen who was left wondering about the significance of it all.  It was
Karen who pondered this big step they'd both taken.  Were they an item,
now, or was this just a one nighter that would become an embarrassing comma
in their friendship?  She cherished the things they'd shared and hoped that
wasn't going to change.

   She'd thrown a clean T-shirt on, but Junior had insisted on insinuating
his hand under it to close over a breast.  His head was pressed to her
cheek and she could sense his breath, faintly reeking of stale smoke. 
Karen turned away and Junior nestled in behind, his hand still pressed to
her nipple.

   It felt weird to have another body cuddling into her like this, she
thought.  Weird, perhaps, but nice all the same.  He was warm and, dare she
admit it, loving.

   Gentleness had come easy to Junior, once she'd got him to calm down a
little.  As a lover, he was unselfish and caring - asking her frequently if
what he was doing was alright.  He was anxious to please - even if physical
intimacy was still very much unknown territory to Karen.  He'd found
himself inside her panties, however, and the feeling of being touched down
there was exciting for her.

   Karen had never jacked a boy before, nor, she wouldn't admit to Junior,
ever seen a hard penis.  But he'd shown her how he liked to be manhandled
with understanding and he'd shot with unexpected speed.  Such
triggerhappiness was expected in 18 year olds, Karen had learned at school,
but he'd barely softened before wanting a re-match.

   So their friendship had become intimate and she'd entered the world of
sex in a fashion that was as unexpected as it was confusing?  Was she
prepared to go on with it, as, she was sure, Junior wanted?  She couldn't
answer that question, yet, nor did she want to have to announce to The
Curse family they were now an item.  Such an announcement was probably
superfluous, she thought, as everyone had been convinced for some time now.

   The morning saw Karen jump out of bed late, having missed the alarm. 
Junior was still fast asleep and she decided to leave him where he was. 
She scribbled a quick note to him before speeding out the door to her car.

   Mick, too, had slept late, but that was a normal situation.  The girls
had left by the time he staggered out of Michelle's bed, but his girlfriend
had left him a note instructing him to make a good breakfast before he
left. The 'Xs' that followed went over the page and he smiled.

   He rang the law firm and was put onto the clerk who was handling his
request for his daughter's whereabouts.

   "We can be delegated," he explained, "to make enquiries on your behalf.
We're obliged under the privacy law, however, that if your daughter or her
family refuse permission we would be breaking the law if we released any
details to you we might unearth."

   "Ah, but you can act for me?"

   "Sure, if you so instruct."

   "I do."

   Satisfied he could do no more at present, he headed home.

   Later he hooked up with Freddie down the local.  Over beer and crisps he
reviewed The Curse's direction with his old pal.

   "Y'know what they're calling us now?" Freddie laughed, "Neo-Goth,
New-Goth or Witch-Goth.  Can you fucking believe it?"

   "Journos having orgasms," Mick shrugged.

   "Sure, but it's the death thing that's got me worried.  I'm not having
anything to do with any suicide cult that some idiot might start up."

   "Old hat," Mick shrugged, "I don't like that shit either, but remember
that time Judas Priest got in the shit over so-called subliminal messages
in their records?"

   "Oh, yeah, but that was a pile of horseshit."

   "Yeah, but some guy blew his brains out with a shotgun, remember?  His
family reckoned the band was telling him to do it?"

   "Oh, sure, but you can't blame the band for that.  The guy was a gold
plated nutter."

   "Exactly!"

   "But it's different when a band becomes obsessed with death images. 
You're going to attract those kinds of nutters who just might do something
like that.  I really don't want that on my concience."

   "Yeah, but seriously.  What songs do we do that are specifically about
death?  I can't recall one.  It's what some overenthusiastic journo is
trying to pin on us."

   "I think we need to tighten up the media side of things, Mick.  In the
absence of specific information, journos are going to make shit up."

   "I agree.  We need to talk to Flyblown about that at our next production
meeting."

   "Production meetings?" Freddie raised his eyebrows, "it's kinda deja vu
for us isn't it?"

   "Sure is," Mick grinned, "and fucking exciting, eh?"

   "Same old shit by a different smell."

   The next week a magazine article appeared over one of the publicity
shots that band had done with the nice lady photographer.  Thankfully, it
was one of the more relaxed photos with the band clowning around and
smiling.  Mick could see why they chose that one - Anna was bending over
and there was a clear shot into her cleavage.

   In all, it wasn't a bad article - much of it having been supplied by
Flyblown.  It focussed on Anna, describing her as 'a Russian beauty with
model looks and a voice as good as any in the country.' It compared her
favourably with other bands featuring female singers and mentioned The
Curse as the band to watch.

