THE CURSE


By KATZMAREK


Chapter Two.


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This is a work of fiction. It remains my work and may not be used for gain without my express permission in writing.


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Mick opened his eyes to the sense someone else was moving around his flat. He remembered, and rolled back to see the other side of the bed with the covers folded back. Coffee was brewing in the kitchen, and he heard the clunk of the mugs.


Catherine seemed a long time, and he thought about stumbling to the kitchen himself to fetch a brew. Eventually, she arrived with two steaming mugs and the daily paper under her arm. He'd forgotten what an intensely appealing sight was a 21 year old girl wearing nothing but a T-shirt and pale blue panties.


Catherine came and sat cross-legged on the bed. He smiled at the realised fantasy, restraining himself from reaching out and brushing his hand down those long, smooth, tanned legs.


She grabbed the entertainment section and discarded the rest of the paper. Leafing through, she found what she was looking for and began to read aloud.


"Um, 'The Curse, University Memorial Hall.' You know this journo?" she looked up, "Bob Pullman?"


"'Bob the Puller?' I'll say. Went on many a bender. We used to get him stoned then write his copy. He never gave us a bad review."


"Journalistic ethics? Sounds like the good old days?" she laughed.


"It was! I doubt, though, that he's heard anything later than REM."


"Then why is he reviewing The Curse?"


"Because I asked him to. For old times sake."


"Did you write it for him?" Catherine looked slyly at Mick.


"Nah, but I did suggest some things."


"I'm sure you did!" she giggled, "now, let me see... ah, 'new project by veteran guitarist Mick Johnson... consists of attractive young songstress Anna Kuznetsova,' blah, blah. All you old guys like Anna, don't you? It says here, 'she has a voice that is compellingly erotic with moves to match'."


"Puller always had a keen eye for a shapely leg."


"I'll bet, and all points North and South! 'These girls played their heart out to an appreciative audience. The influences mined the deep vein of post punk, North Eastern, alternative music of the early nineties with quirky time changes and dark, sometimes incomprehensible, lyrics. They've chosen a difficult genre - one that remains to be seen whether it has resonance with an audience other than sympathetic friends and families'."


"Fair comment," Mick said.


"Listen to this?" Catherine cried, "'the highlight for me was the encores - two Kristin Hersh numbers, beautifully sung, and featuring the all too rarely heard acoustic work of Mick Johnson. The songs showcased the unique talent of Johnson in one of his finest moments in recent times'."


"Oh, bullshit! That's really unfair on the girls. I'm going to have a word to Puller about that."


"Why? It's perfectly true?"


"We're a band, not Mick Johnson and three others. I hate being singled out like that."


"Get used to it. So, what happens now? Where do you see The Curse going?"


"We take a break and rehearse. We find a groove and a brand. We try and find a decent 'market segment'."


"How about just writing songs?"


"Sure, but what are we aiming to do? What kind of band are we? Who are we trying to appeal to? They may not be the questions that bother the girls overly, but that's what the business will be asking."


"Fuck the business!"


"Oh, sure, and how d'you make money? Like it or not, you can't ignore the business otherwise we'll just be playing to entertain ourselves."


"People will always turn up to a good band."


"Maybe, but you live and work in the relatively rarified academic environment. We get, maybe, 100 students to a gig down here, another 200 up in Auckland and, perhaps 300 down South. That doesn't pay the costs of getting to and from the gigs. For The Curse to get anywhere, it needs to draw the office workers out of their buildings, the panelbeaters from down the road, and the guys from the industrial estate. We need to create a fan base outside of the universities... ultimately, if we get rolling, we'll need to travel overseas. But, that is a long way down the track, Catherine, a very long way."


"So what do you think of the others?"


"What do you mean?"


"Your assessment of the members of your band?"


"The guitarist is wondering what the Hell happened to get him into this."


"But, nevertheless, he's enjoying the fringe benefits?" Catherine smiled at him.


"He is, and we probably need to talk about that sometime. Anna, probably, has a big future with the right management. Michelle's talented, but, she ought to get herself a proper bass. The Tele is a little too restrictive. Being female, she'll always have some novelty value, but, there's a ton of good bass players out there looking for work..."


"What about the song writing?"


