Chapter 5

Karen drove home in the little Mazda. She turned the little car into the long driveway, past her parent's house, and down the back to the sleep-out that was her home.

At this time of the year the gravel was heavy with dew and rutted. She liked to swerve a little down the last part and feel the back of the car begin to drift. With a shower of stones she brought the car to a halt outside her door.

Junior had a smile on his face - like most guys, she thought, he liked his thrills.

As usual, her parents were long in bed. They'd had her, their only daughter, later in life and they were now well into the sixties. Since she was sixteen, however, they'd allowed her to live in the sleep-out so she could have over who she wanted, could come and go when she liked, have her own life.

Her parents had both arrived as war orphans in the early fifties. Her father was Austrian, her mother Czech. Arriving with nothing, they built their own lives here with humility, strength, and hard work. As a girl, Karen knew little but long work hours, thrift and clean living.

There was always music in the household - opera, the classics and jazz. Both her parents played the piano and her mother sang. Karen had been taught piano and the violin as a child but it hadn't taken. She complained her fingers were too thick and she couldn't move them around fast enough.

Her old drum kit was piled up against the wall of the lounge. It was an old Tama with a Zyn cymbal set, battered, and bought for 100 bucks at a garage sale. She was now so inured to Freddie's huge Premier outfit, there was scarcely much point in setting it up. When The Curse earned a bit of money for gear, she thought, she'd buy her own professional kit. She'd feel less like a bludger. Discarded on her twoseater was a catelogue from the Ludwig Percussion Instrument Company of America. She'd already picked out her future kit and it was spread over the centre pages.

"Ever seen a punk band with such a big drum kit?" Michelle had asked her one day. "And how do you suppose you're going to carry that around on tour? You'll soon get sick of setting up, breaking down and loading out."

'Maybe?' she thought, but she didn't intend to play punk and rock throughout her career. Freddie had played jazz - why couldn't she learn that style as well?

Freddie had taught her the brushes, the felts, and the sticks he called 'knobbies.' He'd showed her the rimshot, the snap, the roll and the shot he called the 'slap and tickle.' There was little he didn't know and was willing to pass on to his devoted protege.

"Lori Barbero plays with reversed sticks, overhand, like this?" she'd told Freddie one day.

"Alright if you're built like a wrestler," he'd replied, "but it'd be real tough on the forearms and wrists."

As usual, he was right, and it was a tough technique to master.

Her parents had indulged her desire to be a drummer. They thought it a worthwhile hobby, providing it didn't detract from her studies. They'd no idea she intended to make it a career and would be horrified.

Junior took out his tobacco pouch and began to roll. Karen knew his parents would lecture him for weeks if they discovered he smoked. Her little sleep-out was one of the few places he could go to relax with no fear his behaviour would be reported back.

She kind of felt sorry for him. Although his parents were liberal in a way she was envious of, there was little the poor guy could do without earning some sort of criticism.

His childhood was spent moving from place to place. He'd changed schools so often they'd become a pastiche - Junior having little idea which schools his memories came from. Then there was the separation from his father as Freddie went on lengthy tours, leaving him and his brother alone with a bitter mother.

Freddie senior became a larger than life concept in his imagination. He was a figure that visited his mother sometimes and played ball with him. Then he was gone again and his mother's face dimmed with sadness afterwards.

His brother Mike was older and had left the nest. He rarely came visiting, these days, and had never got over his resentment towards his father. Mike had gone up to Auckland, to drama school, and Junior had known for years he was gay. Liberal, that his parents professed they were, it was still a bitter pill for them to swallow - preferring to ignore it.

"What would you like to hear?" she asked Junior.

Karen had a huge collection of CDs that covered most styles of music. She'd had a generous allowance growing up and ploughed most of it into music.

"Your choice," he replied, "surprise me?"

"Fleetwood Mac?"

"Huh?

"Like when they were blues band? Y'know, Mick Fleetwood was a really good drummer."

"If you say so," he said, "d'you think of anything else besides drumming?"

"Umm, not really," she grinned, "I'm going to be the best. Freddie said I should go to California, he said..."

"My dad says a lot of things," Junior interrupted.

"Ok, what's the problem?" she asked with a sigh, "what's your dad said now?"

"He gives me this big lecture the other night about going to Uni next year. He never once asked me what I want to do."

"You don't want to? What're you planning to do?"

"I dunno. I really like hanging around with you guys. I wish I could be like a permanent roadie. Mum and dad would have a fit!"

"They would," she laughed, "but is that a career?"

"Depends?" he said, "there'd be other bands. I could get experience with handling the equipment, security?"

"Security? You?" she laughed, "a skinny runt like you guarding the stage?"

"Lighting? Sound? Lots of stuff I could do."

"Well, to be a lighting technician you need your electricians' ticket. Sound engineers usually do that course up at the community college. You still need some sort of qualification."

"Dad dropped out of school when he was fifteen. He did College of Education for his teaching certificate a few years back, otherwise he's got shit."

