>> ROUTE SIXTY-SIX
>> by Amy Hoff (amy.hoff@mailexcite.com)
>>
>> Strains of music wafted down the staircase to Jeni as she waited
>for Melinda
>>and Amy to come downstairs with the suitcases. She grinned,
>recognizing the Monkees
>>tune, and shook her head. All three of them were obsessed.
>> "Hey, look out!" came an Australian accent, and the suitcase
>crashed down the
>>stairs, narrowly missing Jeni.
>> "Jeez!" Jeni cried, laughing, as Amy and Melinda came stampeding
>down the stairs
>>after the runaway luggage, "I could've been killed!"
>> "No loss there," said Amy, and smiled, "Ready to go?"
>> "Yeah baby!" Jeni howled, in her best Micky Dolenz impersonation,
>then with a
>>straight face, "As soon as possible."
>> The three girls standing in the hallway of Amy's house were quite
a
>sight to
>>see. Amy was decked out in bellbottoms and a velour zip-up shirt, and
>a fringed
>>purse was slung over her shoulder, with a button on the flap that read
>"All You Need
>>Is Love-John and Yoko". Jeni was wearing fairly tight courdoroy pants
>and a men's
>>velour sports shirt. She had about seven buttons affixed to the
lapels
>of her jacket,
>>and each button had a message like "LOVE", "PEACE", "PETER TORK
>FOREVER" and other
>>such friendly sayings. Melinda, although not quite as
hippie-flavored,
>wore a T
>>shirt that read "The Monkees- I Love Micky".
>> They all walked out into the late afternoon sunshine, carrying
>Amy's luggage
>>between them. Each one of the girls was electric with anticipation.
>They had all
>>come together today to drive Amy to Berkeley, California, and Melina
>(incredibly)
>>had somehow obtained permission from her house parents to come along.
>Melinda was
>>an Australian foreign exchance student, and it was like pulling teeth
>just to be
>>allowed to walk down the street, let alone take a road trip to
>California.
>> Jeni piled the things in the trunk of her car, and she looked at
>the other girls
>>with a sly grin.
>> "Let's go," she said, and they were off.
>>
>> As they drove down Route 66, the song "Cuddly Toy" began to play
on
>their old
>>cassette player. The girls began to perform inside the car, complete
>with hand motions.
>> Jeni and Amy sang backup and Melinda sang lead vocals.
>> "...you're not the kind of girl to tell your mother, the kind of
>company you keep,"
>>sang Melinda, as they all kept up the vaudeville act as well as they
>could inside
>>a Volkswagen.
>> "Did you know this song was about a gang bang?" asked Jeni
>brightly, and the
>>other two girls smacked her playfully.
>> "It's a cool song; so what?" Melinda said, and they went on with
>their impromptu
>>performance.
>> As the song finished, the girls collapsed into giggles, and Jeni
>put a Beatles
>>tape on the player.
>> Amy sighed as John Lennon's voice floated out of the speakers.
>> "Man," she said wistfully, as she had hundreds of times before,
>"Don't you wish
>>we lived back then?"
>> "Yeah," said Jeni, her eyes glazing over.
>> "Right, then I'd have a chance with my Micky!" said Melinda.
>> "YOUR Micky?" Amy teased, and they all started laughing again.
>> If anyone on earth had a penchant for that decade of bellbottoms,
>Beatles, and
>>beads, it was the three girls in the battered handpainted Volkswagen
>that evening
>>on Route 66.
>> Down the road, in the rearview mirror, a semi truck came into
>view. Jeni was
>>busy laughing, and the other girls were mock-fighting over the last
>orange Crush
>>in the cooler. In the heat of the early summer evening, the truck
>shimmered...and
>>vanished.
>>
>> "I think we're lost," Amy said, passing the shared soda can to
>Melinda.
>> "Bugger!" Melinda swore, as she took a swallow of soda, "Why do
you
>say that?
>> I thought we were on Route 66, the road straight to California!"
>> "Well, for one thing, there would be more traffic on Route 66,"
>said Amy, peering
>>out at the deserted highway, "and also, this map says there should be
a
>town here."
>>
>> They all stared out at the empty fields around them, and Jeni
>slowly brought
>>the car to a stop.
>> "There's supposed to be a town here?" she asked as they got out of
>the car.
>>Melinda sat down on the shoulder of the highway and hugged her knees
to
>her chest.
>>
>> "Yeah, and a fairly large one, it seems," said Amy, perusing the
>map.
>> "Man, I hate being lost," Jeni said, "Well, I guess we'll have to
>back up and
>>try to find where we went wrong."
>> "Wait!" called Melinda, "Look at this! This sign says Route 66!
>Your map must
>>be screwed up, Amy."
>> "Hey, you're right," said Amy, walking over to the sign across the
>highway, her
>>footsteps seeming to echo desolately in the early evening silence as
>she stepped
>>onto the gravel shoulder, "This sure beats the hell out of me."
>> "Groovy," Jeni said, "Let's get back in the car. I'm kinda
getting
>the creeps.
>> Anyway, I want to make it to the next state by midnight. Then it's
>your turn to
>>drive, Melinda- I suggest you get some sleep. Hey, Liquid Paper Girl!
>You coming?"
>>
>> "Yeah," said Amy, shaking her head, looking from the sign to her
map
>and back
>>again, "I'll be right there..."
>> She looked doubtfully over her shoulder at the sign, then folded
>the map up again
>>and climbed into the car.
>> The little Volkswagen peeled away from the shoulder, leaving a
>cloud of dust
>>behind where a city should have been.
>>
>> The night rolled on, and by now Melinda was in the driver's seat,
>fighting hard
>>to stay awake. Jeni and Amy were sleeping like stones in the
backseat.
>She kept
>>thinking back to the supposedly missing city, and felt a little
>frightened. Things
>>sure were getting strange...As she stared at the pools of light
>illuminating the
>>highway, she felt herself gently dropping off to sleep.
>> Suddenly, a figure was standing in the middle of the road, thumb
>extended. Melinda
>>screamed and jerked the wheel hard, and the Volkswagen fishtailed
>across the highway
>>before it finally came to a stop.
>> Melinda threw the door open and got out of the car.
>> "You WANKER! I could've killed you!" Melinda shouted at the
vaguely
>male figure
>>across the highway.
>> "I'm sorry," said a soft, smooth voice that sounded like silk
>against skin, "I
>>didn't mean to cause an accident. It's just that I've been standing
>out here all
>>night and no one has picked me up."
>> Suddenly Melinda was extremely aware of the fact that she was
alone,
>out in the
>>middle of nowhere with a strange male hitchhiker. Although his voice
>was gorgeous,
>>there was no telling what he might do...could the night get any worse?
>Melinda decided
>>that the only way out of the situation was to politely excuse herself
>and then drive
>>off quickly.
>> "Well, watch yourself next time," said Melinda, starting to get
>back into the
>>Volkswagen, "You scared me to death."
>> "You wouldn't give me a ride, would you?" came that beautiful
>voice, masculine
>>yet feathered, like something out of a dream.
>> Melinda fought an inner battle against her common sense and won.
>What could
>>it hurt? Plenty, she heard an inner voice say, but she ignored it.
>> "Of course," she said, "Hop in."
>> "Thank you very much, miss," said the man, and he climbed into the
>passenger
>>seat.