"Ah, well, see, I don't really know. I don't have a clue how the stuff her and Anna do will go down with a wider audience. It's developing, sure, but it's derivative. That's not really a black mark 'cos plenty of successful songwriters lean heavily on previous material. I think the two of them have quite a thing going at the moment, but whether that survives Anna's departure..."


"Departure?"


"When that comes. She'll be off to better things... maybe next year? Perhaps, if we're lucky, the next. But, she'll be gone, mark my words!"


"And Karen?"


"Girl drummers? Rare! She's got the best coach I can think of at the moment and a ton of determination. The World's her oyster if she's prepared to seize it. Her future's overseas... a girl drummer? Go to California."


"Why?"


"Bands looking for an edge hire a girl drummer!"


"You're cynical!"


"Can't be anything else. I've been in the business too long... seen everything!"


"Shit, MIck! I've got classes in an hour... gotta shoot!"


"When do we hook up again?" Mick asked.


"Dunno," she answered hurriedly, scrambling for her clothes, "give you a call?"


"Sure, sure."


Mick watched Catherine as she hauled her tight jeans up over her incredibly tight bum and smiled to himself. This was becoming an interesting ride, he thought, one he didn't expect to be happening at his age.


Later, he breezed into band meeting whistling to himself, in a happy mood. The atmosphere in the hall hit him the moment he opened the door, however, thick, like storm clouds gathering.


Anna and Michelle sat together on the rostrum, heads down, and barely looked up when he entered. Their faces were fixed, cold, with eyes full of hurt. Karen sat off to one side, ignored, and seemingly dejected. Behind them, Freddie fiddled about with the equipment, keeping himself occupied, while trying to ignore whatever was going down among the girls.


"Seen the reviews?" Mick asked, brandishing the morning's paper. "Not bad, I thought."


"Yeah!" Anna answered with a little shrug of the shoulders. Not exactly the enthusiastic response Mick expected.


"So, ah, who's died?" he asked. Anna and Michelle looked up and fixed him with a withering stare. "Ok... so why the long faces? Have we realised something about the music business?"


"What?" Anna asked.


"That in the morning, the World hasn't shifted on its axis, the war's still going on in Iraq and, after being told how wonderful you are all night, in the morning it's just another meeting, another rehearsal, more work, huh?"


"Don't patronise us!" Anna shot back, "y'think we're stupid?"


"Um, no..."


Freddie turned around, grinning, trying to lighten the mood. "Terry'll be here soon with lunch. Maybe we're all a little hungry?"


"Maybe?" Mick agreed, "look, girls. If there's something going on that's affecting the band I think we all need to hear it?"


"Why do you call us 'girls'?" Anna asked, "why not 'women'?"


"Well, ah, I guess it's habit. Is that the problem? Y'think I'm somehow putting you down? I'll try and remember to..."


Anna suddenly straightened. "I've got a question? Did you go with Catherine last night?"


"Huh?" Mick asked, shocked.


"Y'know she's only using you. We know some things about her..."


"Whoa! Hold on?" Mick put up his hands, "I don't see..." Mick looked up at Freddie. He was wearing a bemused expression, almost to the point of laughing out loud.


In truth, he'd seen this sort of thing many times before, both he and Mick. Bands develop such a close relationship, even tighter than a lot of families, with the same kinds of upsets and controversies. Little of it has anything directly to do with the creative process, yet can stall it unless things are dealt with.


But neither of the veterans had worked with women before, and that seemed like unknown territory. Males bond in other ways, a couple of pints down at the pub often resolving many an issue.


"Catherine wants to be a rock journalist," Anna continued, "she'll sleep with anyone who'll..."


"Look, I don't see how..." Mick struggled.


"Hey," Freddie interrupted. He sat down on the rostrum between Karen and the  other girls, "if it bothers the band, maybe we ought to talk about it, Mick? Remember when I started going with Terry? Remember the fight we had 'cos everyone thought I was going to jump ship and join her band?"


"Yeah, true, I remember. But, hey, I can have a private life, y'know, without having to explain myself..."


"Mick, you think you can, but you can't. Like it or not, you're now part of this band. You don't have a separate private life."


