THE CURSE


By KATZMAREK(C)


Chapter Seventeen


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'Since when is it s crime to invite a woman down to my car?' Mal thought, 'she's over 16 and I never forced her?'


But this scene was looking bad for him and he knew he needed to talk fast and convincingly. Already he could hear people coming down the driveway and a voice calling out for Anna.


"Hey!" he yelled, "down here! I need some help here!"


Someone came running. He saw it was Mick and not far behind, the cute little bass player from The Curse. Several more people were coming, including that huge Maori and Anna's friend, Dimitru.


"Where is she?" Mick panted.


"Here," Mal said desperately. "I don't know what happened, she flaked, and..."


"What's she doing here?" Michelle asked, suspiciously.


Mal explained they'd only come down here to fetch some vodka from his car. He added he never touched her.


"She's out cold," Mick declared. "Rangi, can you help me get her back to the house?"


Dimitru stood staring at Mal, his eyes narrowed. Mal knew that look -  he'd seen it before - and no way was he going to remain with him while the others took Anna back up.


Rangi picked her up in his arms and transported her effortlessly up the drive. Mal remained close to Mick, keeping a watchful eye on the Rumanian.


"Nothing happened, Mick," Mal desperately told him.


"So you said," Mick replied.


"Hey, I've heard you get around a bit," Mal continued. "You know how it is."


"I'd thought once was enough, Mal," Mick said. "You're one for punishment, that's for sure." 


"Y'blame me? I've heard you've been there."


"I have? Where?"


"You know. I figured you for someone with a good eye. I heard you knocked her up?"


"You did?" Mick raised his eyebrows. "What the fuck are you on about? She tell you she was pregnant?"


"C'mon, Mick? I know about the baby. Y'can't keep all the action to yourself."


"Mal?" Mick stopped. Dimitru hurried past as Mal moved a little closer to the tall guitarist. "How much have you drunk, tonight? Y'sure you're not on anything else? Anna is a dyke - no, she *really* is a lesbian. She's never slept with anyone except girls."


"What about the baby?"


"Well, the only baby I know about is Emily and she's mine and Michelle's daughter. Anna's never been pregnant to my knowledge. You've sure got your wires crossed."


"She told me she had a baby," Mal insisted. "Is she just a compulsive liar or is she whacko?"


"You do the math, pal. Let me have your opinion, cos, I sure as Hell haven't figured that one out."


"You saying you've never fucked her?"


"Never!"


"And your manager?"


"Ah, well, that's a private matter."


"Ok," Mal shook his head.


"Tell me?" Mick asked, "why do you do it? I mean, what are you trying to prove? You wife is up there bombed, and you're off trying to whore yourself around?"


"Hey, coming from you isn't that kinda hypocritical?"


"It might seem that way," Mick conceded, "but, when I took up with our manager in the States, I'd broken up with Michelle. Sabra and I go back a long way. Michelle, well, she's yet to make up her mind. I never purposefully cheated on any of them. That'd might not always have been so in the past, but, I spent long years alone regretting that. You need to think about that, Mal, before you're left with nothing - not even your pride."


"Renee and I haven't been getting on that well for years," he told Mick. "She's an alcoholic, I..."


"Get her some help, Mal, or get out of the situation. The way you're going you're just leaving chaos behind you. Sometime, it's going to all blow up in your face."


"You tell me what to do? My marriage is not a marriage. I get pressure from everywhere. Shit, if I spit on the footpath it gets reported all over the fucking place..."


"Hey, you telling me this? You get paid shitloads for the inconvenience. Obscurity is fine but it doesn't get you a Mercedes and a mansion in the hills. You groove on it - it gets you girls, attention and money. You don't like it, fine, get a job at the supermarket and stop whining."


"Hey?" Mal called after, "we're both the same, you and I - just a couple of inadequate jerks who're defined by public acclamation. Off the stage we're nothing - just empty vessels waiting for cues."


