Just then the Door appeared. Al stepped out and it slammed shut.
"Well??", asked Sam, impatiently.
"Well, Micky doesn't even remember the Monkees," replied Al.
Sam made a face. "That's all I need. Great, now what?"
"Well, Sam, you're going to have to do this gig," replied Al.
"Sure, I can sing and all, but Al, I don't remember the words! Much less play DRUMS!!!", replied Sam.
"Ah, so you DO remember the group eh??", replied Al.
"Yes, Al. I do, now get off it. You know how dizzy leaps are! Okay, is there anyway that you could get Micky, if he remembers, to somehow sing with me so I know what to say?", asked Sam.
"How do you expect me to do that?", asked Al.
"Well you did it before!", replied Sam.
"Yeh, but that was a while back. I don't think we can manage to do that again," replied Al.
"Well, okay, how bout records??", asked Sam.
"That's up to you, Sam," replied Al. "I can't exactly BUY you a record here!"
"Yeh, Al, I guess not," replied Sam. "How bout lyrics?"
"That's it! You've got photographic memory! But who knows what they are playing! I mean there's a hundred some songs!", replied Al.
"Hmm," mumbled Sam.
"Micky? Are you still up?", asked Mike, through the door.
"Uhhhhhhhh," moaned Sam. He leaped into the bed and covered up and then continued to mumble and moan.
Mike came inside.
Then Sam, just to annoy Mike, said, "Oooooooooohhhhhh booooooooooyyyyy."
"Man! He even does it in his sleep! What a nut!", said Mike, laughing. He walked back out, shutting the door.
"Good one," said Al.
"Yeah, well... I think I really WILL get some sleep Al.", Sam said. "See if you can get the lyrics... and maybe even pump the songs through the handlink. I will try to find out the list tomorrow."
"All right Sam. I'll see if I can get Micky to remember anything else.", Al said, and disappeared through the Door again.
*****************************************************************
"Hi Micky", Al said walking into the Waiting Room.
Micky started up and stared sleepily at Al. Although it was only 2 PM to Al, it was 8:39AM to Micky.
"Yeah?", Micky said sleepily.
"Sorry to wake you.", muttered Al, "But I have to ask you if you can remember ANYTHING about your gig tomorrow or ANYTHING that will help!"
"Uuuuuuuuhh, what? Oh. The gig? Um, I know ‘Words’, ‘I'm a Believer’, ‘She hangs Out’ but what am I doing hanging round? I have no time. Zilch." mumbled Micky, drifting back to sleep.
Al was totally confused. "Well, I'll try again. Gosh, he's really whacked out from this.", Al sighed and then screamed, "MICKY!!!!!!!!"
"WHAAAAAA!!", cried Micky.
"Do you know anything?", asked Al.
"I know I ride an elephant!", replied Micky, in a really kiddy voice.
"Ride an elephant? Oh, go back to sleep!", cried Al.
*****************************************************************
Al appeared in the kitchen of the pad.
"Any of you guys know what is with Micky?", asked Mike.
"What?", asked Peter.
"Do any of you know what is with Micky?", repeated Mike.
"Sorry, Mike, I didn't get that," replied Peter.
"No wonder this guy want to leave," muttered Al.
"Look, just NEVERMIND!", cried Mike. "I'm going to bed."
Next morning.....
Sam awoke, tossing blankets off of him. He glanced around. "Argh."
"Yeh, Micky! Rise’n shine!", cried Peter, cheerfully.
"You're kidding?", replied Sam, fumbling for his, well Micky's, watch. He squinted at the time. "6 AM????"
"Yeh, man we need to practice! The gig is at 2 PM! We have no time to waste!" cried Mike.
"6 am, 2 PM....Aaaaahhh boy!", cried Sam, flopping a pillow over his head. "Give me another hour! Please!", he cried, his voice muffled through the pillow.
"Yeh, I know you need to take a shower! peeee-uuuuu!", cried Davy.
