Chapter 2

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 hurredly, 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 seperate 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 know..."

"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."