   Mick's CV was hardly discussed - possibly considered irrelevant to The
Curse's audience.  He was 'a top quality guitarist' that 'lent poignancy to
the Curse's music.' Mick thought it all media babble, but he accepted it as
part of the game.

   A nice touch was Karen's description as, 'a young drummer who's pounds
up a storm.' She'd like that, he decided, and it was good she was getting
some of the public recognition she deserved.  She'd worked hard since that
time the band had come in for an audition, and her musicianship had
developed faster than any of them.

   Meetings were planned for all day Saturday.  First, a business meeting
to discuss the partnership and to get all the paperwork signed.  A strategy
meeting was to follow where Flyblown had organised a representative from a
agency to talk media and publicity, management, touring scheduals and
venues, and other stuff.  Following that was their first full production
meeting for their forthcoming debut CD.  By lunch they'd had enough.

   After lunch, Freddie was showing signs of having quaffed a few pints
during the break.  Anna's temper was starting to unravel and Karen sat
hunched in a corner seemingly uninterested.  Only Mick and Michelle showed
signs of interest, but they vowed never to schedual such a marathon series
of meetings ever again on the same day.  But, at least, the business side
of things had been cleared up.

   The following week they were due in the studio from ten in the morning
till eight at night.  Anna's vocal for several of the songs identified as
possible singles were to be dubbed at Phoenix, the largest, oldest and best
equipped recording studio in the city.  Time, there, was at a premium and
very expensive.  It would eat into their limited production budget so Anna
needed to work quickly and professionally.

   All instrument tracks were to be recorded at Flyblown's small studio. 
There was a drum cubicle for Karen, but, otherwise, everyone was falling
over each other.

   The boys at Flyblown liked to work fast with a minimum of takes. 
Perfection wasn't in their dictionary, but they wanted the 'essence and
character' of the music to come through and thought that too many takes
'wears the immediacy out.'

   Mick picked the tunes out on an acoustic for Karen to drum to.  Mick and
Michelle then laid on the bass and guitar to Karen's drum track.  Anna
followed with the vocal on her own, possibly to be overdubbed or layered at
Phoenix later.

   They had 20 songs, with maybe 4 or 5 that were strong, the rest filler.
'Darkside' was re-recorded and lengthened with a rambling outro.  That was
to be released as an 'extended version' of the song later in the year. 
'Indigo,' an early number, was to be their second single, but given the
full treatment and rearranged.  It had a sharp melodic line with a classic
hook in the chorus.  Mick introduced a pretty intro for the song, picked on
his Gibson with some mild reverb and ascending chords.  'Indigo' came
together in one afternoon and the band was immensely pleased with the
result.

   The following weekend they worked practically through the night to get
it finished and in the can.  By Sunday afternoon they were done and the
band went home to crash.

   It had been a frustrating, exhausting and exhilirating process.  Only
Mick had any idea what the recording process was like and it was something
he couldn't explain to the others.  But the feeling at the end was, to them
all, indescribable - like giving birth, Anna decided, although how she
could make that comparison was anyone's guess.

   But, in fact, it wasn't a bad analogy.  They *had* given birth to
something - something they could all be proud of - something that hadn't
been there before and, they hoped, would bring inspiration and pleasure to
thousands of people.  And, of course, at the end of it, they hoped to make
a bit of cash.

   Mick had a meeting with the lawyers on Monday at ten.  That was an
unsociable hour to Mick and Michelle had to shake him awake.

   He was still half asleep when he arrived downtown.  Michelle had gone to
class and he missed her cajoling.  He stumbled into the office and was
ushered straight in.  The guy explained the documents had all been
notorised and were in order.  The Curse were officially a business
partnership.

   "Um," the lawyer continued, "about that other item."

   "Yes?"

   "According to Child Services your daughter was sent a letter on her
eighteenth birthday asking if she wanted any details of her birth parents.
She said she did."

   "That's good, isn't it?" Mick asked with growing excitement.

   "Well, yeah.  She was then asked whether she wanted to exchange
information with her birth parents."

   "And?"

   "The answer was an unequivocal no!  I'm sorry, Mick, but that's the
legal end of it.  That's how the law used to work then and, as I said
before, the government weren't prepared to interfere with closed adoption
families."

   "Fuck!"

   "As you say," he coughed.  After a pause he asked Mick if he smoked.

   "Now and again," he replied, "why?"

   "Cos I'm dying for a butt.  Let's go outside?"

