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 THE CURSE

   By KATZMAREK(C)

   Chapter Eighteen

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   'Entertain' was the last hit in the alternative charts for
Sleater-Kinney, who announced a 'permanent hiatus' soon after in July,
2006. It was a hard driving indictment of the business with a difficult
skip beat and a great power riff on the bridge.  It ended with a chant,
sung over scratchy and discordant guitars.

   It was a personal favourite of Karen's who'd used Janet Weisz's drumming
as a practice piece.  Mick thought The Curse's cover of the song had a
number of things going for it.

   It fitted their sound perfectly - Carrie Brownstein, Sleater-Kinney's
singer and lead guitar, was openly gay and that inference might play into
Anna's onstage sexual ambiguity.  Most of all, though, it was fun to play.
The original version hadn't that much airplay here and Flyblown thought it
would be a shrewd marketing ploy to release the single before the expected
CD.

   'Entertain' was recorded in two live takes at the University with an
invited audience.  The gig was shot on video with a couple of Handi-Cams
enhancing the whole, downmarket, do it yourself, atmosphere.  Mick saw it
as reconnecting with their fans - perhaps the last flick of the tail of The
Curse's original sound.

   It was a cosy and relaxed session.  Anna was dressed in denim, although
with her usual boots, and Mick wore a pair of beach shorts, Chevrolet
T-shirt and a Wellington Lions Cap.  The lead singer shook and danced about
spurred by an excellent display of power drumming from Karen.

   The audience danced along with Anna and even Rangi, who'd little to do
among the well-behaved crowd, swung his vast bulk along with them.  It was
a party atmosphere and the band mingled with the audience afterwards for
beer and snacks.

   Mick was shouting the loyal Rangi and his new Japanese girlfriend to Los
Angeles with them for the Grammy Awards show.  Costs had prevented them
taking him along on their American tour and the band felt a little guilty.

   Afterwards, Mick went home alone as the girls said they were
entertaining.  Once the stage lights went out, Mick felt a strange kind of
emptiness.  Normally, he and Freddie would have a few drinks but his friend
was on the wagon and it just wasn't the same.  Freddie was morose, these
days, and Mick found his company tiring.

   It was difficult for someone in his position to form normal
relationships.  Most people he met were aware he was a star and mostly in
awe of meeting him.  That might be fine for the ego, but not if he wanted
to make that person a friend.  Otherwise, most everyone he knew were
connected to The Curse and sometimes Mick wanted a night off.

   The girls sometimes stayed the weekend and they all slept together. 
Sometimes he'd make love to Michelle while Anna watched, but nothing more
intimate had developed between he and the lead singer.  He couldn't get out
of his head that he was being gratified to ensure he wouldn't bail on The
Curse as he'd been instructed by Sabra to 'keep the girls happy.'

   The emotional turmoil was wearing him down and his consumption of
marijuana increasing.  What seemed like a spotty schoolboy's wet dream was
turning into a nightmare for him.

   This was Michelle and he loved her, but Anna was likely to always be
part of the set up.  He resented the time Michelle spent with her
girlfriend but, at the same time, he was worried about Anna's ability to
cope for even one night alone.  It was a classic Catch 22.

   He felt his only 'out' of the situation was Sabra, but was slowly waking
up to the fact she wasn't going to leave America.  Going to live there
himself would mean parting from his two daughters, Karen and Emily, and he
wasn't yet prepared to make that sacrifice.

   As far as The Curse was concerned, he'd taken a lot of the creative
responsibility upon himself.  Their record company had assumed he was the
brains of the band and was treating him accordingly.  They'd displayed for
him graphs and charts outlining Flyblown/Sony's suggested marketing stategy
and it was all facts and figures, demographs, promotional opportunities,
projected sales, blah - it was cynical, in his mind, and utter bullshit. 
He was a musician, an artist, not a fucking accountant.