>> Melinda glanced into the back seat as she fastened her seatbelt.
>Amy and Jeni
>>were still dead to the world. Melinda smiled, amazed. If they could
>sleep through
>>that commotion, they could sleep through anything!
>>
>> "I really appreciate that you picked me up," said the man in the
>passenger seat,
>>whose identity remained a mystery. This was largely due to the fact
>that the Volkswagen's
>>interior light didn't work, as well as a lot of other things in the
>car. He told
>>her he was just going to the next town, and she kept asking his name,
>but he kept
>>avoiding the question. He was probably a private person, she
>reasoned; maybe he
>>didn't want to reveal who he was to some strange woman in a battered
>old Volkswagen
>>in the middle of the night. So she decided to just let him talk, and
>her curiosity
>>about his name and his looks faded away.
>> "I'm heading to California, too," he said, "I grew up there- in Los
>Angeles, you
>>know? I came out here to visit some friends, but I got stranded back
>there...my
>>car broke down, and I had to walk a couple of miles to the highway..."
>> Melinda let the words he said run together like sweet honey,
>reveling in the
>>texture of his voice. If his face was just as good, what an excellent
>example of
>>the male species he would be! The sun would soon come up, and her
>curiosity would
>>finally be satisfied. It was wonderful just to dream...
>> "...there, running my hands through her hair," the man in the
>passenger seat sang
>>along with the Beatles tape, "each one believing that love never dies,
>watching her
>>eyes, and hoping I'm always there..."
>> Melinda looked at him, surprised and enchanted. That voice was as
>incredible
>>when he was singing as it was when he was talking. And the nagging
>thought that
>>she knew his voice from somewhere kept at her, but she couldn't place
>it. She was
>>growing more eager by the moment for sunrise.
>> "Stop up here," said the man, and Melinda felt a twinge of
>disappointment as she
>>saw the glittering lights of a city up ahead. She wouldn't be able to
>see his face
>>after all.
>> "This is where you want to go?" asked Melinda, "I could bring you
>to California-
>>we have room- "
>> "No thanks," said the man, and Melinda thought she could hear a
>smile in his
>>voice, "You've done enough, miss...I appreciate it. Oh, and by the
>way- I love your
>>accent. And thanks again for the ride."
>> She felt his lips brush her cheek as a farewell, and smiled at him
>as he left
>>the car. In the first touches of sunrise, she could just barely make
>out his shape
>>as he walked away. And what a shape it was, she thought to herself.
>Then he turned
>>and raised his hand in a final farewell, and she could see him
smiling.
>He was incredibly
>>handsome, she realized...and maddeningly familiar....where had she
seen
>him before?
>>
>> Melinda sighed as she drove down the highway. She wished she
>could've gotten
>>a better look at the hitchhiker.
>> "Oh well," she said aloud to herself, "I would've had to drop him
>off anyway.
>> I am so tired of this Beatles tape. Monkees? That looks good."
>> She popped the tape in, ready to belt out the opening lines to
>"Randy Scouse Git"
>>and rudely wake up her friends, who would have probably found the
>nearest cold lake
>>and thrown her into it, when she nearly choked on the lyrics she was
>about to sing
>>out. She listened intently to the voice that came out of the speakers
>for about
>>five seconds, and then threw the car into reverse. The Volkswagen
tore
>backwards
>>down the highway at speeds exceeding 70 miles per hour.
>>
>> "Bugger bugger BUGGER!" Melinda was shouting, as Amy and Jeni
>finally awoke.
>>
>> "What? What happened?" they asked, trying to reach complete
>consciousness.
>> "All right," Melinda said, looking them squarely in the eyes,
>"You're going to
>>think I'm crazy, but I think I gave Micky Dolenz a ride last night."
>> "What kind of ride?" asked Amy, a sly grin on her face.
>> "You fell asleep at the wheel again, didn't you?" Jeni asked,
>"Well, as long
>>as you didn't get into an accident-"
>> "That's just it!" Melinda cried, exasperated, "I was just driving
>along, and
>>I nearly ran over this hitchhiker! Then I gave him a ride-"
>> "Oh, Melinda," Jeni said, disbelief in her voice, "You let some
>strange guy get
>>into this car? He could've killed us!"
>> "I know, I know, it was stupid," she said, "but this guy- he had
the
>most AMAZING
>>voice...I don't know, it was like silk or something- but anyway, I
>couldn't figure
>>out who he was! He talked the whole entire time, and then sang along
>with the Beatles
>>tape-"
>> "Oh, that's a wonderful dream," Amy sighed, "A Monkee singing
>Beatles tunes.
>> Why didn't you invite me?"
>> Melinda made a frustrated noise.
>> "Look, I KNOW it was Micky Dolenz! I should know better than
>anyone, shouldn't
>>I?" Melinda said, "He IS my favorite Monkee, isn't he?"
>> "Look, Melinda, we don't doubt that you had a dream about Micky,"
>Jeni said,
>>"Just let us in on it next time, OK?"
>> "And invite Mike," Amy added, "Get out of the way, Aussie, it's my
>turn to drive."
>>
>> Jeni giggled, and Melind and Amy switched places. Melinda kept
>quiet- she knew
>>she couldn't win. She was positive, however, that she just gave an
>ex-Monkee a midnight
>>ride. She just needed to convince the other two that she was telling
>the truth.
Part Two
"...just a half a mile from the railroad tracks, you can get
anything you want,
at Alice's Restaurant," sang Jeni.
"EXCEPTING ALICE!" Amy interjected, and Melinda rolled her eyes.
Stuck in the sixties,
for sure.
"And now- Amy's rendition of Christmas carols!" Jeni announced, and
Melinda groaned
goodnaturedly.
"To be sung to the tune of White Christmas!" said Amy, and began to
sing, "I'm dreaming
of Mike Nesmith, he's everything a man should be...his brown eyes
glisten, everyone
listens, when he shares his philosophies...I'm dreaming of Mike Nesmith,
his sideburns
and his Southern style...may he live forever on the screen, and may all
his 'ass
shots' make you smile!"
"That's terrible!" Melinda complained, "I'm quitting this group!"
"Hey, I'm just getting started!" said Amy, and Jeni joined in as
they sang:
"Davy Jones, Micky's stoned
Mike's got his guitar
Peter feels the Monkeemobile's
A pretty groovy car, hey!
Driving through L.A.
Mike's behind the wheel
Micky perms his hair
Peter's so surreal
Davy's got a girl
But she likes Mike instead
Peter pushes Micky's hands
and the curlers fry his head!"
Melinda shook her head.
"Didn't like it?" asked Amy, "Ah well. Even Stephen King has his
off days."
Melinda's mind was still on something else.
"You guys think I'm crazy, don't you?" she asked.
"Yes, I do," responded the other two girls in unison, which made
them laugh and
recite lines from a Monkees episode in which the boys had to spend a
night in a haunted
house to help a girl get her inheritance.
"Look, Melinda, there is no possible way you could've given Micky
Dolenz a ride,"
reasoned Amy, "the law of averages is against it! Besides, I think he
would've told
you who he was."
"It doesn't matter anyway," said Jeni, "Even if it WAS him, we
missed it, and that
would make me deeply jealous. So I'd prefer to think you're crazy."
"Whatever," Melinda mumbled, and lay down in the back seat for a
much-needed rest.
