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 THE CURSE

   By KATZMAREK(C)

   Chapter Nine.

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

   Anna knew the guy was dangerous well before the interview.  His
reputation had been the gossip of the town for months, but the show was
important and she was confident she could handle him.

   Mal 'The Man' Mouton was the face of 'Smash or Crash,' a show on
rotation at MTV that featured new music videos and a guest critic.  Anna
was booked as the guest tonight and she was supposed to give her opinion
after each video, as well as some ditzy chatter.

   Mal and Anna sat in the studio on a two seater with popcorn and a fake
remote, as if they were at home watching television.  Behind them was a
screen with silver graffiti and a battered guitar amp - meant to represent
some students' 'crash pad.'

   Mal was very good looking and he knew it.  He was a skilled operator who
knew just the right amount of flattery and the moves to go with it.  He'd
reputedly dated some of the most prominent young socialites in town and it
was clear, practically from the outset, he expected Anna to be his latest
conquest.

   Anna was dressed in her usual blacks and violets - tight, short pants
and a brief top.  Her midriff attracted Mal's roving fingers like a magnet
and every time she leaned forward, she could feel his hand drift over her
arse.  He was careful, though, not to freak her out and his moves were
smooth, but persistant.  Just at a point where she was becoming annoyed or
flustered, he'd switch tack and ask a question, as if he was really
interested in her mind.

   But egotists like Mal had little interest in anyone's mind, let alone a
sexy blond's.  That he was a gold plated cad Anna had no doubt, but there
were few guys she couldn't handle and she thought Mal just a boy who hadn't
grown up.

   A video of Blue Rembrandt's latest release was next and Anna couldn't
help trashing the song.  The Blue Rembrandt gig had all but sunk The
Curse's chance of breaking in America, although the boys were hardly to
blame.

   Mal was a little put out.  His guests weren't supposed to voice any
opinion besides, 'Oh, yeah, that was great!' Record Companies were
sponsoring the show to promote their music, not put it down.

   "You don't like them?" Mal asked, raising his eyebrows.  "isn't the lead
singer really cute."

   "Oh sure!" Anna bristled, "why don't you date him!"

   Mal recovered smoothly but Anna could tell he was angry.  During the ad
break he asked her to tone it down and 'can the smartarse comments.'

   For the rest of the show Anna was in a slow burn and Mal had trouble
keeping his cool.  At last it was time for the credits and the agony was
over.  It was then the producer invited them all to 'Flapper's,' a night
club where celebrities went to pretend they wouldn't be seen at play.

   In reality, everyone that believed they were anyone went to 'Flapper's'
for no other purpose than to be seen at 'Flapper's.' Anna, naturally, was
well-known there, having paraded herself around the scene.  She agreed to
go along, as did Mal, hoping, probably, to pay Anna back for making a fool
of him on his own show.

   Ecstasy tablets were duly handed around in the car and Anna took one. 
She then texted Michelle, telling her where she was going, before keying
her mobile into her number.  One press of the call button was enough to
signal her friend that something was wrong.  Michelle had insisted on this
precaution long ago and it had become routine.

   Some time later, Mick jerked awake to the shrill scream of Michelle's
phone.  He looked at the time and saw it was 3am.  His girlfriend woke soon
after and grabbed the phone.  The caller ID was all she needed to know.

   All she could hear were muffled sounds.  She flicked back to the texts
and saw an address, sent by Anna no more than an hour ago.

   "Mick!" she said, and showed him the text.  He nodded straight away and
rolled out of bed.  Michelle started to get up and he ordered her back to
bed.  No way was he going to take a heavily pregnant woman where he was
going.

   Mick's present to himself was a Chevrolet Camarro, nicknamed by everyone
as either 'Mick's Folly' or the 'Yank Tank.' It guzzled petrol but he
didn't care.  It was red, made a lot of noise and had an engine, the size
of which, wouldn't look out of place in a World War Two fighter plane.

   Michelle, sitting in bed fretting, heard the rumble, the squeal and the
roar as Mick blasted up the road to town.

   The address was in a leafy suburb, well into the hills, where stately
villas rubbed shoulders with overpriced townhouse complexes.  He found the
place, a million dollar condo hidden behind flowering cherry trees and a
wrought iron gate.  A silver Mercedes soft top was parked in the drive and
he saw a Porsche SUV half hidden in a carport.

   Mick left the Camarro outside and walked up the drive.  Above, he saw a
light in what he thought was the lounge, shortly before a blaze of outdoor
security lights lit everything up like a stage.