Sam rolled his eyes and threw the pillow at Davy. "Okay, so, uh, what songs we doin?"
"Um, Peter knows. He's the song person for this gig. Since its my turn to put the dust out," replied Mike.
"The what?", replied Sam. Suddenly his memory flashed and he remembered seeing that episode. "Oh yeh! Ha-ha.", he replied, laughing, but under his breath came an "oh boy" as he realized that even though he remembered the show he only could remember the words to about 5 or 4 songs.
"Well, um, where is Peter?"
"Peter?", asked Davy.
"Yes, Peter. Peter Tork. Y'know PETER!", replied Al, even though Davy couldn't hear him. "SAM!", he motioned with his head towards the other room.
"Ugh, um, I have to ugh, go to the comfort room," replied Sam, not able to think of any other place to go.
"Okay sure, Mick," replied Mike. "But, man, hurry it up."
"Sorry... I think it is...", Sam blushed just SAYING the words, but he knew he needed time, "It is number TWO I think!!"
Al tried to suppress a laugh but was unsuccessful. "SMIRK", he let out.
Sam made a very annoyed face which was, at this point completely red. He felt like he was gonna die from embarrassment and Al was obviously not making anything better.
"AL!", cried Sam once they had reached their destination.
Al couldn't stop laughing, and so Sam, as he was used to doing, ignored him and kept right on talking.
"Have you found out what songs the Monkees are singing YET?", he yelled?
"Micky? Ya all right in there, buddy?", came a muffled voice from outside.
"Uh.. yeah. I, uh... well... I find talking to towels... uh... helps?", Sam stuttered, realizing how STUPID he sounded.
Outside he heard the muffled voice say, "Uh, yeah Mick... all right..."
"TOWELS??", Al smirked even louder. "I've heard you blurt out some PRETTY BAD excuses, but THIS is the worst by far! Then again... my second wife... or was it my 4th....???"
"AL! COME ON!", Sam shouted exasperated.
"Yeah Micky... you tell that... Al… who’s *crazy laughing*….boss!", came from three other voices in the other room.
"Oh booooyyyy", Sam sighed and slid down the wall next to the sink. "I am too tired for this Al. Let's go. The gig starts REAL soon."
"Oh yeah. Right." Al replied. "All right. Well, you are scheduled to sing ‘I'm a Believer’, the song Ziggy said they were practicing when you Leaped in, 'A Little Bit Me A Little Bit You’, ‘Last Train to Clarksville', 'The Girl I Knew Somewhere’, and probably ‘Look Out Here Comes Tomorrow’."
"Aw man, Al! I don't remember any of them!" Sam sighed.
"Oh yeah. And ‘Shades of Gray’, and ‘Randy Scouse Git’ from Headquarters Album." added Al, whacking the handlink furiously. "WHICH, matter of fact will never be professionally recorded if Mike leaves the group!"
"Headqua---" Sam mused. "I know that album! That was my favorite! I was only in my early teens but I loved that album! Unfortunately I forget most of the songs..."
"Sam, I found a booklet that has all the songs on it.... except Randy Scouse Git. Can't seem to find that anywhere! Micky wrote that song and was a little... disorganized... In other words... he lost the only copy, which was written on a napkin in the airplane after their trip to England.", Al said. "AND his brain is so swiss-cheesed he is acting like a big goof ball."
"Oh great. Well, give me the rest of the songs", Sam said.
For about 15 minutes Sam and Al went over the lyrics, with Al holding up the book so that Sam could incorporate all the lyrics into his photographic memory, but then after a while a loud rapping came on the door and Sam remembered where he was.
"OH BOY!" Sam shouted.
"That was the BIG one!", Mike retorted, a little annoyed by the sudden and frequent use of the phrase "oh boy".
"MICKY!", Peter cried. "Are you drowning man!?!? I'll save you!"
Peter dressed up in his Monkee-man costume and preceded to break into the bathroom somehow (we will assume it is the great power of Monkee-men) and stopped short to see Sam talking to himself.