Night fell, and this time Jeni was driving. This was certainly
turning into a strange
trip. Monkees on the roadside, disappearing towns...it was almost like
one of Amy's
horror stories.
She shook her head and drank some soda to keep herself awake, but
the long hours
were finally getting to her. She wondered if the other girls would mind
spending
some of their vacation money on a hotel room for the night.
Just then, she saw a glowing light that read HOTEL-VACANCY. She
decided that she
didn't care what the others' opinions were- she needed some sleep.
Jeni pulled the Volkswagen into the empty parking lot. She could
hear a party going
on inside the hotel.
"That's strange," she thought to herself, "the place looks deserted
and they're
having a party?"
The desert night was warm as she got out of the car, careful not to
disturb the
girls. If the hotel was too expensive, she would keep driving until she
could find
one that she could afford.
Jeni pushed the door open, and sure enough, the lobby was filled
with laughing people.
They seemed to be having the time of their lives. Every now and then,
one of the
faces in the crowd would seem achingly familiar, but she couldn't place
any of them.
"May I help you, miss?" the man behind the front desk was asking
her.
"Yes," she said, walking up to him, "I'd like a room for the night.
How much will
that be?"
"There's a special tonight, on account of the party," the man said,
"$25 for a room."
This was music to Jeni's ears.
"Wow, really?" Jeni exclaimed, "I'll take it!"
"Here's your key," he said, and handed her a silver key attatched to
a tab that
read ROOM 66.
Jeni looked at it for a moment, and then looked up at the desk clerk
to see if he
was pulling some kind of joke on her. Room 66 on Route 66? The clerk
simply smiled,
though, and Jeni quickly smiled back as she pocketed the key.
She made her way through the crowd of partygoers and found the door
to her room.
She slid the key in the lock and heard the bolt slide back.
Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of brightly colored lights, and
an amazingly
loud explosion. It lasted for about half a second.
"Hey!" shouted Jeni, surprised, but the moment had passed. She
blinked a few times,
thinking that she must need some decent sleep even more than she
thought.
"Miss? Oh, miss?" came the desk clerk's voice from across the
lobby. Jeni turned
away from the door, leaving it unopened.
"Yes?" Jeni asked, as she made her way back to the entrance. She
was vaguely aware
of someone asking for wine, but being turned down.
"We require all of our new guests to sign the guestbook," he said,
indicating an
enormous tome beside the desk. A fountain pen stood beside it like a
proud soldier.
"Okay," Jeni said, yawning. Anything to get into a soft, warm
bed...
"It's our own fault that we're here, you know," a woman's voice said
behind Jeni.
Jeni turned around, but the woman was talking to someone else. The
woman's face
looked sad and drawn, yet hauntingly familiar.
Jeni walked over to the guest book and pulled the fountain pen out
of its stand.
She began to scrawl her name on the next empty space in the book when
she realized
that the color of the ink in the pen was a deep crimson- not the usual
color of fountain
pen ink.
"Say-" she began to ask the desk clerk, but then the name directly
above her own
in the guest book caught her eye.
JOHN LENNON, it said, DECEMBER 8, 1980.
Jeni stared hard at the signature. She was a fan of John Lennon's,
and she knew
his handwriting. The signature was a carbon copy.
"This some kind of sick joke?" she asked, indicating the entry in
the book.
The desk clerk's polite smile hardened. His eyes glittered like two
cold jewels.
"Not at all, young lady," he said, "not at all."
Jeni's heart began to beat wildly as she took notice of the other
entries in the
guestbook-
MARILYN MONROE- that was the woman who had looked so sad!
BUDDY HOLLY
JIMI HENDRIX
JANIS JOPLIN
JIM MORRISON
DENNIS WILSON
The list went on and on, and the book was at least three inches
thick. Jeni didn't
even want to think about who might have signed the previous pages.
"I think I've changed my mind," stammered Jeni, as she noticed John
Lennon up on
the balcony, and saw Jimi Hendrix leaning against the wall.
The desk clerk was blocking her way out in an instant.
"I'm sorry," he hissed, "you can't leave."
"LET ME GO!" Jeni screamed in an impressively loud voice, directly
into the clerk's
ear.
"Yeah, let her go," came John Lennon's familiar voice from the
balcony, "it's not
her time."
"Yeah," agreed another partygoer, "she didn't do anything-"
"-didn't mean anything by it-"
"-loved us-"
"-worshipped us-"
"-cared for us as we cared for her-"
"-loved us-"
Jeni bolted for the door and managed to get it open, and she threw
herself out into
the desert night.
"-loved us forever-" came faintly chasing after her, and then the
door slammed shut.
Jeni lay on the pavement, panting, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Never again
in her life did she ever want to experience something like that. She
was starting
to think maybe Melinda wasn't crazy- either that, or Jeni had fallen
asleep at the
wheel as well.
She gave herself the obligatory pinch, but she stayed where she was, so
she had to
accept what had just happened as reality.
She looked behind her to make sure the desk clerk wasn't coming out
after her, and
recieved a nasty shock.
Where the hotel had stood moments before was now bare desert. She
glanced around
and saw that she was lying on the hard gravel shoulder of the highway,
directly beneath
a sign that read ROUTE 66.
Jeni picked herself up off the ground with a sigh and brushed
herself off. As her
heartbeat slowed to a more rational pace, she made her way back to the
Volkswagen.
"So you stopped at this hotel, right?" Amy was asking. It was the
morning after
Jeni's terrifying experience, and Amy was driving.
"Yeah," said Jeni, and proceeded to relate the entire story to her
friends.
"Now you don't think I'm crazy anymore, do you?" asked Melinda, "I
told you so."
"Well, let's think this through," said Jeni, "There have been a lot
of strange things
going on around here, and I'd like to know why."
Suddenly, Amy made a strangled noise.
"What is it?" asked Melinda.
Amy turned to face Jeni.
"I know exactly where you were last night," she said quietly.
"Where? What do you mean?" Jeni demanded.
Amy let out a long sigh.
"You were living it up at the Hotel California," she said, her mouth
set in a grim
line.
"What?" asked Jeni, confused.
"Either you dreamed it, or you were there," Amy said, "and unless
you guys are playing
some kind of elaborate joke on me, I don't see how you could both have
separate major
hallucinations within two nights of each other."
"Yeah, but what do you mean about Hotel California?" asked Melinda,
"Isn't that
one of your old songs? One of your favorites?"
"Yes, it is," Amy confirmed, "Think about it, Jeni. The lyrics to
the song."
Suddenly, it dawned on Jeni.
"You're right!" she said, "The song lyrics describe almost exactly
what happened
last night!"
"Now all we have to figure out is why on earth all these things are
happening to
us," Melinda said.
For the first time since their journey began, the little car was
completely silent
as they made their way down Route 66.
"Well, although the trip was weird, here we are," announced Amy, as
she drove past
a sign proclaiming "WELCOME TO CALIFORNIA".
The other two girls cheered. After a long haul through the Twilight
Zone, it was
nice to get back to reality. If California could really be called
reality, that
was.
"You realize just how sad we are?" asked Jeni, grinning, "We even
drink 60's soda,
for Pete's sake. Look. Orange Crush and Coca Cola. What do you make
of that?"
"What do you make of THAT?" Melinda suddenly exclaimed, pointing.