   There was no answer to the doorbell so Mick walked around the back. 
Behind was a small, floodlit swimming pool and patio area accessible
through glass sliding doors from the main house.  These were wide open and
he could see signs of a recent party with glasses, bottles and an upturned
chair.  In the pool, Mick saw a woman's coat floating, although he didn't
think it was Anna's.

   Standing outside, Mick rang Anna's number hoping to hear it, but the
phone was turned off.  There was nothing for it but to enter.

   Stepping inside, he called out, but there was no response.  He strained
his ears for any sounds but the place was as quiet as a churchyard.  A door
led into a hallway and at the end of that was a staircase.  Mick walked
softly along the hallway, listening carefully for any sound.  It was then
he saw a pair of legs at the foot of the stairs, and blood.

   Mick crossed the short distance and saw Mal Mouton, shirtless, and
bleeding from a wound in his side.  His breathing was laboured and he was
moaning softly.  Mick checked his pulse before calling 111.

   Looking up the stairs he spotted Anna, sitting and rocking.  Her eyes
were glassy and he didn't think she recognised him.

   "Anna, Anna," he called, "what happened?" But there was no response. 
She was either out of it or in some kind of catatonic state, he couldn't
tell.

   The Police arrived first followed by the ambulance.  Mick explained what
he saw when he arrived, leaving out any theories or speculation.  He was
asked to come down to the station to make a statement, and he obliged -
following the cops in the Camarro.

   After that he went to the hospital, to where both Anna and Mal were
taken.  He learned that Mal was in a comfortable condition after receiving
a single stab wound with a steak knife.  Anna was in detox, with a variety
of medicinal and recreational drugs in her bloodstream.  A policewoman was
sitting in with her, significantly, from the Sexual Assault Detachment.  He
went outside to call Michelle, then ensconced himself in the waiting room
until he could find out how she was.

   Mick had an uncomfortable night, bent into one of the hospital's hard
seats.  Around 8am Michelle arrived with some breakfast obtained from the
takeaways across the road.

   He knew little that he could tell her.  The hospital staff wouldn't talk
to anyone who wasn't a relative and no-one could get in to see her except
the police.

   "Should we call a lawyer?" Michelle wanted to know.

   "As far as I'm aware," Mick replied, "she hasn't been charged with
anything."

   "Your theory?" She asked.

   "Mal came on too heavy and she flipped.  Y'know what he's like?"

   "That's not like Anna.  She's usually so careful and there's not many
guys she can't handle."

   "Well, I guess, there's always the one."

   "A high heel in the groin, maybe, but she'd never stick a blade in
anyone."

   "I guess we're assuming she did it.  There may have been someone else
who fled the scene.  There looked like there'd been a party and there was a
coat in the pool.  I don't think it was Anna's."

   "Ah!  So someone else stuck him?  Good job!"

   "Hey, this is guesswork."

   "Where was the knife?  Did you see a knife?"

   "Good point!  No I didn't.  There was no blood trail nor weapon at the
scene.  It looks like someone stabbed him then took off with the knife."

   "A regular Doctor fucking Watson aren't you?"

   "I just hope the cops figure that out."

   Mick next put a call through to Freddie their manager and he assured him
he'd have a lawyer ready in case any charges were laid.  His next concern
was the press and, sure enough, it wasn't long before a reporter turned up
at the hospital.  It turned out to be none other than Catherine, with whom
Mick had a one night stand about a year before.

   Michelle's eyes narrowed as she swept into the waiting room.  "You after
something?" she asked with words dripping in sarcasm.

   "Hi, Michelle, hi, Mick," she said, too sweetly, "so it must be true."

   "Catherine!" Mick said, "a friend sick?"

   "Mal Mouton," she replied, "someone stabbed him."

   "Really!" Michelle said, "a 'close' friend is he?"

   "We're old acquaintances.  So how's Anna?  The cops charged her?"

   "With what?" Michelle replied, "being a victim of sexual assault?"

   Mick squeezed Michelle's hand as a warning but she wasn't being
deterred.

   "You saying that Mal attacked her?" Catherine asked.

   "No!" said Mick.

   "Yes," said Michelle.

   "Ok," Catherine said, bemused.

   "So how come you're chasing ambulances?" Mick asked her.

   "I'm the celebrity correspondent for 'The Echo'."

   "That sleeze rag?" said Mick.

   "Gotta start somewhere.  Like you, we're catering to public demand."

   "Oh, yeah!  Salacious gossip!" said Michelle.

   "Wise up, Michelle.  Who reads the fucking political pages?"

   "Not that you'd find those in The Echo."

   "Girls!" Mick intervened, "can we tone it down?  This is a hospital."