"Oh, well..." he considered, resigning. "Ok, I know about Catherine and I'm easy with it. Y'know? If we were in California, no-one would blink twice. It's just how business is done. What can I say? She's easy to get along with, we get on well, and she fucks like a bunny in spring!"


"Fucking arsehole!" Michelle erupted and got up. She ran out of the hall to the washroom, followed by Anna, who shot Mick a whithering glare.


"Ok," Mick looked around, mystified, "that went well! What the fuck did I say?"


"Beats me," Freddie said, combing through his beard. "Maybe there was just a little too much detail..."


"They want to talk, then when I do..."


"Yeah, well, maybe Terry'll have a word and find out what the problem is. She has this way of getting to the bottom of things."


"Karen?" Mick asked the drummer, "do you want to talk about your boyfriend?"


"No!" she said, emphatically.


"Thank Christ for that!" 


When Terry arrived, Mick was sitting picking a tune on his acoustic. Karen and Freddie were at the kit. Terry asked where the other girls were and Freddie explained as best he could. She told them to leave things to her and that men were typically insensitve.


Another hour or so passed before the three women emerged from the washroom. Michelle's face was streaked with tears, but she managed a weak smile.


"Mick?" Terry said, "take my husband to the pub. I want him home for dinner in one piece, understand? The girls and I are going out to the dessert bar for something creamy and disgusting... Karen? You're with us! Leave the men to do their 'men thing."


"Huh?" Freddie said, bemused, "and the creamy thing will go with a slug or two of Kahlua I suppose?"


"Very probably," she grinned, "c'mon, Karen?"


Some time later, Mick and Freddie's favourite table was well dusted with crisps and empties. Being a Sunday afternoon, the trade in the bar was steadily increasing, especially around the totalisator and the widescreen TV. The pokies, too, were busy.


"Nah," Mick was saying, "that Cobain was nothing but a drugged up vandal. Does a carpenter smash up his tools, does a mechanic? A guitar that some craftsman spends hours making and wankers like him beat the shit out of it."


"Townsend did it? And Hendrix set fire to his?" Freddie replied.


"Pure theatre," Mick said, "it was all show. Nirvana smashed up their gear because they were nothing but whacked out, overpaid..."


"Anyway, Mick," Freddie interrupted, "who's this Catherine, how did you hook up?"
 

"I was just sitting there, talking to Michelle, when she came up and introduced herself. Things kinda lead on from there and the next thing we were at my place. Ok, so she wants to be a rock journo and she's plumbing my extensive knowledge..."


"Oh, sure," laughed Freddie.


"But, really, why the fuck not? I ask you, at my age, how many opportunities are going to come along to fuck a 21 year old fox?"


"Not many, you old retard!" he laughed, "now, tell me? I've always wondered. What happened? You had plenty of opportunities over the years, women you were quite fond of. How come you never married any?"


"Oh, well, same old! Those you want are scared off by the business and those you don't are attracted by it."


"Y'sure that's all? I seem to remember one or two..."


"Dunno, mate," he sighed, "I guess I just woke up one day alone. Here's me, long hair down to here..."


"I remember, hehe!"


"And all these bands wearing stove pipes and shaved heads. Guys with two guitar lessons thrashing the only three chords they knew..."


"Oh, yeah, and jammin' shit through their skin? That's what I could never get over - all them piercings..."


"Yeah, well, suddenly we were old hat and no-one phoned anymore. I woke up and all I could see was my tiny flat with a week's worth of dishes in the sink. I didn't even have a cat. I guess my significant prospects got tired of waiting, 'cos, they sure as Hell weren't there anymore."


"Y'think that, maybe, you just didn't have any room? Couldn't move over a little and let someone in?"


"Maybe?" he pondered, "it seemed less trouble, less responsibility, perhaps? But I missed not having any kids. I kinda envy you, you've got two fine boys."


"Yeah. After 18 years I'm just starting to get to know them... it's nice!"


"Good, pal... that's good!"


"So what's goin' to happen with Catherine? Y'goin' to see her again?"


"Who knows? Shit, she has a fuckin' nice body - really beautiful tits and an arse so tight..."


"Look, pal!" Freddie interrupted, "y'can't go past all the small things... like these little savoury things for supper? Terry and I'll watch the crime shows together, with maybe a glass of wine. Roast meal Sundays with the family altogether. It don't sound like much, but, y'know? I wouldn't trade it for all the tottie on the road..."