"Y'think?" Mick turned.


"Yeah! Fucking's what makes us feel real."


"Don't need the cheap psychoanalysis, Mouton. Why don't you fetch your missus and take her home, huh? Married to an arsehole like you I'm not surprised she drinks. I'd want to be drunk waking up next to you."


"Fuck you!"


Mick gave him the big finger before hurrying back up to the house.


When Mick arrived, Rangi had taken her through and put her on the bed. Michelle was sitting beside her trying to get a response.


"Do we need the doctor?" he asked.


"She's coming 'round," Michelle said. "Just had a blackout."


"She gets many of those?" he asked.


"Now and then," she shrugged. "It's a nervous thing, I think. She'll snap out of it and she'll be fine."


"Is she on anything?"


"Just the normal medication she takes every day. Unless Mouton slipped her something?"


"Possible, I suppose. After the last time, and for what he had in mind, I wouldn't have thought he'd risk it, though."


"Breathing's ok," Michelle said, "and pulse is fine. I see a little light back in her eyes."


"You wanna take her home, or should she stay where she is?"


"Leave her," she replied. "I'll check in now and again. I've got to go to Emily."


"Sure, go!"


Everyone had gone by nine except Michelle, Anna and, of course, Emily. Michelle brought her out for Mick to have a hold and smiled as he did the coochie thing. They hung out for a while in Mick's lounge, watched a bit of TV and talked.


Later, they insinuated themselves in the bed bedside Anna to sleep. Michelle adopted the spoon position and Mick had his arms around her - just like days of old.


He couldn't sleep, though, and began turning over the things Mouton had said. Did 'fucking make him feel real?' Perhaps there was something in what he said, although he was loath to admit it. Allowing someone the likes of Mal 'The Man' Mouton to get the better of him was intolerable. But the guy wasn't a complete idiot, Mick thought, you don't rise to be a top show host by being stupid.


Take this woman pressed up against him, he wondered. She wasn't prepared to fully enter a relationship with him the way he wanted and had herself an emotional alternative. Sabra, too, was reluctant to commit herself and used the 'pressing business at home' argument. What were these women telling him in their separate ways? 'Mick, I don't trust you enough to completely give you my heart'? Was 'sex the most important thing to you' a true statement? He wouldn't have thought so, but, clearly, something was putting these wonderful women off.


Michelle's wonderful butt was stimulating him. Idly, he moved his hand down to cup her panty covered sex and began to rub. She soon stirred, turned towards him and smiled.


"What're you after?" she whispered softly.


"Can't," he whispered back. "Not with your friend here."


"She's asleep," she considered. "If we're careful..."


"Really?" he grinned back in delight.


"Sure! Just don't rock too much - nice and slow, huh?" Michelle's eyes were soft and doelike. Clearly, she'd been thinking similar thoughts to Mick. She turned on her back and maneuvered under him as Mick lifted his body up to accomodate. With the dexterity that only women seemed to possess, she slid off her panties while Mick lay on top of her kissing.


She guided him into her slowly then smoothed her hands over his arse. Cheek to cheek, they undulated together carefully, anxious not to wake Anna. They paused for a long, smoochy kiss and that was when Mick felt another hand on his arse. He looked over at Anna as the hand slid up his back. She had her eyes open and was watching him - her mouth stretched in a smile. Michelle followed his eyes - they must have looked to guilty kids behind the bike sheds.


"It's ok," Anna grinned. "Is nice!"


"Sorry, Anna, we..." Michelle started to say.


"No, no, you continue!"


Mick sighed and looked down at Michelle. "Shall we?"


"You still want to?" she replied.


"She doesn't seem to mind?"


"Mmm," she stroked his arse with her fingertips, "not as if you've never done it before?"


"Not usually with a spectator," he kissed her before thrusting smoothly into her.


"Uh - you love it!"