   "So, what, Mick?  Anna can't remember what happened?  Maybe she was too
high, perhaps?"

   "Catherine, you don't honestly expect me to answer?"

   "Neither confirm nor deny?"

   "Back off!  I don't know any more than you.  We can't get in there."

   "Ah, so, the police are in there?  Have they arrested her?"

   "Catherine, I don't fucking know what happened and, as far as I know,
the cops haven't laid any charges.  You have to wait like the rest of us."

   "So, c'mon, Mick?" Catherine said, sitting down opposite, "what's your
theory?  Hey, I'll be straight, my editor wants to beat this up.  Now if
you were to give me an inside angle, maybe I can get him to lighten up."

   "All I know is, Catherine," Mick sighed, "we got a message from her
around 3 last night asking for help.  I went to Mal's and Anna was sitting
on the stairs with Mal at the bottom."

   "Stabbed?"

   "Yeah, stabbed, but no weapon and no blood trail.  It seems whoever it
was ran off.  Anna certainly didn't have a knife anywhere near."

   "So?  She threw it away."

   "Catherine, she was wasted.  The paramedics had to practically carry her
out.  She couldn't have made it down the stairs let alone throw anything
away."

   Catherine continued, "does she have a drug problem?"

   "She gets high now and again.  What's so unusual about that?"

   "Drugs of choice?"

   "I believe she has prescribed medicinals and maybe alcohol on top of
that..."

   "Aw, c'mon, Mick?  You saying she drank a little booze on top of, what,
sleeping tablets?"

   "Could be.  How the Hell should I know?"

   "Ecstasy, Mick, she was high on Ecstasy, plus whatever," Catherine told
them.

   "There, see?  You know more than me."

   "She practically lives with you, Mick.  You telling me you don't know
what she takes?"

   "Anti-psychotics, Nortriptinol," Michelle interrupted, "they're for..."

   "I know what they're for, Michelle," Catherine said, "zonkers!  Heavy
duty chillers and with a cap of 'E', maybe a glass of Chardonnay or two? 
It's a Mars' mission, Mick!  Major shutdown of the executive floor!"

   "Hey, I don't know, Catherine.  You'll have to see once they pump her
out."

   "With that cocktail, hmm?  You're right, Mick, she wouldn't feel
anything if a wrecking ball hit her on the head.  I don't think she could
move under her own steam."

   "See?"

   "You two slipping one past me?" asked Catherine, suspicious.

   "Course not," Mick grinned, "why would she be in detox?"

   "A celebrity getting bombed is hardly sensational news.  Slicing up an
MTV host is.  Are you trying to give your pal a free pass?"

   "Clearly," Mick said, scratching his jaw, "you're going to print
something anyway.  What we said is all true.  Someone knifed Mal but it
clearly wasn't Anna because she could hardly stand up.  The story's
obviously elsewhere.  Maybe find out who else was at the party?"

   "Party?  What party?" Catherine asked in surprise.

   "There'd been a party.  The place was cluttered with booze bottles and
there was a coat in the pool that wasn't Anna's."

   "You bullshitting?"

   "Nope."

   "Ok," Catherine said, nodding, "so, maybe Anna was flaked on one of the
beds upstairs?  There was a fight with one of the guests downstairs and Mal
was sliced.  The dude takes off, then Anna comes down, sees Mal..."

   "Freaks!  And she's so high that she just sits there, not knowing what
to do?"

   "Yeah, makes sense!" Catherine considered, "and, of course, there's no
need to mention Anna except to say she happened to be there."

   "As she's no doubt at lots of celeb parties.  Nothing unusual there!"

   "Of course," Catherine smiled.  "Thanks Mick.  Y'know, if I find out
you're bullshitting me to protect The Curse from scandal..."

   "Straight up, Catherine."

   "Ok," she said, "I'll run it past my boss, but he won't like it.  He
wants to nail Anna for some reason."

   "Why?"

   "Dunno," she shrugged, "thinks the family are Russian mafia.  He's a bit
paranoid."

   "I'll say," laughed Mick.

   "Tried talking to her parents but they were out of the country.  The
boss thinks they're out of the country too damned much for civil engineers.
You met them, Mick?  Michelle?" They both shook their heads.  "Yeah, well,
shame about her brother, eh?  Terrible accident!"

   "Accident?" Mick raised his eyebrows.  Michelle looked confused.  "I
thought he was killed by the Chechens?"

   "Anna shot him, didn't you know?  They were apparently playing with guns
one day and Anna's had a round in the breech."

   "Sheeit!" said Mick.