   They liked the song 'Sabra' but it wasn't a band song, they insisted,
and better left to a Mick Johnson solo CD someday.  It wasn't a 'hit' and
the band would have to pay royalties to the songwriter.  Flyblown could see
little point in including it The Curse's CD.  Michelle's love song to Anna
was 'filler' - they wanted more 'Entertain' songs, but, of course, 'it was
Mick and the girl's decision.'

   It may've seemed easy for Mick to dismiss record company 'suggestions'
but he felt more pressured - as if the success or failure of the CD was
going to rest with him.  If the album bombed it would be Mick's
'intransigence' that ruined The Curse's career.  He really needed to see
Sabra face to face to bounce around ideas.

   He didn't have even Freddie anymore to chew the fat over a beer.  He
always had a shrewd sense of proportion and the balls to tell the fuckers
to stuff it.  Mick missed his advice terribly.

   Mick needed company tonight so he jumped in the Camarro and went
cruising.  To be recognised wherever he went was sometimes a curse,
sometimes an advantage.  He just needed someone to take his mind off things
and he told himself that didn't necessarily involve sex, although he knew
it would.  At this time of night, any talent downtown was likely drunk and
that didn't auger well for meaningful conversations.

   He came upon a trolley bus that'd had a fender bender with a boy racer.
The bus driver was a woman - short and big breasted with orange hair cut to
a frizz.  Likely she was heading off shift when this guy had run into her
and she was pissed as Hell.  Mick stopped and asked if he could help.

   "Did you see that?" she yelled at him.  "Did you see that fucker cut in
front?" Mick insisted he had and offered his name and address as a witness.
Of course, he hadn't seen a thing having come along after the accident had
happened.

   The driver of the car was drunk and abusive but calmed down when he
recognised Mick Johnson of The Curse.  His car had some scrapes and Mick
quietly suggested he send the bill to him and he'd take care of it - 'as a
favour to a fan.' Happy, the guy smiled at Mick's business card and got
back into his car.

   There was even less damage to the bus - a scrape on the bumper that'd
clearly been scraped many times in the past - and the driver wasn't
interested in spending the rest of the night filling in accident reports.
Mick chatted to her a little as she got underway again and organised to
pick her up from the depot after work.

   The bus depot was all but deserted and he waited outside for the woman
to come out.  Finally, she emerged and hurried over.

   "Hi," she said, "flash car!"

   Her name was Donna, 26, had taken a 'little' break from University to do
something 'different' - liked the job and stayed three years.  She'd been
in a relationship with a woman, but had broken up two months ago.  Yes, she
was bi, and, no, she didn't have anyone, male or female, at present.  All
this Mick discovered while 'saving her the taxi fare home.'

   She kind of liked The Curse, but wasn't a fan, and told him she thought
the band was being 'overhyped.' This was refreshing to Mick.  He'd finally
hooked up with someone who'd no agenda and could talk honestly and openly
with him.  He felt they could become good friends.

   Donna was her own woman who hated 'posessiveness' and 'pretension.' She
scorned the whole 'subservience bullshit' and if she was ever to get
married, it had to be with someone who'd let her be her 'own person.'

   "I just hate the dependent thing, y'know?"

   'Y'know' was a affectation she used frequently and Mick found it mildly
irritating.  But if that was all that annoyed him about her, he thought it
a good bargain.

   She was short with an impish face she claimed came from her Cockney
heritage.  Yes, she was born in England but arrived out here when she was
7. Her boobs exceded Sabra's in size, he thought, and a wee bit out of
proportion to the rest of her.

   Her signals were mixed and, even as she invited Mick in for coffee, he
still wasn't sure whether they'd sleep together.

   The flat was a little run down but Donna had decorated it with wall
hangings and original prints.  Both her mother and brother were artists, it
turned out, and most of the work around the room was their's.

   "Hey, Mick, you want some wine instead?" she called from the tiny
kitchen.

   "Sure," he replied.  "Say?  You smoke dope?"

   Her head appeared around the door.  "You got some?" she smiled.

   Mick rolled them a joint and they smoked it, washing it down with some
cheap cask wine.

   "It's good," she said, leaning on his shoulder.  "I'm really floating.
It's so hard to get good shit these days."