They all looked up at a billboard that stood at the edge of the
highway. THE BEATLES
AT CANDLESTICK PARK, the sign proclaimed, AUGUST 29.
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Jeni, her eyebrows knit in
confusion.
"Maybe it's a joke," offered Amy, but her voice was unsteady.
"Los Angeles," sighed Amy, "I've always wanted to see this place."
"Why?" asked Melinda, "It's smoggy and dangerous."
"Amy doesn't view California in a way that could be called reality,"
explained Jeni,
laughing.l
"Oooh! The beach!" Amy exclaimed, noticing a sign along the road
indicating that
Santa Monica was the point where Route 66 hits the surf, "Let's go!"
Jeni shook her head and laughed as Amy drove in the direction of the
ocean, humming
Beach Boys tunes all the way.
"Wow, is this incredible or what?" asked Amy, here eyes shining.
They had decided to visit Venice Beach, because it was the
birthplace of the Doors
(and who doesn't love the Doors) and Jim Morrison's home for a while.
The beach
was crowded with people. Vendors were selling their wares at
miscellaneous stands,
and surfers were riding the waves. The clothing they wore seemed a
little out-of-date,
but everything in California was reputed to be kind of strange.
"Come on, guys!" said Jeni, getting into the spirit of things,
"Let's check this
out!"
They made their way down the boardwalk in the bright California sun.
Amy looked
out on the beach, feeling the overwhelming desire to run headlong into
the surf.
"Catch you later, guys," said Amy, "I gotta go do something, OK?"
Jeni and Melinda exchanged glances, and then shrugged. They
continued down the
boardwalk and soon disappeared from Amy's sight.
Amy stepped onto the beach and walked towards the ocean.
"Finally, I made it," she thought to herself, standing at the edge
of the surf,
"All the people who told me I'd never see this ocean...I proved them
wrong."
She closed her eyes, reveling in the moment, letting the sun warm
her face. After
all the cold northern winters, just to stand here for a moment was pure
paradise.
She lifted her head and inhaled the salty breeze. The wind combed
fingers through
her long, light brown hair, and a dreamy smile surfaced on her face.
There was nothing
quite as liberating as that moment.
"Oh, mercy," came a breathless voice, thick with a Southern accent,
"Ain't you a
sweet thing?"
A little annoyed that someone had disturbed her moment in the sun,
Amy rounded on
the stranger.
"Look-" she began, her eyes filled with fire.
"Oh, I am, trust me," said a tall, dark-haired man who was standing
about two feet
away from her.
Amy's eyes widened. Anything rude she was about to say disappeared,
and she blinked
disbelievingly at the handsome man who had been watching her.
"Forgive me, miss," he said, smiling charmingly, "That was rude of
me. Let me introduce
myself. My name's-"
"Mike," Amy said. This game was becoming familiar to her now- she
thought she was
beginning to catch on.
"Yes, how did you know?" he asked.
"Just a guess," Amy said, thinking fast, "I have a friend down South
who looks a
lot like you named Michael."
At least that was the truth. Amy did have a friend in the South who
bore an uncanny
resemblance to Mike Nesmith- and whom she had had the good fortune to
date for awhile.
"Say, I'm a musician," started Mike, but he suddenly seemed at a
loss for something
to say.
Amy looked at him curiously.
"I'm sorry," he drawled, "I'm not very good at meeting pretty girls.
Someone told
me that I should say I'm a musician, that it might help me, well, you
know...ah..."
He threw his hands in the air in a desperate gesture.
"I'm a writer," volunteered Amy, "And and artist, but I'm not
published or anything..."
"Well, that's OK," he said, clearly relieved that she had helped him
out a bit,
"I've never been 'published', or whatever you'd call it, either."
"Yes, you-" Amy began, but then she caught herself. Maybe it wasn't
the right time
to bring up the question of his fame.
"What?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing," she said quickly, "Will you sing me one of your
songs?"
"I'd love to," said Mike, and he opened his mouth to sing.
"Want an ice cream cone?" Mike was asking, as tehy walked down the
boardwalk.
"Yeah," Amy said, and Mike stopped at a booth to buy them both a
cone.
"Cookies and cream?" Mike asked, grinning, as they walked back into
the crowd.
"I love it," said Amy, "it's my favorite."
"I should try it," said Mike, and he took a lick of her ice cream
cone. As he did
this, he gave her a look that indicated something utterly unmistakeable
to anyone
who saw it.
Amy stared at him, unable to move. Suddenly, he broke his intense
gaze and took
a nonchalant lick of his own ice cream cone.
"I'm a chocolate man, myself," he said, and walked off.
"Hell, yes, you are," said Amy under her breath, shaking her head to
get rid of
some powerful images, and quickly followed him.
End of Part 2.
Part three of Route 66
"Oh, wow!" Mike said, excited, "I totally forgot!"
Amy looked at him, and he grabbed her arms.
"You're an artist, right?" he asked.
"Yeah," said Amy, "What about it?"
"C'mon, I've got something to show you," he said, and took her hand.
Suddenly,
he stopped and turned to her.
"Say," he said, his head cocked to one side, "Did anyone ever tell
you that you
talk kind of strangely?"
Amy grinned, thinking of all the ridicule she'd gotten for her
overuse of 60's slang;
now someone was ridiculing her for the 90's slang that crept into her
vocabulary
from time to time. It was always something.
"People tell me that all the time," she replied, "all the time."
"Here," Mike said proudly, "I thought you'd like this."
They had stopped at a booth where you could buy a canvas and paints.
The vendor
also sold books on the history of Hollywood and rock and roll, and Amy
loved that
sort of thing. She wanted to become a rock and roll historian someday.
"I'd like an eight by ten canvas, those paints, and that book on
rock and roll,"
Amy said. Eight by ten wasn't a very large size for a painting, but it
was all that
she could afford. The prices seemed absurdly low for art supplies, but
she chalked
that up to the fact that she was buying them from an independent vendor
on Venice
Beach. Suddenly, Mike interrupted her musings.
"You like rock and roll?" asked Mike, "Man, you're almost too good
to be true!
Tell me- do you like country and western music?"
"I absolutely hate it," said Amy, while at the same time her mind
added, "Unless
Mike Nesmith does it!"
"Ah, you're not too good to be true, then," said Mike.
Amy simply smiled, and she brought the supplies and her new book
over to a table
provided for the customers. Mike sat beside her, and they quickly made
a mess.
Mike started painting her cheeks with his fingertips.
"You know, Michael, you have no idea what this experience means to
me," Amy said,
and proceeded to draw three long red lines down his cheek, like Native
American war
paint.
"I'm sure," he drawled, and then giggled almost girlishly.
"I've never heard a man giggle," teased Amy.
"I've never met a girl with talent," he replied.
"Just watch the master," she said, and finally began to seriously
work on the painting.
Mike watched intently over her shoulder.
"Hey," he asked, "Wanna go swimming when we're finished here?"
"Definitely," Amy agreed. She wasn't about to pass up a chance like
that.
Amy finished painting a while later, and showed the finished product
to Mike. It
was a portrait of a palm-tree fringed beach in the late hours of
sunset...and Mike
seemed deeply enamored of it.
"It's yours," she said finally.
Mike grinned broadly.
"Thanks," he said, "I love it!"