   They went outside and to the side of the building where there was a
small grassed area and a scattering of ash trays.  Mick rolled a smoke and
stood watching the traffic for a while.  "I shouldn't tell you this," the
lawyer said.

   "What?" Mick asked.

   "Ethically I've discharged my duty under the law."

   "So?"

   "I've heard of a way you might get the information you're after.  You
never heard it from me, though, or I'm in the shit."

   "Hey, do I look like a blabbermouth?"

   "Obstetrics Records!"

   "Huh?"

   "The Hospital keeps them forever, in case, y'know, there's some problem
in later life and they may provide some clue."

   "So?"

   "So, under the disclosure laws you have a right to view them as the
birth father.  Those records cover everything, from the time the mother
entered hospital until the time she left, and the time the baby left.  It
has all the yucky medical stuff, of course, but also the people who the
infant was given over to.  It's in case someone nicks the child, I guess."

   "You serious?"

   "Absolutely.  I can't guarantee the records are complete, of course,
after all this time, but there's a good chance.  You need to make a formal
request with a suitable identification.  There's no way they can legally
refuse, although they may want to know why you want them.  Tell them
'fuck,' it's none of their business and if they want a fight tell them to
call their lawyer."

   "This is really good of you," Mick told the man.

   "Y'know, Mick?  It took me all my life to find my real mother.  Found
her last year...  fabulous person.  She was a teenager at the time and she
was forced to adopt out.  Regretted it her whole life.  I don't want the
same shit to happen to you.  You've a right to know, meet her, and explain
what happened.  Just, handle whatever you find out carefully, huh?  But you
need to meet her, Mick."

   "I will, ah?"

   "Randal, my name's Randal."

   "Thanks, Randal, you've been a real pal."

   That afternoon Mick made out the official application for a copy of his
daughter's obstetrics records.  He was told it would take at least a week,
that they were very busy, and they didn't take kindly to frivolous
requests. Mick was able to quote the necessary clause in the legislation
and the bureaucrat shrugged and put his document into the in-tray for
eventual processing.

   "Y'know," he told Michelle afterwards, "it takes you and I seconds on
the Internet to find out the entire private life of Britney Spears yet you
have to fill out tons of forms and wait weeks for something that's yours by
right."

   "The thing is, they don't really give a shit, so long as the 'T's' and
'I's' are all crossed and dotted."

   "Exactly!"

   The band was to go into rehearsals for the upcoming shows in support of
the CD.  There was much to be organised, including transporting the band's
gear, accomodation and venues.  Initially, two shows were planned up in
Auckland, another down south, with a final show in the city.  Hopefully,
that would co-incide with the release of their next single, which was being
rushed out by Flyblown.

   Already, though, another show was being mooted North, and one other in
the South Island, possibly Christchurch, and another in the university town
of Dunedin.  It seems their timing was bang on, and a good slice of the
youth in the country wanted to see The Curse live.

   Much of this was happening through word of mouth.  There had been no
extensive publicity campaigns, barring a write up in a magazine, and only
the one single played on radio.  The wheels of The Curse were starting to
turn faster and faster.

   Karen was the first to decide to put university on hold.  Work with the
band and her studies was becoming too much and something had to give.  Her
parents were away on a skiing trip in Colorado and she decided not to tell
them until they returned.

   Collectively, Anna and Michelle both bowed to the inevitable and dropped
out of Uni.  They both had horrendous student loans but were able to gain a
deferrment of two years.  That should give them sufficient time to see The
Curse dream either soar, or collapse.

   Mick tidied up whatever he had to do, which wasn't much, to devote his
full time to the band.  Freddie decided to take a year's leave from the
high school and Terry sighed - it all seemed like it was happening again.

   That situation was solved by the inclusion of Terry and Junior in The
Curse's tour party.  Junior could help with equipment, Freddie could run
the stage, and Terry could manage everybody.  Junior was due for his exams
but had shown little interest in studying for them.  Like them all, he
simply dropped out of school, claiming he wanted to be a sound technician.

   Terry's role was critical, as it turned out.  Only she, Mick and Freddie
knew what it was like to tour and the girls had no idea what it was like to
live in close proximity, travelling, playing, sleeping, in vans and cheap
hotels, for days and days on end.  Fatigue causes tensions to escalate out
of proportion to the offence.  It was sometimes like the worst marriage
imaginable with any number of warring combinations.  Sometimes, touring can
be fantastically fun - at other times, it can be a long drawn out Hell with
hardly anyone speaking to anyone else afterwards.

