Chapter 6

Michelle was a sweaty, energetic and passionate ball of fire. The game excited Mick, even though he was worried the noise of their lovemaking would be heard next door. Only later, when she was satisfied, and lying soft and contentedly in his arms, could he tell her of the startling news.

She told him 'it would be good for him, because he'd always wanted to be a father.'

"But I was never any father in the real sense," he tried to explain, "so it hardly counts. I just feel cheated of all those years, those experiences of watching her grow up."

"Softie," she tickled him, "I hope she does make contact. I'd like to see you do the paternal thing. I think you'd be a natural."

"You going to tell The Dodger?"

"Why not? He's probably got a couple of kids somewhere that he doesn't know about. He can talk!"

"Yeah, The Dodger was one for the ladies, that's for sure."

"Sounds like you all got your fair share."

"We were young and on the stage. Girls thought we were rich and famous."

"Sure, and all that long hair and tight trousers?"

The single bed was narrow and Mick thought he'd have trouble getting off to sleep with Michelle pressed up closely. He needn't have worried, though, and they spooned in the usual fashion.

"I wonder what colour hair she's got?" he mused.

"Hmm? Maybe brown to fair? I mean, Sabra's dark isn't she? Blond's recessive, so..."

"She always dyed it," Mick replied, "I've no idea what her real colour is?"

"Really? Couldn't you tell? I mean..."

"Dyed as well," he grinned, "North and South."

"Matching?"

"Sometimes red, sometimes blue. She was creative about such things."

"Blue pubic hair?" she laughed.

"Sometimes a runway, sometimes heart-shaped. That was before it became fashionable."

"Trendsetter? Any tats?"

"Virago, left shoulder. Ah, lion, left arse cheek. Solomon written in Hebrew on the right. The emblem of the 34th Fighter Squadron, Israeli Air Force, on her left ankle, which, I recall, was a Sagitarius."

"Israeli Air Force?" Michelle said in surprise. "Why? Did she do military service?"

"No. Apparently she had some close association with the 34th Fighter Squadron in circumstances I'm unclear about."

"Ah," she laughed, "it's sounds like she got around a bit?"

"A little," he smiled in agreement, "or a lot. She had a lot of history, that woman, even when I knew her."

Michelle had lectures first thing and Mick was due to meet Freddie at the lawyers at nine. Michelle's mum sent them off after a full breakfast.

The agreement was to be drawn up establishing The Curse as a company with five equal partners. It would require the signatures of each of them, which should be straight forward unless they wanted to run it past their own solicitors. In that case, it could be a long and drawn out process. Things had been a lot less complicated in his day, Mick mused, with people coming and going at will.

But if they expected promoters and record companies to invest in the band's future, then everything had to be legally tidy. Public fickleness was a risk everyone took - music can fall out of favour overnight as audiences latch on to the next big thing - but The Curse needed to adopt a professional approach if they expected to get anywhere.

A long meeting with Flyblown followed, where the CD was discussed at length. They planned a nationwide release and it was expected the band would support it with a tour. Flyblown promised all the stringpulling they could muster to ensure The Curse got maximum exposure.

Meanwhile...

Privacy was difficult in Karen's little sleep-out. It consisted of only two rooms, a living area with kitchenette and a bedroom with a small partition the size of a wardrobe housing the toilet and shower. There was a sliding door but it had come off its runners and Karen hadn't bothered to fix it. Instead she'd hung a piece of cloth over the door to mask the loo. There was no laundry facilities - Karen washed her clothes up at the big house.

Behind the sleep-out was a short path that lead down to a deck, built out over the gully at the back of the property. The dense bush masked a stream at the bottom of the gully that ran down to join the Hutt river. Karen had spent much of her childhood playing by that stream, accessed by a perilous path cut out of the side of the gully.

As an only child, Karen had not mixed well with other kids. She'd been shy and, in any case, her parents had been very choosey about who she'd hung out with. Anyone considered 'too rough' was excluded, lest they encouraged their daughter to 'wander around the streets getting into trouble.' The young Karen was expected to study hard - the bush was a suitable way to spend any leisure.