"Say," said Amy, as a thought occured to her, "I forgot to ask. How
old are you?"
"Oh! I'm eighteen," said Mike, "And you?"
"Nineteen," Amy responded, already deep in thought.
Her head was spinning. How could it be possible for her to be
talking with an
eighteen-year-old ex-Monkee? He was supposed to be in Texas, if he was
eighteen, and attending
music
school, if her memory served her correctly...And how was it possible for
Melinda
to have given Micky Dolenz a ride? Or any of the things that had
happened along
Route 66, for that matter?
"Oh well," she muttered under her breath, "Better enjoy it while I
can..."
"What was that?" asked Mike, as they walked onto the beach. He set
down Amy's painting
on his towel, which he had already spread out on the sand, and squinted
at her in
the sunlight.
"Oh, nothing," she said, "Come on, let's go swimming!"
"But you don't have a swimsuit on!" Mike protested.
"Never stopped me before!" she shot back, and ran fully clothed into
the ocean as
Mike chased after her, laughing. He leaped into the waves, also fully
dressed, and
surfaced beside her.
"You're even crazier than I am," he said appreciatively, "And cute,
too!"
Amy smiled and pushed him over into the waves. As the sun sparkled
on the Pacific
Ocean, she hoped she wasn't dreaming.
"Hey!" Amy shrieked, as he splashed her with a huge fan of water.
"Do you surrender?" he asked, "Surrender or meet the wrath of
BarnacleMan!!"
"Never!" Amy shouted, catching on quickly, "I am SeaweedWoman, and I
have the power
to stop you!"
"What power?" roared Mike, "I can clog DRAINPIPES, woman!"
Amy doubled over, gasping for breath as she tried in vain to stop
laughing.
"OK, BarnacleMan," she giggled, "I surrender!"
"Ha ha!" he shouted triumphantly, puffing up his chest and placing
his fists on
his hips, "NOTHING can stop BARNACLEM-"
He was interrupted when a huge wave crashed over him, leaving him
drenched, still
in that silly position. He spit the salt water out, and gave Amy an
"I'm-used-to-this"
look that sent her into another fit of laughter.
After she'd finally calmed down, she grabbed Mike's hand.
"Hey," she said, "I've got a couple of friends who would just LOVE
to meet you."
"Amy!! What happened to you?" cried Melinda, surprised, "You're
soaking wet!"
Amy walked up to them, looking bedraggled but ecstatic.
"There's someone you two should meet," said Amy, and motioned
towards Mike. He
came jogging up and tackled Amy to the ground playfully.
"Hey, y'all," he nodded to the girls, as he got up. Their mouths
dropped open.
"Mike!" they cried out simultaneously.
Mike eyed them suspiciously.
"Everybody's a psychic," he said, grinning.
All four of them decided to continue on down the boardwalk. They
passed booths
where vendors were selling tropical fruit and all kinds of novelty
items.
"Hey!" shouted Mike, "Look here, y'all!"
They ran up to him, and looked at a booth filled with cowboy
paraphernalia. Fake
pistols and cowboy hats were spread out across the little table.
Mike picked up a hat and placed it on his head. Running his thumb
and index finger
around the brim, he picked up a pistol and drawled, "Draw, stranger."
Amy grinned and grabbed another pistol. She set a cowboy hat on her
own head and
pulled the brim down.
"BANG!" shouted Amy, and Mike clutched his chest and proceeded to
fall pathetically
about, like in an old Western movie.
"You best watch out," drawled Amy, imitating Mike's accent, "My
posse's gonna hunt
you down."
Mike looked horrified, and then tore off down the beach. Amy dashed
off after him.
Pausing only to grab hats and guns for themselves, Melinda and Jeni
were soon in
hot pursuit. They raised pandemonium on the beach, chasing each other
around in
the warm California sun, screaming and tackling each other.
"Hey, aren't you going to pay for that?" the vendor shouted after
them.
"Whew!" panted Mike, falling to his knees in the sand next to Amy,
"That was great!"
Melinda and Jeni sat down next to them, unable to stop giggling.
Amy twirled her
gun in her finger and blew on the barrel. This just made them all laugh
harder.
"Can I have my hats and guns back now, please?" came a testy voice.
They all looked
up to see the vendor, who looked none too pleased. They reluctantly
handed over
the merchandise, and the vendor shook his head.
"Kids," he said, exasperated, and walked off.
Mike put his arm around Amy's shoulders.
"Let's go get cheeseburgers," Jeni said, and Melinda nodded, "You
two want anything?"
"Yeah, two cheeseburgers and some Cokes," Mike said, and as the
girls walked off
towards the hamburger stand, he looked apologetically at Amy.
"Forgive me," he drawled, "I was raised to order for the girl..."
"It's all right," Amy said, "It's what I would have ordered anyway."
The sun was just setting on the Pacific, and Amy was hypnotized by
it almost instantly.
"What is it?" asked Mike, looking out across the waves.
"The sun, setting on the ocean," sighed Amy, "It's always symbolized
freedom and
love to me, the ocean. Seeing the sunset on the Pacific was my way of
confirming
that I had finally attained my freedom. I wrote a poem about it once,
it's kind
of silly but it went something like: If you could only kiss me like the
ocean kissed
the sun/ your eyes would speak in paragraphs the man you have become/
but I know
your kisses only mask your failure and your fears/ so the sunset's kiss
of freedom
will last me through the years."
"That's some poetry," said Mike, and Amy felt proud, knowing this
was high praise
from a man she ranked with John Lennon and Jim Morrison as a creative
force, "I've
never really looked at the ocean like that, or the sun...but I suppose
they do kiss...metaphorically
speaking, anyway."
He glanced at her and smiled softly. Then, he moved to kiss her...
"Hi, guys," Jeni's voice said suddenly, and Mike pulled away, a
sheepish grin on
his face.
Amy looked up at Jeni in mock annoyance.
"Did you get us our food?" asked Amy.
"Nah, they were closed," said Jeni, "The sign said that the owner
was out until
nine."
"Strange way of running things, out here in California," mused
Melinda. They sat
down in front of Mike and Amy.
"So, what y'all say to some dancin' tonight?" Mike asked.
Amy's face lit up, and she opened her mouth to answer, but Jeni cut
in, smiling
wistfully.
"We'd love to, Michael, but we have to get to Berkeley within a few
days, because
Amy's got to get to college," Jeni responded, "I'm sure this won't be
the last time
we meet."
Amy stared at Jeni in shock. They all stood up and brushed the sand
from their
clothing.
"I sure hope not," Mike said, and then he turned to Amy, a warm
smile on his face,
"You're a writer, right, Amy? If you promise to write me a poem, I'll
write you
a song, and next time we see each other, we'll trade. Deal?"
"Deal," agreed Amy, accepting the fact that good things can't always
last forever,
"I'm sorry I couldn't spend more time with you. You're a great guy."
"Aw, it's all good, babe," he drawled, causing the girls to giggle.
He looked at
them curiously.
"You sure have some strange friends," said Mike, "Well, take care of
yourself, honey."
"Oh, I will," agreed Amy dreamily.
"I think I'm going to go sit by the ocean again," said Mike, and he
walked off towards
the edge of the water.
Amy and Melinda were on Jeni in an instant.
"See!" Melinda said triumphantly, "I told you I wasn't crazy!"