"Course not, Freddie. Like I said, I envy you."


"Yeah, well, mate. I'd better get home. I *did* say I'd be home for dinner."


"I wonder how the girls are gettin' on? What d'yer suppose happened there, anyway? Why'd they suddenly go dirty?"


"My theory? Time of the month, mate. Terry gets shirty to Hell. You can set yer watch by it."


"Time of the month?"


"Yeah, time of the month."


Mick walked home alone, Freddie preferred a taxi and Mick preferred to leave the van at the hall. His mind drifted back to last night. 'She'd made them both breakfast,' he thought, 'it'd been a good while since a woman had made him breakfast in bed.'


The next day, there were rehearsals schedualled for six. Freddie arrived with Terry early to set up. His friend's wife took Mick aside for, 'a quiet chat.' She seemed nervous and evasive, and formed her sentences carefully, as if afraid of revealing a terrible confidence.


"The girls and I, ah, have had a talk and I'm a little, ah, clearer what the upset is," she explained.


"Oh?"


"There're some things the girls prefer me not to say."


"Oh?"


"I'm sorry, Mick," she laughed, "it's really hard. Have you any idea what it is to be 20 year old?"


"Um, I suppose. But it was one Hell of a long time ago."


"Exactly, my point!"


"It is? Could you repeat that point again because I fail to get it?"


"Ok, look! My boy... he likes to be all grown up, see? He prefers hanging out with his friends, makes his own decisions, wears his hair the way he wants..."


"Look, Terry. Can you get to the point?"


"At the same time he... he comes home the other day... cut himself on something. The first thing he does is, he wants his mum to put a bandage on. Don't you see?"


"Ah, no!"


"There's part of him that's still a child. Those girls... they're barely out of their teens. They may act grown up most of the time, but... there's a part of them that's still coming to grips with their adult emotions. I think you boys need to keep in mind that sometimes... ah... they may act a little strange and go easy. There's maybe stuff in their lives that you're unaware of. Y'can't treat them as just one of the guys... y'need to watch what you say... be more sensitive."


"If you say so, Terry. I'd still like to know what it's all about. You've just given me a lesson on parenting. I'm not their parent, Terry..."


"No, Mick, you're definitely not! And you're not that great at the sensitivity side of things, are you?"


"Huh? What the fuck..." The conversation, however, was cut short by the bustling entry of the rest of the band. "Hey, Freddie," he called to his friend, "would you say I'm sensitive?"


"As a ten pound mallet," he laughed.


"See?" he spread out his arms.


"Guys?" Freddie said, "Karen's got this little jungle rhythm thing she'd like to demonstrate. Perhaps we can start a jam around it? Just play whatever seems right?"


"Hey, good idea!" agreed Mick, "at the very least it'll do as a warm up."


The rest of the practice went off without a hitch. Karen seemed to be growing in confidence and was contributing more to the creative side of things. Anna was businesslike, focussed, and didn't drop a note.


Towards the end, however, Mick had a surprise for Michelle. Grinning like a cheetah, he disappeared into the back room and came out carrying a maroon guitar case.


"Dah, dah!" he called, "a gift, ma'am, for you!" Mick dropped down on one knee and offered the case to the startled woman. "Open it!"


Eagerly, she unclicked the case. Inside was a shiney, red and white, Rickenbacker Bass Guitar.


"For me!" she squeaked.


"For your birthday!"


"But, but... oh, Mick, it must have cost a fortune! Why the fuck did you spend that..."


"It's second hand," he replied, "and I could take it back. We all put in for it."


Michelle burst into tears. "Oh, God!" she sobbed, "it's beautiful, I... oh God! But it's not... you shouldn't have. Oh God, it's beautiful!" She reached up and grabbed Mick around the neck, crushing him in a fierce hug. She continued to sob, quickly soaking his shoulder. "You fuckin' nice guy," she continued, "I know whose idea it was. How'd you know I always wanted... oh God, it's so fuckin' beautiful!"


"Well, see?" Mick eased her off him, "I wanted to apologise for upsetting you, and..." That started her off again - sitting down, this time, in front of the guitar case and bawling her eyes out. The others looked on bemused. "Don't get it wet," he cautioned, "you'll stain the finish."