"MICKY!!!", Peter said.
Suddenly the outline of a strangely dressed man flashed in front of Peter's eyes and he freaked out and ran over to Mike, shaking and yelling at him.
"Don't do that!", Mike said.
"Sorry", Peter replied, "But MIKE! Don't you see HIM??"
"Sure Pete. I see Mick. What's up with that?", Mike said, mocking Peter.
"Nooooooo!!! The WEIRDLY dressed cat NEXT to Mick!", Peter nearly screamed.
"SAM!!! What is going on!?!?!", Al said, horrified. "He couldn't see me earlier!!"
Al, Sam noted, always seemed horrified when other people besides Sam could see him. Animals, young children and the mentally ill were among them. Also a psychic one time. And now Peter Tork.....!?!?! He wasn't any of those things in Sam's book.
"WHAT'S GOING ON!??!", shouted Peter. "WHO are YOU!"
"Peter, chill man!", Mike said. He was looking at both Micky and Peter very strangely. Davy seemed in a daze and Al had a feeling he could see him also.
"Peter, man! What is it!?", Davy said, easing Al's mind.
"Peter, just... don't tell Mike or Davy... I am... well... you're...", Al sputtered.
"Not so easy, eh Al?", Sam smirked.
"WHAT!! Who's Al?", Davy and Mike said in unison.
And Peter merely said, "Angel!?", with big innocent looking eyes.
"Yeah... I'm you're Angel....", Al muttered rather annoyed.
"Angel?", asked Mike. "Peter? What in the world are you talking about?"
"Well, see there's this guy over there, by Micky. And he says he's my angel," replied Peter.
"Guy by Micky....angel? PETER!" replied Mike.
Al glared at Peter. "Great. He is that dumb!"
"I'm not a dummy!", cried Peter.
"Okay, okay!", replied Al. "Look, I'm gonna go. Y'gonna be okay back here, Sam?"
"Yeh sure," replied Sam.
"Sam?", asked Peter.
Peter began to squint at Sam. Through the wildly fuzzy hair and smirky grin, that seemed Micky, Peter thought he saw an image of a man with straighter hair, combed almost like Micky's before he had let it grow back to its natural curls, with a swoop of gray on one side. Peter's mouth gaped open. He shook his head, but the image seemed to still faintly appear on "Micky".
"No, uh-uh. This is freaking me out, fellas!"
"What is?", asked Davy, Mike, Sam, and Al, who had stayed behind once he heard Peter say Sam.
"Guys, I'm either nuts, or that is NOT Micky!", whimpered Peter.
"Whoa, hey, man. Chill," said Mike. "Look, I know we got the gig and all. But this is too confusing. Peter, you go back to bed, seeing angels....hmph. Micky, you too....talking to yourself is one thing....but talking to towels? I don't know. Davy, I dunno, you sleep too. I'm gonna go someplace."
"Sure, Mike," replied Davy.
Peter just stood there, not breathing a word. The faint image scared him, yet he wasn't scared at the same time. He didn't know what it was, but all he knew was that Mike was right. He needed sleep. Peter yawned and walked over to the bed. He soon was snoring.
"Uh-oh, Sam!", said Al. "Sorry to spoil your chance at sleep, but you did it again. Now instead of Mike seeing a record producer in a few days, he's going right now!"
"Aw, Al," moaned Sam.
"No, wait," replied Al, punching the handlink. "Wait, no. Sorry, Must've been a glitch, yet something isn't right. Wait, here we go..."
"Al, get to it! DO I have to go? Or can I sleep??, asked Sam.
"You have to stop him because on the way to the ice cream shop Mike bumps into the producer, and the scum convinces him to go on. But if you can stop Mike from leaving, then there's a good chance that Mike's meeting with the producer won't happen until later..."
But Sam was already out the door by the time Al had said, "But." He ran down the beach to see Mike walking forward at what seemed like a mile ahead of him. "Miiiiiiiikee!!!" cried Sam.