"Why didn't you tell him we'd stick around?" Amy asked, indignant,
"I mean, it's
Mike Nesmith, my favorite musician besides John Lennon, and you tell him
we need
to go to BERKELEY?! With all the stuff that's happened, Berkeley
probably doesn't
even exist anymore!"
"Look," explained Jeni, "There's something very weird going on here,
and I want
to figure out what it is. It's 1998- Mike Nesmith is in his fifties and
lives in
some obscure New Mexico location-"
"Don't remind me," groaned Amy.
"-and anyways, if Mike really was eighteen, he would still be living
in Texas, not
L.A. And even though this time, the little escapade was fun and
exciting, that Hotel
California deal last night definitely wasn't. What I'm trying to say
is, we might
be in more trouble than we think."
"So maybe we have to complete this trip to find out what's really
going on," mused
Melinda.
"Exactly," said Jeni, "So I vote we get in that rust bucket of a car
and get to
San Francisco as soon as we can."
"Right," Melinda said, and they bid a fond farewell to the
sun-drenched California
beach. In the fading light, Amy could see Mike's silhouette as he stood
on the beach,
staring off into the horizon.
The girls piled into the car again and drove off. As they were
leaving Los Angeles,
a thought came to Jeni.
"Say, what song do you suppose he wrote for you?" asked Jeni.
Amy didn't have to wonder. She already knew. She slid a cassette
into the stereo,
and Mike's voice blasted out of the speakers.
"She owns and operates her own sunshine factory
Painting smiles on dolls and then on me
She's my sunny girlfriend, and personality
She's got a book that tells about everybody's past
She can make you slow while making your mind move
fast
She's my sunny girlfriend, and she is never less.."
"That song's supposed to be about a chick who operates a meth lab,"
Jeni said brightly,
in her Peter Tork voice.
"Shut up, Jeni," said Amy, hut she was grinning.
"And didn't he call that song 'Scroungy Girlfriend' on the Concert
'67 album?" asked
Melinda, smiling.
"Shut up!" Amy shouted indignantly, but she collapsed into giggles.
Then, she straightened
up.
"You guys are just jealous," she said, and turned the volume up on
the stereo.
"You're right," admitted Melinda, then she sighed, "Wow. I can't
believe how lucky
you are."
"Just wait, you guys," Jeni said, "I have the feeling that this trip
is going to
get a whole lot stranger."
The road to San Francisco was empty. It was supposedly a major
California freeway,
but the whole way there, the only car driving along it was their own.
"This is getting really creepy," Melinda remarked, "Maybe we should
turn back..."
"Maybe we should've turned back before we even started driving,"
said Amy darkly.
The other two paid no attention; Amy was a sci-fi and horror writer.
She was always
saying things like that. Jeni sometimes wondered if the world through
Amy's eyes
would look a lot like a film noir movie.
"We came this far, we're going to Berkeley," said Jeni, who was
rather too sensible
in Amy's eyes, since the so-called 'sensible' people were the ones who
always got
killed in sci-fi and horror flicks, "I want to see how this all turns
out."
Amy loved her friend, however, so she summoned up her courage, grit
her teeth, and
kept on driving.
"Now this is more like it," Amy said, relieved, as they drove down
one of San Francisco's
steep streets. The place was teeming with people, and cable cars were
everywhere.
The sound of their bells could be heard for miles, and their tuneless
music was
intermingled with the general cacaphony of the city.
"Wow, what a great car!" said Melinda, pointing out a vintage
Mustang.
"Yeah, look at that one!" said Jeni enthusiastically, indicating a
mid-sixties Corvette.
"Hey..." said Amy slowly, "ALL these cars are vintage..."
"What?" Jeni said, preparing to ask Amy what she meant, but she
stopped short.
Sure enough, every car that passed them was a sixties-model vehicle.
"I think we should find out what's going on RIGHT NOW," Melinda
said, and the other
two girls agreed.
They all walked up to a newsstand which was set up next to a city
park. They politely
asked the man behind the counter for a paper. He smiled at them and
handed Melinda
a San Francisco Chronicle.
"Excuse me, sir?" Melinda asked in a shaky voice, "I think this is a
misprint.
This paper- this paper says it's August first, 1966..."
The man behind the counter eyed her with a look usually reserved for
the crazies.
"No, miss, it's not a misprint," he said slowly, as though he were
speaking to a
small child, "It's August first, like it says, 1966."
"Th- thank you," stammered Melinda, and she walked over to the curb.
Her legs seemed
to give out, and she sat down heavily, staring at the date on the paper.
Amy and
Jeni sat down beside her.
"So that's why I kept seeing the number 66 on the way here," Jeni
said.
"It doesn't explain Mike or Micky," pointed out Melinda.
"It also doesn't explain Hotel California," said Jeni, "That song
was written long
after the sixties were over."
"They're not over, honey," said a voice behind them, "They're just
beginning!"
They turned around and were amazed at what they saw. The entire
park behind them
was filled with hippies. The girl who had spoken to them was topless,
and she had
a daisy painted on her cheek.
Amy and Jeni stared, disbelieving. Their wish had finally come
true- they were
living in 1966. They finally had their fondest desire...and they were
terrified.
End of Part Three.
Route 66, Part Four
"All right, let's think this through rationally," said Melinda.
"Don't say that, man," said Amy, "that's what all the people in
weird sci-fi movies say. I should know- I write sci-fi movies."
"Oh, will you stop?" said Jeni, whose tastes were more of the I
Love Lucy variety, "Why's everything about sci fi movies with you?"
"It's not," said Amy, "everything's about Mike Nesmith to me.
It's
just that it seems as though we have all landed in a sci-fi movie, and I
don't like it much."
Jeni had to agree- it was like a sci fi movie.
"Let's just ride with it for now," said Jeni reasonably,
"Whatever
happened- I think it had something to do with the hotel, when I turned
the
key in the lock...anyway, we can't change it. There's got to be a
reason
for this to be happening."
"And now that it is happening," said Amy, "I think we should
enjoy
it while we can."
"I can dig it," said Jeni, and she laughed.
They saw the sights of San Francisco for the next few days,
hanging
out at Haight-Ashbury and checking out the cuisine in Chinatown. Their
spirits were high, and the fact that they had just been sent back in
time
faded in comparison to the psychedelic colors of San Francisco, 1966.
About two weeks later, Melinda rented out a small apartment in
Berkeley. Jeni was seriously considering enrolling in college at the
University of Berkeley with Amy, and Amy was keeping busy by watching
the
papers for film auditions. They were finally living their dreams.
Melinda sat on a bench on the Berkeley campus, polishing off a
cheeseburger. She watched the passerbys with great interest, as usual.
She'd never seen quite so many radically different people. At this end
of
the campus, a group of Hindu monks were selling books on meditation,
and a
little further away she could see a small Latino band setting up to play
a
few songs. Hippies were everywhere- they choked the streets, holding
sticks of burning incense and singing protest songs under their breath.
The air was electric with culture, and Melinda was directly in the
middle
of it. This was one amazing place.
"Hey!" shouted a man's voice, "Hey, you! Girl!"
Melinda looked up to see who was making the racket, and nearly
dropped her burger when she saw Micky Dolenz running towards her.
"You're the girl who gave me a ride when I was hitchhiking!" he
panted, out of breath, as he collapsed on the bench beside her,
"Australian, right?"
