THE CURSE


By KATZMAREK(C)


Chapter Seven.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"Ah, but you can act for me?"


"Sure, if you so instruct."


"I do."


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


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


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


"Journos having orgasms," Mick shrugged.


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


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


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


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


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


"Exactly!"


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


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


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


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


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


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


"Same old shit by a different smell."


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"Yes?"


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


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


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


"And?"


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


"Fuck!"


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


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


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


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


"What?" Mick asked.


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


"So?"


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


"Hey, do I look like a blabbermouth?"


"Obstetrics Records!"


"Huh?"


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


"So?"


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


"You serious?"


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


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


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


"I will, ah?"


"Randal, my name's Randal."


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


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


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


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


"Exactly!"


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"What?"


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


"Japan? Australia? Are you serious?"


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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KATZMAREK(c)