   Girlfriends, boyfriends, groupies, dealers and other hangers-on had to
be kept at bay to avoid disruptions.  Terry wasn't going to have any drugs
anywhere near the band.  Established couples accepted, of course, but she
was fucked if she was going to be tossing strangers out of beds in the
middle of the night.  This she laid out in clear, uncompromising detail.

   "After the last night," she declared, "you can all go get plastered for
all I care because that's what I'll be doing."

   The first gig was in Auckland at the Regent, an old cinema with tiered
seating and a mosh pit.  It was a big venue and Mick was surprised the
promoter expected to fill it.  Two days of travel was followed by an
in-store and local radio interviews.  For the most part, Anna would do the
interviews and Flyblown had hooked her up with a media advisor to coach
her. Flyblown also wanted some film of the gigs for a music video to
support 'Indigo' plus some studio footage.  For this they were booked in
for the afternoon at one of the most prestigious film studios in the
country.  Mick wondered at the amount of money that was being poured in and
couldn't believe it all came out of Flyblown's resources.

   Mick's radar was sending alarming signals.  CD sales were unlikely to
pay for all of this, he thought, even if they had a number one.  It didn't
stack up and he wondered what Flyblown wasn't telling the band.

   The only answer he got was that some 'investors' had a lot of faith in
the band and were prepared to put their money where their mouth was.

   "But too much hype may kill us," Mick insisted, 'y'know?  If the indie
crowd thinks they've been sold out to the mainstream then we're dead in the
water."

   "Wait and see," he was told, "everything was under control.  Just get up
there and play.  Hey?" they added, "we think we can sign a deal for
distribution in Australia with Mushroom.  It'll mean touring there, you
game?"

   "What?"

   "And Japan?  You'll go down well there I think."

   "Japan?  Australia?  Are you serious?"

   "Sure!  Never know, the US may be next on the list."

   "Are you guys out of your mind?  We haven't even cracked the local
market and already you're planning the US?  Who the Hell do you have doing
marketing down there, Donald fucking Trump?"

   "Close," he laughed, "my brother, Dave."

   At that he rang off thoroughly confused.  He explained it all to Freddie
that evening.  He was as astounded as he was and could offer no possible
explanations.  Things like that just didn't happen nowadays.  It was a far
too risky a business to invest that sort of money in an unproven band.

   The Regent was hot with humanity, a near capacity crowd.  Again, women
crowded the mosh pit styled after Anna's costumes.  There was a lot of
blacks and violets, hair streaks and even the odd silver cross.  It seemed
those magazine shots had been studied carefully by the faithful.

   This had to be one of Anna's best gigs ever.  Her voice was fully rested
and she fed off the energy of the crowd with pirouettes, dancing and
teasing.  The enthusiasm was such that Freddie spent most of the gig
hurling invaders from the stage with ever growing irritation.  Mick thought
he wouldn't want to be the last guy.  Freddie would've propelled him half
the length of the auditorium.  It was a wonder the injuries only amounted
to a few scrapes and bruises.

   Afterwards the band were on a high, brimming with excitement with the
adrenalin still pumping.  Terry urged them to get to bed as soon as
possible because this was only the beginning and the fatigue was yet to
come.

   Michelle and Mick shared one room of the midtown hotel.  Karen and
Junior doubled as well as Terry and Freddie.  Anna slept by herself aided
by the sleeping pills she took.  No-one suspected it was to become a
problem.

   Some sightseeing followed the next day for those willing to face the
morning.  The afternoon was spent in the film studio shooting the
additional footage for the video.  Dinner was followed by sound check and
their second gig at eight.

   Again, the band was hot and the audience hotter.  If anything Freddie
had more work to do protecting the stage and the band.  At the end he
announced it was getting too much and he wanted to call in added security.
The next day, they piled into the vans for the trip South, with Mick making
it clear to the Christchurch promoters what they were to expect.

   Four days travel got them to Christchurch.  Mostly they dossed down at
cheap motels but sometimes they dozed in the van with one or other sharing
the driving.  The girls were starting to realise what it was to go on tour.

   The Events Centre in Christchurch was huge with basketball played there
during the season.  The floor was covered up to protect it and a temporary
stage erected at the front.  It was one of the top venues in the city and,
again, Mick wondered how they were going to fill it.

   The promoter had installed a massive PA and a professional lighting rig.
A dozen workers helped with the band's equipment and Mick thought it a far
cry when they had to carry everything themselves.  Another round of
instores and interviews followed with Anna working her heart out answering
the stupid questions.

   If anything, the gig was even bigger than the two up in Auckland.  This
time, however, a security firm was on hand to protect the stage and, in any
case, it was too high to be scaled easily.