   "Christ!" Michelle added.

   "Kinda explains why she's on so many pills, doesn't it?" Catherine
suggested.  "Hey, gotta go talk to some cops, seeya!"

   "Bitch!" Michelle swore.

   "She'll go far as a journalist," Mick said, wryly.

   "Not far anough, Mick, not far enough."

   Anna was released that evening and sent home.  The police could find
nothing that linked her to the stabbing - no weapon, no blood splatter on
her clothes and, most of all, she was likely physically incapable at the
time.

   She, herself, had no recollection of how she even got to the house let
alone what happened there.  That confused Mick - if true, then who texted
the address to Michelle's phone and who made their agreed emergency call?
Granted, pushing the send button might have been accidental but texting
requires some manual dexterity - unlikely if someone was semi-conscious.

   Terry appeared at Mick's and her and Michelle put Anna straight to bed.
Terry organised a doctor to check her - someone she felt comfortable wasn't
going to prescribe her more pills.

   Later in the evening, Catherine rang Mick.  She explained that the cops
had told her Anna wasn't going to be charged.

   "I looks like Mal's getting done for possession," she added, "he had a
few tabs on him.  The police say they're considering adding on 'stupifying
for the purpose of rape.' They reckon there was most probably a fight over
dope, but I think they're guessing.  Anna's off the hook, anycase."

   "What did Mal have to say?" Mick asked.

   "Zip!  Cried for his lawyer!  Hey, I'm doing this as a favour, since
you've been straight with me.  I'd keep Anna tucked away if I was you. 
I've buried her name this time, but if she get's caught again somewhere
where she shouldn't be..."

   "Got it, Catherine, thanks!"

   "You're a nice guy, Mick," she said, "I hope Michelle knows what she
has. If she ever gets tired of you, give me a call, ok?"

   "I'll put you on the list," he laughed.

   "Smartarse!" she laughed.  "Bye."

   Mick understood the symbiotic relationship the entertainment world had
with the gossip press.  They put you up there before tearing you down. 
He'd learned early on in his career how everything worked and had become a
shrewd operator when it came to reporters.  He'd managed to keep Anna's,
and the band's, name on the fringe of the scandal and that was a good
outcome.  Catherine was young and inexperienced, but he knew the editor of
The Echo was an arsehole and would think little of carving up Anna if it
boosted his circulation.

   This whole business was weird.  Mal 'The Man' was a jerk, sure, but not
a rapist.  He was too smart to get caught on that rap.  Neither was he
likely to get caught in some squabble over dope, Mick thought.  He was a
user, not a dealer, and guys like him have impeccable and discreet sources.

   Neither was it like Anna to put herself in that situation.  She liked a
good time, sure, but she had a good radar.  Had she simply got loaded up to
much?  Would she've boozed up on top of the medicinals and the Ecstasy?  It
didn't seem to Mick she'd have been that foolish.

   He'd known few people as talented as Anna who hadn't been pursued by
demons.  It seemed a cliche, but psychological problems, drugs, and an
insatiable need for attention appeared part of the price one had to pay.

   Later that night, he had a long talk with Michelle, but got little
closer to finding answers.  Eventually, she settled down to sleep -
Michelle just coming into the uncomfortable stage in her pregnancy.

   He woke about 4 in the morning, sensing something wasn't right.  He
looked over and found he was alone with the covers drawn back carefully
over the space Michelle should've been.  Mick had gotten used to her
nocturnal expeditions and had little doubt where he'd find her.

   He'd moved beyond irritation to acceptance that this was how it was
going to be as long as Anna lived with them.  But there was some jealousy
that remained and doubts about just what they did in Anna's room.

   He thought Anna was likely a lesbian, and all this 'no sex before
marriage' stuff was a cover.  She'd toyed with guys - some, Mick thought,
seemed quite decent and caring and he'd felt sorry they were being used in
this way.  She'd often hung out with a young Rumanian guy, whom, Mick
thought, was obviously camp as a row of tents.  A classic charade, he
thought, to protect each other's reputation from homophobia.

   He doubted, though, that in the area of the entertainment world they
inhabited, such things really mattered.  In fact, he thought, Anna would
gain more kudos if she came out of the closet.  But it was her crossword
puzzle to work out in her own time.

   But what of his girlfriend and the mother of his child?  Was she
bisexual?  She'd always been either evasive or defensive about the subject.
Maybe it was time to confront them and get everything out in the open?

   He got out of bed and tip-toed down the hall to Anna's room.  He saw
that the door was ajar and there was a bedside lamp on.  Mick knocked
softly and called.  There was no answer so he pushed the door a little
further.