   "Not that hard if you know who to call," Mick told her.

   "Yeah, well, you're a musician, aren't you?"

   "True!"

   "Y'want some music - I feel like something, y'know, bluesy and slow. 
Y'don't mind?"

   "Sure, love the blues."

   "Delta blues?"

   "Oh, man!" Mick grinned, "just perfect!"

   "Yeah!" she gushed.

   "Y'got flatmates?"

   "Nah!  Last girl moved out a couple of weeks ago.  Might have to get
someone else in, but I kinda like being here by m'self.  Why?"

   "Just curious."

   "Y'want to stay the night?"

   "Yeah - too stoned to drive."

   "Too fucked to fuck?" she grinned.

   "Not a chance, baby," Mick dropped his voice in imitation of some
Hollywood smooth guy.

   "Not that I'm offering," she teased back.

   "Course not," he feigned shock.

   "Anycase," she said, "you guys'll have all the teen bimbos chasing you
down the street."

   "Oh, sure," he laughed.  "Road romances, groupies - fucking action all
the time."

   "True?"

   "Wish!  Too fucked to fuck, mostly.  Y'gotta remember how tight those
scheduals are and how exhausting - eat, sleep, shit, play, eat again, talk
to the fucking press..."

   "Hard life," she said sarcastically.

   "Not complaining," Mick added.

   "Sure!  And you can afford a flash car like that?  Sounds tough to me."

   "Ok!" He put up his hands.  "We got a few good paydays but we worked our
butts off for it and it coulda gone either way.  The public don't like what
we do, we're fucked."

   "I think it's all about marketing," she told him.

   "Y'gotta have something to market?" Mick replied.

   "Why don't you just play and be damned?"

   "That's what I'm trying to do if the fuckers'll leave me the Hell
alone."

   "Hey, sorry Mick.  I was being a bitch."

   "Not at all," he smiled.  "It's what most people think.  That it's all
about getting up on stage and playing.  They don't know the other half -
the main half - all the crap that goes with doing that."

   Donna came and knelt on the floor in front of him, putting her hands on
his legs.  "Hey," she said, "I can see your stressed.  I can't imagine what
it must be like to be that far out in the public eye, y'know?  Actually, I
wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

   "Yes, you would," he smiled.  "Fitting revenge!"

   "Haha - yah, I guess I would!  Like the medieval stocks or something,
y'know?" Mick lifted his hands and lightly stroked Donna's face.  "Mick,"
she said, softly, "I never said you could do that."

   "Sorry."

   "No, actually, it's nice.  I just like to be asked, y'know?"

   "Ok.  May I have a kiss?"

   "Um, Mick, ah, can I ask something first?"

   "Yeah?"

   "Can I play with your balls?  I can see them right down there through
your jeans."

   "Play with anything you like," he told her.

   "Just your balls," she replied.  She ran her hands up the length of
Mick's legs and lightly palmed his crotch.  "I really like the feel of
them," she explained.  "Best part of a guy."

   "What else do you like?"

   "Blowjobs!"

   "Yeah?"

   "Yeah.  Something about giving head - hmm - really love it."

   "Don't let me stop you."

   "Hold on," she grinned.  "My flat, my rules."

   "That sounds suspicious," Mick said.  "What ya want to do?  Tie me up
and beat me with whippy sticks?"

   Donna roared out laughing.  She told him she liked guys with a sense of
humour.  She then leaned forward and kissed his balls over his jeans,
giving his cock a little rub for good measure.

   "Whippy stick?" she laughed.

   Mick was enjoying this.  Donna was great fun to be with and they shared
a sense of the absurd.  There was another rub and a kiss before commencing
to massage Mick's cock with the palm of her hand.  "Just want to get one
thing clear," she said.  "I'm not looking for a boyfriend."

   "Me neither!"

   "Funny!  But honestly, I don't want a relationship."

   "And I've got too many."

   "Alright then," she nodded.

   "But, ah, a friend would be nice.  Like, someone totally away from the
business?  Maybe one with privileges now and then?"