Melinda was too shocked to speak. She simply nodded.
"Aw, great!" he exclaimed, "I'm so glad I saw you! Look, the
cops
are after me- they caught me smoking a joint on campus, and I'm not
getting
arrested if it's the last thing I- oh no! Run!"
Micky tore off across the campus as two cops came into view.
Not
wanting to miss this opportunity, Melinda threw her burger into a nearby
trashcan and was soon in hot pursuit.
"Looks like we lost them," said Melinda, catching her breath as
they stood inside the door of a psychedelic dance club.
"Yeah, for now," Micky said, "C'mon, let's mingle with the
crowd,
so if they come in here they won't spot us."
Melinda and Micky made their way through the crowd of teenagers.
All of the club's patrons had glazed looks on their faces and were
moving
slowly to the strange music.
"These trippy cafes are outasite, huh?" Micky commented, as they
found some beanbag chairs in the corner and dropped into them.
"Sure," Melinda said, "My name's Melinda. I introduced myself
before, in the car-"
"Oh, yeah," Micky said, "My mind was somewhere else that night.
My
name's Micky- without an E, thanks."
Melinda smiled, hardly believing her luck. A second meeting
with
him had seemed highly unlikely, but she certainly wasn't complaining!
"I can't believe you remember me," Micky said, "After all, that
happened about two years ago now."
"Well, I-" Melinda began, but her words caught in her throat.
Two
years?! But it had only been a few days ago...
"So, do you dig rock and roll?" Micky asked, and she put the
subject of the midnight ride into the back of her mind.
"Of course," Melinda replied.
"What's your favorite band?" he asked, raising his voice to be
heard above the music.
"Oh, NoiseWorks, the Monk-" she began without thinking, and then
she paused. Perhaps it would be better not to mention the Monkees yet.
"The what?" asked Micky.
"Never mind," she answered.
"You're a pretty groovy chick," he said, "All that and good
looking, too!"
Melinda looked at his handsome face as the psychedelic colors
from
the club's lighting washed across it. This was definitely some trip,
all
right.
"This is my pad," Micky said as he turned on the light, "It's
not
much, but it's home."
Gears were turning in Melinda's head by now. Something wasn't
right.
"Aren't you supposed to be in some TV show?" she asked
hesitantly,
"And you live in Los Angeles, don't you?"
"Where did you get that idea?" he asked, "I couldn't act if my
life
depended on it. And I grew up in L.A. but I live here now- I'm going to
the U of Berkeley to become a physics major...I love science, y'know?"
"I know," said Melinda absentmindedly. What was going on here?
Micky was supposed to be an actor, and a Monkee too! She thought about
what Mike had said to Amy on the beach. If he was only eighteen when
they
had met him, and the year was 1966, he should have been a little
older...
"What's on your mind, babe?" asked Micky, sitting down next to
her
on the couch.
"I couldn't even begin to explain," she said, shaking her head.
"I've got something that will take your mind off of it," he
said,
and kissed her softly.
Melinda looked at him, surprised and enchanted.
"I'm sorry," he said, backing off, "I didn't mean-"
"No," she said, and began to unbutton his shirt. A slow, sexy
smile drifted across Micky's face.
"Hold on, girl," he whispered, and she placed her fingertips on
his
bare chest as he moved towards her.
****************************
"I'm a little worried about Melinda," said Jeni, "she hasn't
been
home in three days."
She and Amy were in the kitchen of their apartment. Amy was
reading the paper's classified ads, and Jeni was washing the dishes.
"Mmmph," Amy answered through a mouthful of cereal, "This is
Berkeley, in the sixties. Nobody ever went home."
"I know, but still..." said Jeni, and she dropped the next plate
into the wash.
"All right, let's go!" said Micky, and Melinda laughed. He was
chasing the San Francisco cable cars and trying to catch them.
"You're going to kill yourself, you idiot!" Melinda shouted, but
she ran after him anyway.
They had spent nearly four days just talking and goofing off
around
San Francisco...and a few glorious nights as well.
"I got one! Come on, Melinda!" he called from a trolley. She
ran
alongside it for awhile, trying to catch up, and Micky hauled her up
beside
him.
"Love you, babe," said Micky, wrapping his strong arms around
her.
Melinda smiled, and he kissed her cheek.
"I've had an incredible time," Melinda said that night, "but I
really have to get back to my friends. They must be worried sick!"
Micky's boyish face underwent a drastic change. The gleam in
his
eyes seemed to go out suddenly, like an extinguished flame.
"Why?" he asked, so plaintively that Melinda would've married
him
then and there, had he asked.
"Oh, Micky, I'm sorry," Melinda said, "It's just that...well,
there's a lot of things going on right now that you wouldn't
understand....even I don't understand...and the only way I can figure it
out is if I talk to my friends."
Micky bit his lip and nodded.
"I guess you're right," he agreed, "I've been monopolizing your
time, and if you've got a problem you need to deal with, I understand."
"I thought you would," Melinda said.
"Call me soon," he said, "I still love your accent!"
Melinda laughed.
"You've been more wonderful to me than you could ever imagine,"
Melinda said, taking his hand.
"Oh, I think I can," Micky said, and he pulled her close for a
goodbye kiss.
"Melinda!" Jeni shouted, as Melinda walked in the door. The
Australian girl smiled dreamily, and made her way down the hallway.
"Aussie, where have you been?" Amy exclaimed, following her,
"And
where are you going?"
Melinda paused before she shut the bathroom door. Her eyes were
bright and starry.
"I am going," she said, like a person waking from a dream, "to
take
a shower. Then I am going to sleep for five days."
"But where- what- " Amy began.
Melinda held her hand up for silence.
"After I wake up," she said, "then- and only then- will you hear
the incredible story."
The door shut in Amy's face. She shot a questioning look down
the
hall towards Jeni, who merely shrugged.
"You spent the weekend with Micky Dolenz," said Jeni,
"Unbelievable."
Melinda sat in her robe at the counter in the kitchen, grinning
smugly. She spread some Vegimite on her toast and looked over at Amy.
"So it's not just you who gets to Monkee around," said Melinda
slyly, and Amy rolled her eyes.
"That's not important right now," Jeni said, "What we need to
figure out is why this stuff is happening. I mean, I can accept the
fact
that we're living in 1966- sort of. What I don't understand is why all
the
facts are messed up. I mean, just this morning I passed an electronics
store, and do you know what I saw in the window?"
Melinda and Amy looked at their friend expectantly.
"A VCR!" Jeni exploded, "An honest-to-goodness VCR, but they
haven't even been INVENTED yet! And it was a new Japanese model!"
"This is getting almost too weird for ME to handle," sighed Amy,
"At least now you have a chance with Micky, though, Melinda. If the
facts
were all straight, you wouldn't have even-"
"Hey!" interrupted Melinda, "I would've had a chance with Micky
no
matter WHAT year it was!"
"Sure," said Amy dryly.
"Oh, and like you and Mike are such a perfect pair!" Melinda
scoffed, "Two people who are both highly opinionated creative control
freaks would never get along. Besides, I don't think he'd like the idea
that you think you can beat up any guy who can come your way. What
would
he want with you?"
"Hey, I could beat up any- HEY! Take that back!" Amy yelled,
grinning.
"Not unless you take back what you said about my Micky," said
Melinda.
