Chapter 18

'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, "what most people think. 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."