"Oh, there's Mister fucking Sensitive," laughed Terry.


"But it's not even my birthday," Michelle wailed.


"So?" Mick said, "you're bound to have one this year? Or maybe next? Sometime anyway?"


"It's August," she sobbed, "the 19th of August!"


"There's an amp that came with it," Mick told her, "it's a Fender... solid enough!"


"Oh, God, I can't stand it!" Michelle bawled, "this is the nicest thing..."


"Mick," Terry said, "go show her how to play it! C'mon, the rest of you, let's finish up and we'll go around to our place for some supper. Mick, when you two've finished, come over as well."


"But Michelle'll need a lift!" Anna protested.


"Mick can bring her in his van!" Terry was in one of her bossy moods and no-one felt like arguing.


Mick took the Rickenbacker out of its case and walked back to the amp to plug up. "It's quite easy," he started to say, "it goes up in thirds..."


"Mick?" Michelle told him, "I know how to play a bass. Can I have a go, please?"


"Sure... sure thing!" he smiled, before handing over the instrument. He then picked up his SG and plugged that up. With Michelle starting a riff, Mick joined in for a little jam session.


With Anna and Karen sitting on gear at the back, Terry drove their van back to their place - Freddie sitting in the passenger's seat.


"Ok, Terry," Freddie said, "perhaps you can tell me what the fuck's going on?"


"What do you mean?"


"I mean there's 'manipulation' written all over your face. I've lived with you too long to miss when you're up to something."


"Let's just say that Mick and Michelle have a couple of issues to sort out."


"I fuckin' knew it," he declared, "I just fuckin' knew it."


"What do you know?" she laughed.


"Mick and Michelle, isn't it? He's screwing her, isn't he? That smug old bastard! At the pub, I knew he was holding back. He cheated on her with that Catherine and..."


"As usual, Freddie, you're way off base. Yet, not completely into the outfield as it turns out!"


"Ok, so what did I get right?"


"Let's just say that Mick and Michelle have some..."


"Yeah, 'issues,' I get the picture!"


"And you stay the fuck out of it, you hear? I don't want you dippin' your oar into murky waters and stirring the shit."


"Hey!" he put up his hand, "discretion! Never let it be said that..."


"Just shut the fuck up!" she laughed.


After about 5 minutes, the jam started to peter out. Michelle started to fool around, changing time signatures and switching rhythms - losing Mick in the process. Finally, Mick did a furious series of triplets running down the scales, bending over backwards like, maybe, Eddie van Halen. Michelle clapped and smiled.


"This is such a beautiful instrument," she told him, "the action is just perfect!"


"Yeah, I got the guy to put a lower bridge on it. It had a really high action when I first saw it and the fingers on your left hand would be practically dropping off after a whole gig."


"Mick, why are you being so damned nice to me all of a sudden?"


"Aren't I always?" he grinned.


"Well, yes and no. Sometimes I feel really close to you and other times... It just feels that you're ignoring me and..."


"Michelle? Look, I'm really in the dark, here. Just then you began to sound like a girlfriend... ah... aha..."


"What?"


"Insensitive? Hmm! I think the penny's beginning to drop."


"Mick... I... look, I feel really stupid. I never wanted any of this to happen."


"So, when I went with Catherine the other night... hmm! Call yourself stupid? Shit! I'm the original, dumbass kid! I just never gave it a thought."


"So?" Michelle gave a little nervous laugh, "here we are? What happens now?"


"Dunno! Michelle, uh, look. I'm just a bit overwhelmed right now. You're one helluva nice lady and a damn fine musician. You're really attractive and I'd have no problem taking you home right now..."


"But?"


"But, I don't think you want a casual, ah, relationship. I'm not sure whether I can handle that kind of set up at the moment."


"You've asked me what I want? Or are you making assumptions? I'm not a little girl!"


"No, definitely not!" he grinned, "so what *do* you want?"


"Just to hang out," she said in a tiny, emotional voice, "I want to be around you... be friends. Maybe to the next level, if it seems right?"


"I'm 53, Michelle."


"So? And Catherine's the same age as me? Did that stop you going to bed with her?"