Anna turned onto her side and caressed Mick's back as he moved up and down. "Nice muscles," she said. "Mich, I..."


"Huh? Uh, I - oh, I'm a little busy, Anna, oh."


"Mich?" Her were eyes soft. She parted her lips and moved towards Michelle's mouth. Gently, they kissed, and Mick watched their loving expressions. "Touch me?" Anna told Michelle in a small voice.


"Uh," she sighed, "I need Mick right now, Anna."


"Sure, sure, I..."


"Mick, can you - uh, touch her? Anna - oh, is that..."


"Fine!" Anna said.


"Eh? Where?" Mick asked.


"Don't you know?" Michelle chuckled.


"Ok, sure!"


"Good - now, keep going!" Michelle ordered.


As Mick resumed thrusting into his girlfriend, he reached out with his free hand and felt down Anna's body to her crotch. Anna captured it and pushed it into her panties. Michelle bounced back at him, gasping and moaning, as he shook his fingers over Anna's hot pussy.


Michelle came loudly and Mick shot soon after, giving his girlfriend a deep kiss as he came. Anna then moved into the frame, panting, and he kissed her too until she gasped for air. For good measure he pulled up Anna's top and feasted on her too-perfect boobs as she bumped and ground against his fingers.


"That was new," he smiled at the two women.


"Lucky you!" Michelle grinned.


"Is nice!" Anna panted.


He then rolled in between them and accepted their embraces. Anna and Michelle held hands across his chest and it made him mildly uncomfortable. He couldn't dismiss the idea that he'd been manipulated somehow.


This was turning into a situation he thought might lead to The Curse's destruction. He couldn't see how this tripartite set up was going to work, but, right at this moment, he had to concede it was a lot of fun.


So typical rock and roll to live in the moment and not care about the future. The future was for regret while the present for enjoyment. He somehow thought Mal had scored another point over him and it made him furious.


The girls made him breakfast and brought it and Emily back to bed. Michelle fed her while she, Mick and Anna did the two mums and a dad gig. Around noon, they emerged into the summer day to view the destruction from last night. Thankfully, there was little damage, only some rubbish to pick up.


The Oldsmobile Cutlass Mick had acquired from the States was a 1971 model, fully restored, from the golden age of the muscle car. It was a two door convertible with a big block, Rocket 455, seven and a half litre V8, topping 400hp, under the 'hood'. Exxon Mobile may well be rubbing their hands in glee because it was a thirsty beast, but Mick could well afford the gas.


Like American cars of the period, the suspension was way too soft and the brakes indifferent. Mick had Lockheed drilled disks installed all round but it was still a heavy car to pull up in a hurry. The Cutlass had a heart stopping understeer and was certainly not a car you'd like to throw around a mountain road. But it got attention and beat everyone in a stoplight grand prix. The engine torque was enough to get an ore train rolling and Mick adored every highly polished piece of his red and cream beauty. It simply looked the business and a car like that deserved to have two beautiful blond babes as accessories on a summer day.


Top down, with the girls in summery halters ensconced in the front seat, was pure California and Mick made the most of it. He felt like a King, like Elvis before he'd swallowed so many pills and hamburgers. Around the entire waterfront with the V8 grumbling contentedly to itself, Mick rarely felt better.


Every time they stopped they'd attract a small crowd of admirers with Mick fielded questions. The problem was, you couldn't leave it anywhere on the street or some loser would likely key it. Optimists may well try and line their Nissan Silvias up against it at every traffic light but Mick wasn't into acquiring speeding tickets. He passed on every invitation and it must've made the boy racers furious. 'I know I can, so why bother?' he told a grinning Michelle as they watched another Japanese coupe speed away all alone.


They called around and picked up Junior and Karen before heading out into the country for a picnic. Emily was safely bundled in her baby seat in the back - a reminder to Karen what she had to look forward to. Mick took them up to his plot - there was a river, a swimming hole and an old barn that'd survived when the land was subdivided from a large farm. The found a nice spot then spread out the blankets and laid out the food.