Mike didn't even glance back, much less hear Sam yelling.
Sam ran as fast as he could down the beach. But considering he was wearing a night shirt, jeans, and only one boot, it was well just a bit hard.
*****************************************************************
Back in the Waiting Room Al circled a baffled Micky in Sam's clothing. Apparently Micky could remember crazy stuff like the time he was kidnapped by aliens. Al thought he must have been smoking something that day, but since this is supposed to be a kid friendly story we will eliminate that factor and just say that Al thought Micky was on a sugar rush that day. Micky swore to no end so that finally Al gave up and started to try to get more important info from Micky. Micky was off in some kinda of dream world though.
"Man, what did you GIVE him, Gushie!!", Al muttered when he took a small break from the crazed Monkee.
"Just some coffee and a microwave entree.", Gushie replied.
Al didn't believe Gushie and could have sworn that Micky had had some kind of... well... he didn't know WHAT, but obviously no one could be THIS crazy without HELP... COULD THEY?!!? The thought scared Al. Nonetheless, he needed to help Sam.
"Micky... Do you remember the words to your song, Randy Scouse Git?", Al insisted.
Micky repeatedly tried to change the topic or reminisce upon the writing of the song but never on the actual words. Al got annoyed and finally went to go see how Sam was holding up...
*****************************************************************
Al closed the Door to find Sam frantically running down a beach. He set the Imaging Chamber to move his image with Sam's rate of running so that he could talk to Sam without wearing himself down. Sam often envied him, but this time he was too intent on catching Mike to even notice Al.
"AHEM.", Al coughed.
"AL!!", Sam gasped.
"You really aren't in good shape, eh?", Al said.
"AL! I am TRYING to do something!!", Sam retorted annoyed.
"Sorry Sam. It's just that... Never mind.", Al sighed.
"Yeah....", Sam gave Al that LOOK...
"Come on Sam. No Mike, no Monkees, no Leap.", Al prodded.
"I... KNOW... awwwwww I need... water..", Sam panted.
Eventually Sam caught up to Mike.
"MICKY! What did I tell you! You need rest before the gig! Talking to towels...", Mike sighed.
"You're telling ME", muttered Sam, who hadn't recalled seeing Mike sleep yet, and who's obvious temper was a big sign.
"I am FINE.", Mike said, obviously with something on his mind.
Sam felt bad, remembering that Mike had a BIG choice and was probably feeling bad both ways. "You... you can tell me ... man...", Sam said to Mike.
"Thanks Mick. I think I will... I need someone's opinion... Well.. see I got this record deal from a big producer, but he wants me to leave you guys. It is ALOT more than we are making, but I don't wanna betray you guys!", Mike said.
"Well...... I... You know, Mike... they... er.. WE cannot perform without you! We need you! That's what makes us the Monkees!" Sam offered.
"Yeah, but so much money, wasted!" Mike sighed.
"True, but who knows?? Maybe you'll get another deal... like in a month..." Sam started.
"SAA-AAM!" Al reprimanded. "NO telling! You know the rules!"
"Can the rules!" Sam said, wanting to Leap really bad.
"What rules, Mick?" Mike asked.
"Um... well, you know! The Murphy's Law...! I don't think this is the case. I FEEL success coming up."
"What's Murphy's Law?" Mike said, puzzled.
"Oh well... everything that can go wrong... WILL go wrong. I doubt that is the case. In fact I KNOW that isn't gonna happen to us! If you just give it a little more time. See... we've had 1 hit album... and, well... although the second one was a flop... I think we will get a big offer soon!" Sam said.
"Yeah... You seem pretty worked up... I guess it COULD happen and..." Mike said.
"COULD...?? It WILL happen! I can FEEL it! You just gotta hang in here Mike! PLEASE! Promise me!! That you won't take this deal. Just wait for a while... like.. 2 months!" Sam pleaded.
"Well..... All right." Mike started. "BUT on ONE condition."