"No! But that's different. Catherine was a one night thing. There was never any chance it could develop into something more."


"Y'sure? She was sure braggin' about it after!"


"Was she, the bitch?"


"And throwing it in my face!"


"Throwing it... so, she knew you were..." Michelle nodded, "and Anna knows?" again, she nodded, "and Terry? And everyone else?"


"Pretty much!"


"Everyone knows and I'm the last to find out?" he considered for a while, "that kinda rewrites the definition of 'stupid' doesn't it?"


"Terry said you were just a typical male. She said - I shouldn't repeat this - she said that I'd have to lie on your bed without any clothes before you'd sit up and take notice!"


"That'd work!" he grinned.


"She told me you'd come around in the end. She said 'patience and low cunning.'"


"Did she now?"


"But I prefer 'out in the open and cards on the table.'"


"Oh, sure!" he agreed. "Uh, shall we grab some supper at Freddie's? I'm kinda getting hungry."


"Ok," she said brightly, "what do we tell them?"


"Nothing!" Mick grinned, "let the bastards guess!"


When they arrived at Freddie and Terry's, a plate of savouries lay on the small coffeee table in the lounge. All the seats were taken so Mick and Michelle sat on the floor in the corner, side by side. The tension was obvious, with sidelong glances fired in their direction every couple of minutes. 


Mick wore a permanent grin, enjoying their discomfort. Everyone wanted to know but didn't know how to ask. Even Terry tried to act normally.


Mick noticed Freddie's older boy sitting beside Karen on the couch. They were chatting easily enough. Anna sat on an old rocker, nervously playing with her hair and Freddie lay back, bemused, on his. Terry couldn't sit still, getting up frequently to fetch something or taking plates back and forth.


"So, Michelle!" Terry said at last, "did you like the bass Mick got you?"


"It's perfect!" she replied, "I thought Mick said everyone chipped in?"


"Don't believe a word that man says," she grinned, "he found it and bought it himself."


"Did you?" Michelle turned to Mick, "you're such a sweetie!" She moved in and kissed him briefly on the cheek.


Anna looked shocked, Terry glanced quickly at her husband and Karen didn't notice - being deep in conversation with Freddie junior.


Michelle stayed leaning into Mick until, at last, he put his arm over her shoulders. She then rested her head on his.


"All right, you two!" Terry said, not being able to contain herself any longer, "have you resolved your little differences?"


"What differences?" said Mick, feigning innocence.


"You got things out in the open?"


"What things?" Mick asked. 


Terry rolled her eyes and sighed in frustration. "Don't fuck me about, Mick Johnson. I've known you too long..."


"Yes we have," Michelle intervened, "everything's all right, now."


"Good... that's good, isn't it?" she said.


"Michelle?" Anna said, "can we talk... out in the kitchen?" She looked curiously from Mick to her friend.


"No, Anna, I don't want to. Everything's just fine, don't worry."


"Shall we go now?" Anna asked, "I've got lectures in the morning."


"Um... I think I might stay for a bit," she grinned at Mick, "Mick'll give me a lift, won't you?"


"Yeah, sure!"


"See? You two go and... I'll catch up with you tomorrow?"


Anna reluctantly stood, followed by Karen. The drummer had mostly missed what had been happening and looked confused as Anna dithered - not really sure what she should do. At last Anna came over and stooped low towards Michelle.


"Y'got my phone number?" she said, "if you need anything, call me, okay?"


"Anna? I'm perfectly fine, okay? I might be home tonight or... I might stay over at Mick's. I'm not sure what's happening yet."


"Ah, I see?" she said, embarrassed. "I... I guess we'd better go, then?"


"See ya?" Michelle smiled.


"Yeah, see ya?"


"We can put you up, Mick?" Terry suggested.


"No, I... Look, everyone! Will you all just cut it out?"


"Cut what out?"


"Look who's playing disingenuous, now? You're all dying to ask whether Michelle and I are an item, no?"


"Well, are you?" Terry asked.


"Hmm, maybe? I just don't know right now." Mick looked at Michelle, who smiled back. "Just give us a chance to work things out, okay?"


"Mick, I... look, I'm sorry for interferring. Of course, take as much time as you need. It's just we all care so much for you... for both of you. You need a little love in your life and..."