"Hey, Mick?" Michelle asked, "you decided about the Grammys?"


"Yeah, I'll go, I think. I always thought not showing up was a little ingracious."


"Yeah," agreed Michelle. "Anna and I were thinking of joining you," she said. "Karen?"


"I'll pass," said their drummer. "The baby's giving me Hell."


"Puking?"


"Practically every morning."


"It'll pass, you'll see."


This wasn't what Mick had in mind. He wanted to sort things out with Sabra and the girls might seriously cramp his style. But, if he argued with them, it was bound to sound suspicious. Michelle knew of his plans to stay with Sabra for the week and he couldn't help thinking that was part of their decision to go.


"You staying with Sabra?" Karen asked. He looked up at his daughter and wondered at her timing. Was it deliberate and she was tossing a stone into the still pond? Mick decided to put his cards on the table. To lie at this point would likely rebound on him.


"Yeah," he said. "She has an apartment - I'll be staying there."


"What happens to us?" Michelle asked. "Where will we stay?"


Here it comes, thought Mick. "I suppose a hotel. I'm not sure whether Sabra has the room."


Michelle's expression hardened and he saw the warning signals.


"The Hotel Intercontinental?" suggested Anna, typically one step behind the subtext of the discussion. "It's really nice there."


"Perhaps we can talk about it later?" Michelle said, deferring the argument till a more advantageous time.


"I'm going for a swim," declared Anna, and she whipped off her halter to reveal a bikini top that'd make every fan of The Curse scream. Certainly, it left little to the imagination and, if his daughter hadn't been there, he might've made a little more of the situation now they were all 'friends.'


Michelle watched her go as she shed her wrap-around, eyeing her cute arse, which her bottoms barely covered but half.


"Careful you don't loose your swimsuit, Anna," Michelle laughed. Mick rolled away onto his front. It was barely more than he could stand.


Later, Mick dropped the girls off before going home. He was 100 bucks the poorer but thought the day well worth the gas. The Curse were getting on together well and into a working mood. The day had become an informal planning session with ideas thrown around for the their third CD.


The CD following a hit was always problematic. Should the band stick to the same formula that worked in the past or change tack? A more sophisticated sound, perhaps, now they could chisel a good working budget? Or maybe they should stick to what they know and risk the public wouldn't tire of the same old shit? Logic suggests if the public liked their previous CD why would they want a copy?


Mick was for more acoustic work. He liked simple arrangements of well crafted songs. He opined that many a weak song was disguised by over engineering and lavish layering. A corny lyric could be drowned out or rendered unimportant by the use of standard pop hooks. Anna had the pipes to carry the song - she didn't need the full orchestra.


But where were these wonderful songs going to come from? They'd been flat out working and the songwriting team had little time for composition? An album could be fleshed out with outakes from previous sessions, sure, but they needed a good 5 or 6 new numbers to build around.


Mick had a song he wanted to sing, but it wasn't original. It was by an Irish folk singer called Andy Irvine and it was called 'Sabra'. Sabra is the name of a hardy cactus that grows in the Negev desert. It was a song of desire, of loss and of mourning. The song was both pretty and soulful, but Michelle didn't like it on principle.


She hit back with a song called 'My Fragile Rose' she determined to sing herself. It didn't take a great leap of the imagination who the rose was and Mick was unimpressed. She talked him into accompanying her on guitar providing Anna play keyboard for him on his song.


But The Curse wouldn't be The Curse without a little rage and thunder. Mick had a riff and Karen another with which to build a song. Four songs in total, but at least it was a start.


Mick was relaxed. Smash hits were sometimes constructed from even less and Deep Purple, in particular, had the reputation of coming up with songs within five minutes of recording. He saw little reason why The Curse couldn't come up with stuff in the studio, now they had the luxury of a bit of time.