   Mainstream media was beginning to take an interest in what appeared to
be unfolding.  It was going past merely a new band on the scene to
something approaching hysteria.  Christchurch square was alive with blacks
and violets, hair streaks and young women with enormous silver crosses.

   The band found it hard to leave the hotel, because of the few dozen fans
that waited outside to follow or pester them for autographs.  In particular
Anna copped the worst of it, being unmistakeable, and she cowed in her
hotel room the whole afternoon.  It'd gone beyond even Anna's thirst for
attention.  Now it was just plain annoying.

   They were glad to be leaving Christchurch for the two day journey down
to Dunedin.  That town had the reputation of being sober, despite it's
university.

   But Dunedin had also spawned some of the most successful post-punk bands
of the eighties and found its own style of music.  It was in the deep
south, cold, and kids spent much of their time in garages and basements
making music.

   The University provided the venue - the sports stadium, no less.  The
band was again provided with a massive PA and lighting system as well as
another security firm.  Promoters weren't taking any chances.

   The Dunedin crowd was a hot, heaving mass, swaying in time and singing
along to the familiar tunes.  Anna was still in good form, taunting and
teasing, and sashaying around the stage.  Mick liked the gig.  The band
played nice and tightly and he was having fun, always a good sign.  It was
a great end to their journey south and all of them were in high spirits
afterwards.

   That night, however, Anna came into Mick and Michelle's room complaining
she felt sick.  Within and hour she was vomiting and they called the
doctor. A mild case of the flu was diagnosed and she was given another
supply of sleeping pills.

   In the morning, though, she looked terrible.  Her complexion was pale
and her eyes were ringed and unfocussed.  She still found it hard to keep
anything down and hadn't eaten since the gig the night before.

   Terry immediately took control of her and took her straight back to bed.
Once back in her room, Terry demanded to see her medication and flushed it
all down the toilet.

   Sometime later Terry emerged to confront Anna's worried bandmates. 
"Which of you bozos knew she had a fucking pharmacy with her?"

   "Um..." Michelle glanced at her feet, while Mick spied something out the
door of the hotel.

   "Michelle, you'll take care of her for the rest of the tour.  Mick,
learn to sleep by yourself for a week or two.  Freddie, don't fucking call
any quacks to her in the middle of the fucking night."

   "Um, No, Terry, sure..." they chorussed.

   "Fucking useless the lot of you," she grumbled as she strode back to the
elevator.

   The trip back North was quiet.  Everyone was in a reflective mood and
Anna was 'tired and emotional.' Terry sat with her the whole way, sometimes
cradling her head in her arms like a baby.  After the highs and ecstacies
of the past few weeks, the denoument was startling.

   But the CD had been launched and 'Indigo' was rushing up the charts. 
The final gig in their home town was expected to be huge and another night
was being planned.

   Flyblown rang Mick and announced they were to head to Australia in a
month followed by a series of gigs upon their return.  They were set to
play a number of mid sized venues to co-ordinate the release of their CD
over there.

   But would Anna last for these last two gigs, was the question on
everyone's minds?  Terry assured them all she was good, that she was a
professional and would always turn up on the night.

   They slipped into the city anonymously and all headed home for a rest
before the gig that night.  Obeying Terry's instructions, Michelle went
with Anna while Mick went back to his little flat alone.  Karen and Junior,
also, left together and went back to the sleep-out.

   By Mick's front door was a pile of letters and he went to sort though
them when he got home.  One was from the Hospital Records Department and he
opened it immediately.

   It was a sheaf of papers, medical records, raw data on the birth of his
daughter, mother's condition - all the usual stuff and practically
indecypherable to a layman.

   The last page was the discharge report.  On it it stated clearly that
the girl infant, no name, was delivered over to a Mr and Mrs Linz with an
address somewhere in the Western Hill suburbs.  He had a name at last, but
would they still be living there?  That was nearly twenty years ago and the
Linz family could have moved anywhere.  A quick check of the telephone book
confirmed there was at least a dozen Linz's and at least two who lived in
the Western Hills.

   The first one he called was an elderly woman who was hard of hearing and
didn't know what he was talking about.  The second was an answerphone. 
There was no street number, just a PO Box and the name of the suburb.

   Several more calls to other Linz's got him a guy in his twenties, a
catering business and a car salesman, none of whom had adopted any
daughters, although he was offered a good deal on a 2002 Ford Mondeo.  It
was futile and he needed a stroke of good luck.  He pinned that on the
second call, the answerphone with the Box number.  That was the only
possible lead he had.

   ---------------------------------------------
   KATZMAREK(c)