"For fuck's sake!" Freddie spoke up, "will you get out of their damned faces? They're both grown ups, for fuck's sake! Let them sort out their own lives!"


"Maybe we'd better get movin'?" Mick said, taking Michelle by the hand. "You'd better keep an eye on your son, Terry, I think he's got a thing for drummers?"


"What? Oh, get out of here you cheeky bastard!" she laughed.


It was a short distance to Mick's house and they decided to walk. They strolled in silence for a while, holding hands, and lost in their own thoughts. Mick had to admit it felt good. There's was no pressure or plans to make. No dissection of their relationship.


"Anna's been acting strange," Michelle eventually said.


"Oh? In what way? 'This was good,' thought Mick, 'talking about other people instead.'


"She just seems a little tense around me these days."


"Ah! How long you known her?"


"Oh, since about nine years old. When she started our school she couldn't speak English. Some of the other kids gave her a hard time. I always felt a little on the outer, then, so I understood. Our teacher buddied us up. We've been friends ever since."


"What's her daddie do?"


"An engineer of some kind. Anna told me they arrived with barely the clothes they wore. Everything had been taken off them when they left Chechnya."


"Chechnya? Holy Ghost! That's a turbulent part of the World."


"He was working there for the Russians. Anna said they had a lot of stuff. Except, she said, she had to go to school with an armed security guard. She said, at first, she couldn't get used to the fact you could go anywhere you want in this country. She was scared to go the park... scared of everything... at first! The Chechens forced them to leave, took everything they had, then burnt their house to the ground."


"So how come they made it here?"


"They were in Yerevan... and her father just appealed to every agency, every refugee service, until they offered him a job. He said it was as far away from Central Asia as he could think of. He jumped at the chance."


"I bet!" he agreed, "what of Karen? How'd you meet her?"


"She heard us talking in the cafe at Uni about forming a band. She came over and said she had a set of drums. We'd never spoken before. Neither Anna nor I knew much about her."


"Yeah, she seems a bit on the outer."


"Kinda shy, I think. She's not great mixer. But then Anna and I are practically joined at the hip."


"I can imagine that could be a bit intimidating. What of this boyfriend?"


"Yeah, well, see, we don't really know. Anna said she thought she had this really controlling boyfriend, but, I think, that's just the way Anna thinks. She's just guessing like the rest of us."


"So no-one really knows? No-one's actually seen this guy or talked to him?"


"Nope! She just takes off when we're done. We drop her off at her car, then she goes. Always on time, though, never late for anything!"


"I've noticed!"


Mick steered Michelle up his path - cautioning her about the weeds growing up through the cracks. She reminded him she had a musician father, saying she was used to weeds growing in driveways.


"Very droll," he smiled. Mick decided he liked her sense of humour. Her father, The Dodger, had a full sack of quips he recalled. "How's your dad going to take this, ah, 'friendship?'"


"He isn't," she grinned, "because I'm not going to tell him for a long, long time."


"He's no fool!" Mick replied, "he'll sniff it out then my name'll be mud."


"Mick? I'm not his responsibility anymore. I *can* go out with whoever..."


"Try explaining that to The Dodger? He had a quite an effective left hook, I recall?"


Mick guided Michelle past the band gear cluttering the hallway and brought her into the lounge. The TV served as a table for an Orange amplifier and Mick removed a battered old Yamaha acoustic from the sofa so they could both sit together. "That's ole number one," he explained , "the first guitar I ever owned. It's still got a reasonable tone, listen?"


"Play something?" she said, "just for me?"


Mick settled into a simple tune - one Michelle recognised from her father's record collection. It was a minor hit for one of Mick's bands, The Strobes.


'You recognise me!' he sang.


'Though you let me be'


'Cos when we were thru'


'I still recognised you.'


"Who wrote that corn?" Michelle asked.


"I did!" he laughed, "it gets better?"


"Yeah?" 


"It's late," he sighed, "I've got things to do in the morning."


"Sure," she replied, uncertainly. "I've got lectures, too. Can I grab a ride off you..."


"In the morning?"


"Yeah, in the morning!" Michelle said.