"That was a different era, Junior. Now it's all scraps of paper... shit like that."

"I know how to set up and mike the drum kit?"

"Junior, that's enough for us, but what if you had to apply for a job? 'What qualifications have you got?' That's the first question."

"So? I'll do community college and be a sound engineer? I can then work in studios, concerts, all kinds of stuff."

"If that's what you want to do, why not? You just have to convince your parents."

"Yeah, I know," he said, sullenly. "You don't want to talk to dad for me, do you?"

"No," she shivered, "you've got to do that solo."

Karen was tired and needed to go to bed. She didn't want to kick Junior out nor drive him anywhere. In any case, it was a long way back to town. He sometimes stayed the night on the twoseater, but he was way too big and his feet stuck out over the end. She had a good sized double bed, of course, but she wasn't sure what message that would send. He was, after all, an 18 year old guy.

"Junior?" she said, "I really need some shut eye. Do you really want to sleep on that couch? It doesn't seem comfortable to me."

"I'll be alright."

"Look," she told him, "I've got tons of room in my bed but I don't want you to get the wrong idea."

"Umm, sure," he brightened, "you can trust me."

"Junior, your a guy!" she smiled.

"So? So?"

"C'mon, then, but keep over your side, okay?"

"As if..."

Meanwhile, Mick's head was bursting with a confusion of thoughts and images. The barely functioning conscious part was sensing the potential danger in the atmosphere gathering around him.

He looked sidelong at his girlfriend Michelle, smiling sweetly, but with words dripping with sarcasm. To his left, he saw Anna with her eyes narrowed like a cat ready to spring.

Michelle was trying to spar with Sabra, but he remembered something about his ex girlfriend Michelle couldn't possibly know. She was a master of the put down, the 'cut off at the knees' comment, that'd sent many from the room furious, their ego crushed. Michelle was a mere morsel to her.

At the same time, Sabra couldn't know just what a furious temper Anna had. Mick found himself moving a bottle a little more out of her reach. Anna's rage could be unfocussed, unbridled and irrational and she'd leap at the defence of Michelle if she thought her friend was getting a hard time.

He felt himself withdrawing and the talk around him fading to a mumble. Mick lost all sense of time - it could be an hour, though common sense suggested it was less than a minute.

"Anna, isn't it?" Sabra continued, "you're a beautiful girl and, I hear, you have a great voice. I'm based in the States, now, and manage the third largest talent management company in California. If you and the girls need any advice, give me a call? This is my mobile."

Mick was dimly aware of a fan of business cards appearing on the table in front of him.

Anna relaxed - reading the card carefully. Mick felt her vigilance fade, leaving Michelle to face Sabra alone. 'Divide and rule' Mick thought, 'was a favourite Sabra tactic.'

"I didn't catch the gig, Mick..."

"Huh?" He was startled by the mention of his name.

"I was having dinner with some industry people when someone said you were playing up here. I was too late, I'm sorry."

"Perhaps you should have had a feed here instead?" Michelle said.

"Yes!" Sabra dismissed Michelle's comment and turned back to Mick. "I see you're doing well for yourself?" she said, eyeing Mick's hand firmly clasped to Michelle's, "you always did like them young and blond."

Mick felt Michelle stiffen beside him. He gave her hand a cautionary squeeze. He knew he had to take control or there'd be a colossal catfight. He gathered himself together "It's nice to see you after all this time," he told her, "maybe we ought to catch up - are you in town long?" Hopefully, he thought, the answer was 'no.'

"Just a few days," she replied to Mick's relief, "actually, I do have some business to discuss with you. Can we do lunch, maybe tomorrow?"

"What business?"

"It's personal!"

Michelle's eyes narrowed. On his left, Anna was still reading the business card and dreaming of superstardom.

"Are you really from California?" Anna asked in wonder.

"Yes, honey, I moved there about 15 years ago... with my husband."

"What do you mean personal?" Mick asked, "what do we have to discuss?"

"All I can say is it's important. It's important to you as well, Mick, so don't stand me up."

"Sabra, I..."

"I really need to be elsewhere, Mick, great catching up and make sure you call, huh?" With that she swept out.

Terry and Freddie then came over and Mick assured them everything was alright. He then drew Michelle to her feet and fled - not wishing the questions, the concern.

The pair drove home in silence. Sabra's unexpected appearance had sent long supressed memories flooding though his mind and he was grateful to Michelle she chose not to interrogate him.

He remembered the fights and arguments, now - often over trivial things. The Dodger had mentioned he was known as 'Comeback' because he always had the final word. If that was true, what of Sabra? They must have spent many a long night each trying to end the argument with a suitable touche.

The following days would be spent making up in the most passionate way possible. That was what remembered most and the final dream of his 'Sabby.'

Mick thought she'd matured into a true beauty - perhaps more than during their energetic sex sessions. She still kept her glorious bust but her hips had flared a little, creating a better proportion to her body.