"UH-OH SAM!", Al said.
"What's that Mike?", Sam asked.
"YOU have to stop talking to towels and spending half your day in the bathroom!" Mike laughed.
"Okay Mike, but you have to keep your word! Trust me!", Sam said.
"Geez lighten up! you act like you KNOW the future!", Mike said.
"Well... I guess I have a gift for... seeing the possibilities." Sam finished.
....Later that day....
"AL! Why haven't I Leaped yet?", Sam said.
"Well, NOW Ziggy is saying the sure fire way to get Mike to stay is to do better than Micky did in the original gig. Says here Micky suffered a concussion and got all goofy... like THAT'S a surprise...and didn't play right. THAT'S what made Mike go take the deal." Al explained.
"OH GREAT! Now I gotta SING AND PLAY!!!" Sam muttered.
Don't worry Sam. You've done this before, and remember, you have a degree in music and all!" Al assured him.
"Yeah.... but DRUMS!", Sam nearly screeched.
"Drums! Yeh, sure, c'mon Sam, it won't be THAT hard! Besides, ugh, you'll do okay. Just go out there, and stop 'talking to towels'," replied Al, grinning.
Sam just wanted to reach over and slap Al, but when he did, it went right through him.
"Okay! I get the message!", replied Al. "Sheesh. I'll be down in the living room."
Sam walked downstairs.
"Hey, Micky. Y'ready man?", asked Peter.
"Yeh, sure," replied Sam.
"Well, don't just STAND there. Get on your drums, Micky," said Al, emphasizing the word "Micky".
Sam stepped up to the drum set. He clumsily knocked over the cymbals. He reached for them, but ended up kicking over the snare.
Davy was laughing hysterically.
Al was trying as hard as he could to keep it in, but he couldn't and this time burst out laughing.
Peter chuckled.
Mike grinned and shook his head. "Okay Micky. Enough jokes. Now, let's get to rehearsing. Okay?"
"Sure," replied Sam, straightening out the mess of various drums and cymbals.
"All right um, how bout we warm up to that new tune of yours?", asked Davy.
"Huh?", asked Sam.
"Yeh that Randy....randy....ugh...scrout?....trout?.....ugh.....well that tune. Y'know. Anyway, I'll drum for you on that. Right?" asked Davy.
"Randy Scouse Git, and you will?", asked Sam.
Al punched on the handlink furiously. "Ugh, Sam, it says here, whoa! I found it! Look, Sam, stall for time. But you play on the big kettle drum. Easy. And Davy drums. So, just stall. Gushie's got something."
"Sure, Al," mumbled Sam.
"Well, get off them drums," said Mike.
"Oh, yeh," replied Sam, sliding his feet across the floor, trying to avoid the drums as he made his way down to the others.
"Okay, so Micky, how does it go?" asked Peter.
"Ugh. Well, I'm having a little trouble remembering, but I did teach you the chords right? Peter?", replied Sam.
"Yeh, I know how to play it, but what's the words," replied Peter.
"Do you have to sing it?", asked Sam.
"No, but I wanna know the words," replied Peter.
"Why?", asked Sam, with a strange look.
Suddenly Al zapped in. "Sam! Sam! I've got them! The lyrics to Randy Scouse Git!"
"Okay, Peter, I'll tell you the words," replied Sam, since he had to look over them himself.
"She's a wonderful lady...", began Al. Sam repeated to Peter. Peter repeated to himself.
Sam went through hours, but what seemed like days, of endless practicing. Pretty soon he found himself helping the other guys pack for the gig. They arrived and began to set up...
"Sam, why are you so nervous looking?", asked Al.
"Me? Nervous? No, you're kidding. Now why, Al, do you think that I'd be nervous. C'mon! Al!", replied Sam, amidst much sarcasm.
"Gosh Sam, chill out. You'll do fine. Besides, Ziggy is going back and refiguring and now says that the producer might meet Mike before the gig and that you aren't here to win the contest, but to prevent Mike from seeing that producer. Who knows what that hot headed woolhat will do." replied Al.