"Look, Michelle," Mick turned towards her, finally, "I'm so not sure about all of this. I only have the one bed, and that's mine. If you want to share it, I've no problem with that. You'd take up a Hell of a lot less room than Freddie did when he came here one night after a fight with Terry," he smiled. "If you want to..."


"No pressure, huh?" she interrupted, "we don't have to do anything except cuddle? I think it's best to take it slowly, y'know? If it feels right..."


"Michelle?" he laughed, "I've never known whether anything 'feels' right or 'feels' wrong. In my experience, relationships either work or they don't and it's got fuck all to do with the bedroom. To be honest, I'm not sure what I 'feel' at the moment, except tired."


"Mick, I'm sorry. I kinda manipulated you into all this. I just didn't think... if you prefer I could catch a cab..."


"No," he rolled his eyes in frustration, "get your butt into the bed. Just don't expect the Earth to move." She opened her mouth to say something, changed her mind, smiled, and headed off to the bathroom. Mick shouted after that she might find a spare toothbrush in the cabinet. He then put down the guitar and followed.


Michelle opted for a quick shower so Mick was already in bed when she finally came into the bedroom. She smiled at him as she towelled her hair.


Mick watched her as she came and sat on the foot of the bed. She was wearing Mick's towling robe - so long on her at that it brushed the floor. Her hair was free and her curly blong locks framed her face nicely, he thought. The robe had parted a little at the waist and Mick had a glimpse of smooth, shapely legs, demurely folded.


She was curvy, whereas Anna had, perhaps, a classic catwalk model's body - long legs, tight arse with breasts on the small side. Michelle was shorter, a little thicker, but with a well-rounded arse and an average, but well-shaped bust. Michelle's face wasn't as classically symetrical as Anna's, who'd have no trouble gracing the cover of Vogue magazine. But Mick thought she had a sexy smile and dancing eyes - blue, he thought - and a faint splash of freckles for highlight.


Not that he was a poster child anymore, he mused. But he hadn't put on any weight unlike his friend Freddie. He'd kept as much of his hair as nature would allow, tying it back in a pony tail. It had been blond, once, but now it was kind of mousy, streaked with strands of silver. 


His bare chest had a light sprinkle of hair. It was decorated, as always, with a single silver pendant of the Star of David. 'Was he Jewish?' girlfriends had asked him in the past. 'Nah! A gift from an Israeli girl... long ago. Had they been in love? Oh, yes, in the worst possible way. Did he want to talk about it? No, after twenty five years the memories are vivid, painful, still raw... she was the big one that got away!'


"Are you Jewish?" Michelle asked, suddenly.


"No!" he grinned ruefully, "just a gift!"


Michelle shuffled off to his drawers and extracted a T-shirt. She turned and looked enquiringly at Mick, who nodded. Mick was honoured by a brief flash of bare back, as Michelle dropped the robe and quickly threw the T-shirt over her head. She then turned and slipped into the bed next to him.


"I want to read for a bit," he told her.


"Oh? What'yer reading?"


"'Babes in Toyland, the making of a Rock and Roll band.'"


"Read it!" she declared, "it's great!" She leaned in, placing her head against his. "I think Kat Bjaeland is so cool."


"Can't sing like that for long," Mick told her, "without shaggin' your voice. I bet she smokes like a train as well. A short but interesting career!" he smiled.


"Maybe she didn't want a 'career?'" Michelle replied, "maybe she just wanted to be in a band and play punk?"


"Sooner or later, you want to make some money doing what you love. If you're successful, when is enough, enough? When do you call it a day and go back packing groceries in a supermarket? I'd say, if you don't plan for some sort of career, then what are you going through all the pain and tears for? Doesn't make sense."


"Hmm," Michelle sighed and lightly stroked his chest. Mick turned his head towards her and found her expectant, her lips parted. Giving into the inevitable, he moved in for a kiss.


Her mouth worked effectively against his - her tongue intruding. It was no goodnight kiss - more of a good morning. Mick turned her onto her back and bore her down to the pillow. His chest had a sensation of warm cotton, with two pinpricks, hard, but rubbery, grazing against it. Her arm came around his back - fingers exploring his neck and shoulders, before drifting southwards.


He was persuaded in the nicest possible way and made up his mind to enjoy the journey - come what may.


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KATZMAREK (C)





























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