Too late her parents realised they'd raised their daughter to be introverted and socially awkward. They'd taken her to dances put on by the Austrian Society and the Yacht Club, but the young Karen had just hovered around her parents, too shy to join in the fun.

Karen remembered those dances with horror. Her parents had insisted she wear these frilly dresses with ribbons in her hair. They piled her hair up with clips and painted her face with rouge and mascara. As soon as she could, Karen cut her hair short and she'd never worn make up ever again.

At sixteen, something of a watershed emerged in her relations with her parents. She was doing well at school, in advance of her age, actually, and was clearly not running with the 'wrong' crowd, or anyone else's. Her father decided to retire from the restaurant business and sold out leaving them very wealthy. He decided he and his wife should now enjoy those holidays they'd deferred all their married life. Consequently, Karen was allowed her freedom while her parents started to enjoy themselves.

Her dream of being a drummer started with an MTV clip of Babes in Toyland performing 'He's My Thing.' It must've been a good ten years ago, now, when Karen was eight or nine. Lori Barbero drummed for the Babes - the first girl drummer she'd ever seen. She wasn't classically beautiful, like woman were supposed to be on stage - her hair was in dreadlocks - she wore no make up - was strongly built like a guy - had a weird, reversed sticks drumming style she'd adopted herself - and she pounded up a storm for that thrashy, punk inspired, all-female group. Lori Barbero was inspirational - she did everything her way in a male dominated world and she was 'kick ass' feminine to boot.

Janet Weisz of Sleater-Kinney was another inspiration. An accurate drummer with impeccable timing, she wore her hair short, cut like a boy's. Karen adopted the look as her own and never looked back. In any case, long hair got in the way playing drums and was hot under the lights.

Karen was blessed with a good physique for a drummer. She had good upper body strength and was short so she didn't need to hunch over the kit like taller drummers. Drummers are often short, Mick Fleetwood and Ginger Baker being exceptions, although both of them suffered back problems as a result of having to hunch over for long periods.

Additionally, Karen's boobs were so small they barely made a dent in her shirt front. Big tits were never going to be an impediment during a fast and furious number.

Junior appeared to be asleep so Karen took the opportunity of having a shower in the morning. Where he was, he only needed to open his eyes and be able to see right past the edge of the cloth into the shower box. Karen would've preferred him to be in the lounge, but she was being pushed for time and didn't have the heart to wake him up.

She stripped in the little cubicle - there was barely room and she bumped the thin wall a couple of times with her elbows. A quick peak assured her that Junior hadn't stirred and she leapt into the shower.

'They were good friends, ' she pondered, 'why was she so shy about him catching a glimpse of her naked?' She knew Junior wouldn't come storming in, growling and slobbering, to molest her, so what was the problem?

Her shyness, perhaps, still persisting after all these years? She'd never liked boys appraising her as if she was a piece of meat. She felt cheapened, degraded, as if her body was the only thing that mattered. She never got that kind attention anyhow, she thought, she was not pretty enough.

Then she turned to wash her butt and her eyes fixed on Junior's, sitting up in bed with his morning ciggie smoking in his hand.

"Gidday!" he smiled, as if he hadn't notice her naked as the day she was born.

"Um, hi," she acknowledged, wishing the cloth would suddenly blow shut across the gap. "You mind looking the other way?"

It seemed a foolish request to Karen, as if he hadn't seen everything anyway. Junior lived in a household where nudity wasn't a problem and his parents had often walked around without any clothes.

"Um, sure!" he shrugged, as if he didn't care either way.

Karen made the leap to the towel and quickly covered herself up. She scooped up her clothes and went into the lounge to change.

"I've got a class first thing," she told him through the door, "if you don't get up, you'll have to catch the bus."

"Sure. Mind if I shower first?"

"I guess. If you want to?"

The door was a little ajar and Karen got a glimpse as Junior quickly slid off his shorts and made for the shower. His nonchalance was unsettling. Karen saw he was slim but well proportioned - perhaps there was a rippling of muscle about his shoulders? She thought he had a nice looking butt, too, before she refocussed on getting dressed.