"What? But, Al, Ziggy, is well, probably wrong! I mean, Mike won't just sign up with this dude..."
"Dude??", asked Al.
"Al! You know what I mean. Sheesh, I can't help it. Been stuck here too long," replied Sam. "Anyway, he won't sign up unless he gets fed up! And that's why I have to outplay Micky, but I can't do that."
"Exactly, so you're here to stop the producer," replied Al.
"Al, no I'm not. I can't be," replied Sam, starting to pace in a circle.
"Yes. AND some good news... You MIGHT not have to play the concert if you stop the producer. He is allegedly gonna meet Mike before the concert again to remind him of his options. FIND THEM NOW!", Al said.
Sam glanced at Al and then ran off to find Mike. He found him backstage setting up his guitar, with the producer lurking in the shadows, just ready to come out and meet Mike when Sam appeared.
"Micky!", said Mike, startled.
"Mike, I have to talk to you!", Sam said.
"All right, but you are SUPPOSED to be helping Davy set up!", Mike said.
"Sorry, Mike, but I have to talk to you!", Sam said frantically.
Sam led Mike away from the producer who, when he glanced back, was making an evil face at him. Sam shrugged it off and when they got a safe distance away, Sam began to reason with Mike... AGAIN.
"Mike... the producer is here... you PROMISED...", Sam started.
"MICKY! Stay outta my business! If I wanna take the deal then I will!", Mike snorted.
"Mike... please! We need you! You're our leader and all!", Sam said.
"I know. But I wanna go on to be something big, and frankly, the group has been sounding worse and worse...", Mike said sadly.
"MIKE! I told you! I have a VERY definite feeling that...", Sam started.
Suddenly the producer walked in. Sam stopped his sentence short and just stared.
"Mike, I'd like to talk business with you.", the producer said.
"All right, hold on a sec while I finish with Mick.", Mike said.
"Fine.", the producer said, impatiently. and walked through Al.
Sam snickered and Al sarcastically blurted, "Well, excuse ME buddy!"
"Anyway, Mike", Sam said gathering his composure again. "You GOTTA hang in here and... well..."
"I know Mick, but I think I want this gig. You are GREAT guys and friends, but I need to find myself!", Mike sighed.
Mike walked away and Sam stood there staring after him. He asked Al what happened and Al said that the future had changed. For the better.
"I wonder what happened with the producer!", mused Sam.
...Behind a stairwell...
"...well Mike the bottom line is that we can offer you 100% more than the Monkees have pulled in the last year.", the producer wheedled.
"Yeah.... that's true. I think...", Mike considered.
But just as Mike was going to ask to sign the contract, the producer added, "Quite frankly you are WAY better than those no talent freaky weirdos."
"That does it Mr. Producer!", Mike shouted. "You take this contract and... well.. LEAVE!! Don't you ever insult my friends!" And Mike stormed off leaving the producer baffled.
"Micky?", asked Mike, coming around the corner.
"Yeh?", mumbled Sam a little startled.
"C'mon. We got a gig to play," replied Mike.
"Ugh yeh," replied Sam.
"Look, man, you were right. That guy was scum. Just plain scum. So, well, I'm staying with the Monkees," replied Mike.
"You're staying with the Monkees? Were you going to leave?", asked Peter.
Sam turned to Peter, trying to hold back laughter.
"Well, Mick, no hard feelin's eh?", said Mike.
"Yeh," replied Sam.
"All right! Now let's get out there and show em what we Monkees are made of!", yelled Mike, high-fiving Sam, and Peter.
Sam had barely felt the high-five when ...he felt the warm tingly sensation of Leaping. When he gained his senses he found himself standing in a garden full of roses, clad in a pink dress with a big old sun hat. Suddenly a small child about 6 started to scream bloody murder and something about a bee sting. Sam couldn't help it. He had no maternal instincts... all he said was... "Oh BOY".....