   "A friend with occasional privileges?" she considered.  "Hmm.  How
occasional?"

   "Negotiable!"

   "Like, 'when you're feeling horny' negotiable?"

   "More like 'time out from this fucking hectic world' negotiable."

   "Yeah?  I can say no and you won't get shitty?"

   "Sure.  And if I don't call you for weeks you won't get shitty either?"

   "Depends," she grinned, "on how horny I am."

   "I'll bring some more dope."

   "You will?" she grinned.  "You're a tough negotiator!  Look, Mick," she
said, suddenly serious, "I dunno how this will go or what you want of me.
Y'can sleep with me tonight and - well, maybe give me a call and see,
y'know?  If it gets too heavy..."

   "It won't."

   "Good, cos I can't stand needy people, y'know?"

   "Donna?  Just fucking hang, okay.  I'm not going to be pounding on your
door every night.  Let's just roll another joint and jump into that bed of
yours.  You promised a blowjob, remember?"

   "Hey, I didn't!  I just said I liked giving them.  I didn't promise,"
she said, grinning.

   "Alright.  But, I'll promise to give you some tongue."

   "You will?  Now that *does* sound interesting!"

   Donna took Mick's hand and lead him through into the bedroom.

   In bed Donna's world-wise 'schtik' was revealed as a bit hollow.  Her
blowjob wasn't that great - a little clumsy and uncoordinated - but Mick
appreciated effort and enthusiasm.  He treated her in turn to a thorough
licking but he had trouble finding the right spot and she alternately
giggled and complained she was too sensitive.  Such uncertainty was to be
expected first time out and, in any case, it was a lot of fun.

   Mick screwed her slowly with time out to suck on those pillows lying on
her chest.  Her breasts were huge in the flesh - full, with large nipples,
which stood out prouder than he'd ever seen before - and he spent much of
the happy night playing with them.  But Donna, whether it was the mood she
was in, or some physical issue, was difficult to push towards orgasm.

   Mick formed the opinion she wasn't that experienced with men, or had
male lovers that were impatient or inconsiderate.  He persisted till he
found her trigger.  That turned out to be her clitoris, which was smaller
and a little higher than normal.  Once Mick worked it out, he moved his
finger to the spot and carefully manipulated it.

   Donna immediately began to pant loudly and looked into his face with a
mixture of surprise and arousal.  She grabbed his dick and squeezed - she
seemed to like the feel of a man's appendage - then writhed, twisted, and
pushed against his finger.  Soon, she burst in a series of spasms
accompanied by loud cries and her arm shot around Mick's back and held him
down till she subsided.

   "Mick!" she said, after a long time catching her breath.  "That was
wonderful!  I - I - no-one's done that to me before..."

   "Done what?"

   "Made me come, just..."

   "Huh?"

   "I guess they don't find it," she breathed.  "What makes you so
special?" She smiled in a kind of admiration and contentment.

   "I dunno," he shrugged.  "Just had a little fiddle around.  Had to be
there somewhere."

   "Oh, haha, you're so fucking modest," she laughed.  "Hmm, this is such a
good night.  We going to do some more later?"

   "Sure, I guess.  When do you start work?"

   "Two."

   "I can give you till 12, then I need to be somewhere."

   "Oh, thank you," she laughed, "most generous.  You got an ordinary
cigarette?"

   "Yep."

   "I want to share one with you - symbolic."

   "Of course," he smiled.  "Don't get all subservient on me?"

   "Cheeky shit!" she giggled.  "You're a lot of fun, Mick, I really like
that."

   "Yeah, so are you - drag?" He offered her a Lucky Strike and she had a
series of shallow puffs.

   "Don't really smoke," she admitted, "but, this is nice.  You going to
call soon?"

   "I haven't left yet."

   "Smartarse!  You know what I mean."

   "We'll see, Donna, we'll see."

   Donna looked away and screwed up her eyes.  They were starting to water
and she didn't want Mick to see.  She knew she was in for a rough ride with
this guy and felt a pang of self pity.