Karen realised she was shaking and nervous as she tried to do the buttons up on her shirt. It seemed to take ages - her fingers appeared too thick for the process. She wondered what had so shaken her. Was it the thought of Junior watching her in the shower, or the sight of him stripping in the next room? They were just good friends, she reminded herself, and she was being silly and schoolgirlish.

He appeared, presently, freshly scrubbed and still faintly steaming from the shower. He'd thrown his old clothes back on - as only teenagers would think of doing - and announced he'd take that ride into town.

Karen was relieved when she dropped him off at the central bus station in town. Well, was it relief or a strange kind of sadness? Was she developing the hots for this kid, she wondered? He was a year her junior and still with the uncertainty and awkwardness of youth. He was still struggling with his self image, for God's sake, and was battling with his parents over the last vestige of his childhood.

She thought of her bandmates as she headed up the hill to Uni. There was Anna and Michelle with their weird girl love thing going. There was Mick and Michelle with their looks laden with desire and subtext. Both girls were attractive, outgoing, with bumps and curves in all the 'right' places. Sex, lust and love were second nature, it seemed, and they'd little trouble pursuing their feelings with whoever they liked. Despite telling herself no, Karen envied their easy transition from awkwardness to adulthood.

Karen had gone through a phase a few years ago when she'd thought she may be gay. On her wall, instead of some rock God, she'd put up pictures of women musicians. Lori Barbero was her favourite - she'd made the poster herself out of a magazine, enlarged and colourised in purple and reds. She hadn't quite dismissed the notion - actually enjoying watching Anna dance in front of her on stage.

Anna was almost supernaturally sexy in just about everything she did. Her body was that of a model's - tall and slim with a tight arse. She dressed carefully, picking her image with a lot of consideration. She now preferred black and violet - tights and a short flared skirt. Rugby socks were rolled up almost to her knees and she always wore heeled black boots, which exagerrated her height. On the stage she was larger than life and it was no wonder the kids were in awe of her. With her blond hair, invariably worn loose, and pallid make up, she was the ice queen.

Karen had watched Michelle one day as she swayed her arse playing bass. Karen looked up to her for different reasons. Michelle was an accomplished musician and was serious about getting the songs right. Whereas Anna was impatient sometimes at rehearsal while she, Mick and Michelle struggled to correct some problem with a song, Michelle worked hard with patience and understanding. Michelle was cute as a button who won over people with her broad smile and good nature. By contrast, Anna was often intimidating with her star quality and commanding presence.

Mick, she thought? Well, Mick was the old hand, the master, but, at the same time, an encouraging and supportive fellow musician. Karen thought him a damned nice guy and had no problem understanding what Michelle saw in him. Freddie was of the same stamp and she was almost overwhelmed by the amount of time he devoted to her. She felt like a daughter - which, she thought, just about defined the relationship. Freddie was immensely proud of her after the Uni gig, in much the same way as Michelle's dad, The Dodger, was of her.

She loved being in the band and respected. Mick, Michelle, and even Anna, accepted her and she felt part of some strange, fractious family. She found the bickering upsetting, though, and she wished all of them would get on much better all of the time. Anna's personality, in particular, would make that seem unlikely, however. Karen was simply not used to the arguing - not surprising, being an only child.

Freddie explained it to her one day. Creativity grows out of tensions and the clash of opposites. If everyone got on well, then the songs would simply not happen in the way they had.

"Boring fucking love songs!" he'd said, "soft rock like the fucking Eagles."

She'd smiled. Freddie had a brilliant way of describing things, peppered with swear words, and with the authority of long experience.

Junior was on study leave from school. He'd promised to meet her for lunch and Karen found herself looking forward to it.

Mick found himself looking at every girl of about the right age with faintly middle eastern looks. This sort of activity could get him into trouble, he thought, as he travelled downtown on the bus. Would she be tall like him, or shorter, taking after her mother? Blond or, whatever hair colour Sabra was? Tall and gangling like himself, or curvy and big breasted? Hell, if he studied every young woman with big tits that would surely end unhappily, he thought with a smile.