   With no response at all coming from the bedroom, Mick pushed his way in.
Anna had often walked into their bedroom without knocking so he reasoned it
was okay for him to do the same.  The sight he met made him gasp in shock.

   Both women lay on their backs on the bed, totally naked and without
covers of any sort.  Anna's arm was locked around Michelle's neck and one
leg was thrown over.  Their bodies glistened with massage oil, and there
were several containers on the bedside table.  Some towels had been thrown
on the bed to protect the sheets.  Both women were fast asleep.

   Michelle had a serene expression on her face.  Tiny beads of oil still
clung to her creamy breasts and Mick noted her pubic hair was matted with
the stuff.  Her mound of a tummy looked like nothing short of a giant
glazed coffee bun and he imagined a cherry perched in her navel.

   By contrast Anna was all legs and a model's breasts.  Compared to
Michelle she looked like some kind of white stick figure.  He also noticed
her pubic hair consisted of two dark tramlines, proving her hair colour
owed more to a bottle than her parents.  Her vagina gaped, moist and her
prominent clitoris was dark with arousal.  If no sex had taken place on
this bed this night, Mick was Osama Bin Ladin with his beard trimmed.

   "That you?" Michelle said in a faraway, not quite wideawake voice.

   "Yeah," he replied, softly.

   "Wha' d'ya want?" she drawled.

   "What's happening, Michelle?" he asked firmly, but in what he thought
was a kind voice.

   "Wha' d'ya mean?"

   Mick sat on the bed beside her.  Stroking her face, he told her, "we
really need to talk about you and Anna.  You'd need to be hopelessly stupid
not to figure this out," he nodded at Anna.

   "Mick," Michelle said, "you know how it is with her.  I've told you..."

   "Well, that's the point, no you haven't.  Anna's leg is draped over
your's.  You're both buck naked and shiny with massage oil.  I can't think
of a better Sapphic vision."

   "You trying to be clever?"

   "Probably.  But I still want to know whether you two have been having
sex?"

   "Mick?  I, uh, does it matter to you?  What if we were?"

   "'What if we were?'" he mimicked, "don't you see there might be an issue
there?  Michelle, it seems to me you're making a fool of me and you're limp
evasions and denials sorta back that up."

   "I don't see how I'm making a fool of you, Mick," Michelle replied.  "Is
this some male ego thing?"

   "Michelle, it's a truth thing.  Tell me," he looked straight into her
eyes, "if you were to get married, who would you marry?  Remember the bit
about forsaking all others?"

   Michelle took a long time to answer.  When she next spoke, her eyes were
watering up.  "Anna needs me.  You know how lonely she gets, huh?  If I
wasn't there, I don't know what she'd do."

   "There's therapy, counselling?"

   "It's not the same, it's..."

   "Anna needs you.  What about you?  Do you need her?"

   "Huh?  I, um, suppose so."

   "Ok," Mick replied, sucking in his breath.  "I suppose this 'need' is
physical?  It kind of looks that way, doesn't it?"

   "Well?" her voice rose defensively, "don't you think she's beautiful?"

   "Sure, and so are you.  Your point being?"

   "My point is...  she loves me and I love her...  and you.  You force me
to choose...  if I leave her she'll come apart, Mick, I know she will.  In
six months, maybe a year, she'll be dead.  Look, see how fragile she is?  I
wish you knew her as I do - the softness, the beauty...  Call me whatever
you want - dyke, lesbian, bisexual.  I don't give a fuck.  I don't go
around checking out other women and I love being with you.  Why can't you
just accept it?"

   "Because you never gave me a chance, for starters.  You left me with
this ambiguity - never knowing for sure.  I guess I feel a strange kind of
relief, but I think your relationship with Anna is dangerous."

   "How so?"

   "It borders on the obsessive, for a start.  The way you tell it, she
kind of blackmails you.  'Unless you come to me at night when I want you,
I'll kill myself.' That seem healthy?"

   "It's not like that, Mick."

   "Oh?  I missed something?"

   "Yes.  You're forgetting it'd be like ripping out a piece of my heart.
She, you, makes me complete."

   "Shit, Michelle, make yourself complete.  Let's just make each other a
little brighter?"

   "You and Anna join my dots.  I need her to be a member of this family."

   "Ok, Michelle, ok, baby." Mick put his arm around her.  "I guess we'll
have to see how this plays out."

   "It'll be alright, Mick, trust me?"

   "I can do trust, but can you?"

   "Sure I can, Mick, sure I can." She smiled weakly.

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

   KATZMAREK(C)