Chapter 7

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."