This was to be the swan song to their present recording contract. A good album was clearly going to impact on any future negotiations and Mick insisted they put as much effort into it as possible.


By the state of today's industry, two years at the top was reckoned to be the life expectancy of a band. Mick wanted to break that expectation and push The Curse's career out another two years. But much depended on how well the band worked together and whether internal tensions would boil over.


Flyblown/Sony had made enough out of the band to give them the artistic freedom they requested. To make things difficult for The Curse may see them talking to a rival company so they were sweet, very sweet.


Mick got his way and the band recorded 'Sabra' the song. Mick and Anna doubled on keyboards with Mick laying down the melody while Anna devised a descant. To this Mick added some fingerpicking acoustic guitar and Karen, later, some work with the brushes. On the original, Irvine used a tin whistle but none of The Curse were competent on this difficult instrument. Similarly, the original uileann pipes had to be discarded in favour of a Korg. There was no-one who could play the Irish bagpipes.


The recording session was relaxed with Flyblown happy to allow The Curse to work around their other commitments. Mick suspected the boys at Sony had no great expectations, in any case, believing, perhaps, that the band had little more to give.


He wondered, too, what pressure was being exerted behind his back to persuade Anna to go solo and ditch the other members. He knew it was bound to come, but whether she'd want to leave Michelle for a career was anyone's guess.


These blackouts she has were a worry and he wondered at the underlying cause. He'd checked the internet the night following the picnic and came up with a form of epilepsy. It all seemed to fit together and would explain a lot of things.


But Anna had gone through exhausting tours with The Curse and she'd been fine. The trouble seemed to occur when she was parted from Michelle for some reason. It had to be stress related, he thought, coupled with alcohol or drugs. They would need to identify her triggers and make sure she didn't flip on them in the future - providing, they had a future, of course.


A good slice of The Curse's fans would ditch them overnight in preference to a new sensation - that was simply the business. Of the rest, perhaps half liked what they were doing and the other half were concert junkies who'd turn up to any show. Mick reckoned they had a solid fan base who ought to provide them with a living regardless, but they shouldn't expect to be making the sort of money they were growing used to. Now was the time to consolidate and not get too used to the lavish lifestyle.


And each of them needed other options, just in case everything disintegrated.


He spoke to Sabra that night and discussed all their options. Yes, she was aware of interest in Anna as a solo performer, a future star in her own right, and it only made sense for her to seriously consider that. Frankly, she couldn't see The Curse going on without her - their music wasn't that exceptional, as far as the market was concerned, with a lot of bands doing the same thing.


Mick told her of his suspicians about epilepsy and she agreed it fitted some of the known facts. She also asked him how he was getting along with the girls and that moved the conversation into risky territory.


But if there was to be any future at all with Sabra he needed to honest. He explained about the BBQ and the picnic the next day. She was quiet, but, surprisingly understanding.


"They want to come to the Grammys," he told her.


"Ah," she chuckled, "to keep an eye on you?"


"Yes and no. Anna wants to make the scene..."


"And Michelle wants to keep you in their bed?"


"Yep."


"Whereas you, on the other hand, fancied a little skinny dipping with your ex?"


"Something like that."


"I'm not fighting over you, Mick. You keep The Curse happy, it'll make things easier."


"But..."


"But nothing, Mick. I'm actually relaxed about this. Maybe I'm finally getting over you, huh? I figure there're lots of spunky toyboys around, so..."


"Hey?"


"Hey, what, Mick? When you slept with the girls, were you thinking of me?"


"Actually, I was, Sabra, I..."


"Damn, Mick, and here's me thinking you were finally becoming open and honest. Obviously, you've still a long way to go."


"I was..."


"See you in LA next month, Mick, bye."


Mick threw the phone across the room and went for his stash. Opening the tin he found it was empty - he'd smoked all his dope. Retrieving the phone again, he began to call around people he knew would be able to sell him some more.


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KATZMAREK(c)