   After lunch, Donna jumped into the shower and Mick grabbed himself a
quick kiss before telling her he was going.  She flashed him a look that
was unmistakeable as the rivulets ran down her big breasts.  He walked
quickly down to his car with that look fixed in his mind.  He knew he was
going to feel guilt over this and wasn't looking forward to it.

   Five days later, Mick, Michelle, Anna and Emily, accompanied by Rangi
and his girlfriend, met at the airport for their trip to the States. 
Everyone was downbeat and a little quiet.  Mick was apprehensive about
meeting Sabra - Michelle, about Mick - and Anna, about her costume for the
big night.

   Mick had not been himself the week and Michelle wondered at the cause.
He continued to get stoned every night at that was worrying her.  He looked
drawn and she didn't think he was eating properly.  A moody and depressed
Mick was a hard act.

   On the plane he dozed and read.  When he did hold a conversation he was
civil and kind but he lacked the sparkle she was used to.  It was as if
part of him had shut down.

   When they arrived in Los Angeles they went straight to the hotel to rest
and get rid of the jet lag.  Sabra had decided whe didn't have the room for
Mick after all and he was staying at the hotel with the others.

   Sabra had booked adjoining suites for them and one featured a king size
bed - evidently requested by their manager.  No doubt, she was ensuring
that 'Mick kept The Curse happy,' although he wished their manager wasn't
so efficient sometimes.

   The next day, Sabra had a tight schedual arranged consisting of meetings
with company people, accountants, lawyers and the show's organisers. 
There'd be little time for Mick to have Sabra to himself and he was certain
it was deliberate.  She hadn't met them at the airport and took a whole day
before finally showing in the hotel lobby.  She was tactful and civil and
ensured Mick didn't engage her without the girls present, it seemed to him.
Consequently his mood darkened even more.

   Blue Rembrandt were the likely winners in their category thanks to the
solid work they'd put in during The Curse's absence from America.  Being
'foreign' that was likely going to be the case unless they based themselves
in the States.  They'd also been nominated for the 'Best Song by a Foreign
Group' and Sabra reckoned they had a good chance of claiming that.  Mick
knew it was a consolation prize but it was something to take back home.

   The Grammy's was a shmoozefest and the industry's equivalent of the
trading floor at a merchant bank.  Here was where deals were negotiated,
artists courted and signed and honchos sussed out their rival's marketing
strategy.  Just how much intel was gathered at these shows was anyone's
guess, but there were gatherings everywhere, anytime, in the week leading
up to the big night.

   The market was contracting and the rivalry intense between the recording
empires to shore up their market shares.  There'd never been such a time
for share brutality in the industry and an artist that didn't make enough
money faced being dropped from their label with indecent haste.

   Fair dealing with the talent was a sore point at this time and the talk
at many an industry gathering.  Many established artists were rightly fed
up by the way they were being treated by their labels and a few were going
it alone, and quite successfully.  Mick thought about doing that himself
but The Curse would need to be US based if they were to stand any chance.

   Mick reminded himself that these award shows had long been captured by
the recording companies for no higher purpose than to promote their
products and make a lot of money.  But there were some fantastic parties
and, despite it all, there was plenty to enjoy, despite the bullshit.

   There was a reception for the nominees in each category, for instance.
Although, logically, it should be all about rivalry, the bands themselves
got on remarkably well.  Whether that mood persisted past the show was
doubtful but, before, there was a lot of hand shaking and congratulations
just for being nominated in the first place.

   Dwight Cooney of Blue Rembrandt got a smooch and a hug from Anna
Kuznetsova of The Curse and the event was recorded for posterity by a dozen
photographers.  Mick found the tokers out back and shared a joint or two
with a mixed group of bandmembers and hangers-on.  His absence was noticed
and Michelle and Sabra formed a united front to track him down.  Mick got a
stern lecture about responsibility from his manager and a blast from
Michelle about telling someone where he was going.  Mick felt chided like a
child but he was too stoned to care.

   All in all, it was just another day at the office.

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

   KATZMAREK(c)