"What for?" challenged Amy, "it's the same thing! Both of you
are
insufferable flirts and you'll probably both cheat on each other the
first
week you've gone steady!"
"Hey!" said Melinda, who was laughing by now, "Take it back or
else!"
"Or else what?" Amy cried, incredulous.
"Or else I'll force you to eat this Vegimite toast!" Melinda
replied, shoving the toast in Amy's face.
"No!" Amy shrieked, giggling, as she tried to keep Melinda's arm
away.
Jeni watched all of this with a smile.
"Yep," she said to herself, "Melinda's home."
End of Part Four
Part Five
Route 66:
"You know something, Melinda?" asked Amy that night, as they
were
watching television. Jeni had gone out in search of a fast food joint
for
a late night snack.
Melinda stretched out on the couch in her bathrobe, a bowl of
ice
cream in her lap.
"What's that?" she asked, her eyes glued to the television.
"The stuff that's been happening hasn't just been weird...it's
been
weird according to our own personal desires," Amy said, walking into the
kitchen and taking a spoon out of the drawer.
"How do you mean?" Melinda asked, still not really paying
attention
to her friend.
"Well, for you to meet Micky Dolenz and for me to meet Mike is
pretty uncanny, right? I mean, it's uncanny all by itself, but why
didn't
you meet Mike and I meet Micky? They're our personal favorite Monkees,
and
we both met the right one," Amy said, and dipped her spoon into
Melinda's
ice cream.
"Hey!" shouted Melinda, yanking the bowl away and laughing, "Go
get
your own!"
"I'm glad I finally have your attention," Amy remarked dryly,
and
she licked the ice cream off her spoon.
"I heard every word you said," Melinda said indignantly.
"Good," Amy said, "because if the trend I'm seeing with us right
now is going to continue, then we know what's going to happen next."
Melinda gasped with realization.
"Jeni's going to meet-" she began, her ice cream all but
forgotten.
"-Peter Tork," finished Amy.
Jeni strolled through the Union Square district in San
Francisco,
enjoying the unseasonal warmth and taking in the sights. Even in the
middle of the night, the streets were filled with people. She loved the
fact that hippies were everywhere again, and if she turned on a radio
station playing current music, the Beatles would come blasting out of
the
speakers. Yes, it was a glorious time to live in, and she couldn't
understand why a lot of adults who had lived in the sixties had taken it
for granted.
As she passed a darkened shop, she glanced at her reflection in
the
window. A good-looking man who bore a strange resemblance to Jeni was
walking in the opposite direction, and she saw the amazed look on his
face
in the reflection of the window. He stared appreciatively at her, and
she
smiled at his reflection. He smiled back in an unsteady, yet somehow
charming way, and she continued down the street.
About half a block away, she looked over her shoulder in the
direction she had come, and was unnerved to see the man was still
standing
there watching her. A little nervous, she hurried on through the crowd.
Two blocks later, she slowed down a little, and cast another
look
over her shoulder. Instantly she regretted it, because she realized how
vulnerable it made her seem.
The man was still there, hanging back a little...but he was
following her.
"Best to confront him here in front of a lot of people," Jeni
thought to herself, and she took a deep breath, steeling herself. She
marched up to the man and opened her mouth to challenge him.
She didn' even get that far.
"Peter?!" she exclaimed, astonished.
The blond man seemed taken aback, but continued to smile in that
shy, disarming way.
"Yes, that's me," he said softly, "How did you know my name?"
"Oh- I- I'm not sure..." Jeni stammered.
"That's all right," he said gently, "I- you're very pretty, you
know."
"Yeah, you just dig me cause I look like you," Jeni said without
thinking, because this was what she intended to say to Peter Tork if she
had ever actually met him, then realized what she had said, "I'm sorry,
I
didn't mean-"
Peter regarded her for a moment.
"You know, you do look like you may be related to me," said
Peter,
and he smiled, "I sure hope not."
"Trust me, I'm not related to you," said Jeni, "You can have my
word."
"I thought- I thought you might like this," Peter said suddenly,
all sweet and shy once more, as he handed her a beautiful purple flower,
"And- I was thinking- maybe you'd like to go somewhere with me?"
Jeni's bewildered feelings must have shown through, because
Peter
immediately became apologetic.
"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to frighten you. It's just
that I've never seen a girl who's as- I mean, I don't have anybody to
hang
out with tonight, and I was feeling kind of lonely- oh, I'm really
mucking
this up..."
"It's all right, Peter," said Jeni, putting the flower in her
hair,
"My name's Jeni, and I'd love to go somewhere with you."
A surprised, yet happy grin spread across Peter's face. He
looked
as though he wasn't very used to success, especially with women.
"Where do you want to go?" asked Jeni, and Peter just laughed.
Jeni thought it was the most exquisite sound she had ever heard.
A half an hour later, they were sitting in Peter's living room
next
to a crackling fire. Jeni was warming her hands on the cup of coffee
Peter
had given her, and watching him as he played his guitar.
"You're an excellent musician, Peter," said Jeni, "It's a good
thing you've got the opportunity to be on television."
Peter glanced up and grinned.
"On television?" he asked, still strumming his guitar, "Oh,
Jeni,
if only!"
It was Jeni's turn to look confused.
"Well...aren't you supposed to be on television next month? On
a
new series?" she asked.
Peter laughed merrily.
"What gave you that idea?" he asked, "I'm just an out-of-work
folk
musician. I don't know if I'd ever really want to be on television,
actually."
"But-" she protested.
"As a matter of fact, I'm only a musician because I love it,"
Peter
continued, "I think the idea of being rich is ridiculous."
Peter went on to explain his views and beliefs on philosophy and
money matters, but Jeni's mind was on other things. This was the third
Monkee they had met whose career did not match the truth. The strangest
part was, each one of the girls had met her own personal favorite of the
band. The only thing left to do was to go back to the apartment and
talk
this over with Amy and Melinda.
"-and I really think that's wrong," Peter was saying earnestly.
Jeni put the tips of her fingers on Peter's mouth and
effectively
silenced him. She gave him a sound kiss, and when she pulled away he
had a
look of amazed surprise on his face, as if everything was turning out
wonderfully, but that he certainly hadn't expected it.
"Peter," Jeni said softly, "I've had the time of my life, and
you
don't know how much you mean to me- but for a different reason than you
probably think. I need to go home and talk to my friends about
something
that I just remembered. I will come back, though- you can count on it."
The disappointment on Peter's face made her want to hold him for
hours, but she knew there was something important to be done.
"You won't come back," Peter said sadly.
"Yes, I will, Peter," Jeni said, "I'll comeback as soon as I
can.
This is my address and my phone number if you want to call or stop by."
"I'm going to write you a song, Jeni," Peter said, grasping her
by
the wrist and looking meaningfully into her eyes, "Just in case I never
see
you again...I want to remember tonight."
"I will come back, Peter," Jeni reassured him, "You can trust
me."
She reached into her bag and wrote her address and telephone
number
on a slip of paper. Then, she leaned over and kissed Peter again.
"I'll see you soon," she said, walking towards the door. As she
closed it behind her, she could see the first faint touches of happy
realization beginning to cross Peter's face.
Jeni walked into the apartment and set down her bag. Amy and
Melinda were still watching television, and Amy was smoking a cigarette
(her only vice besides the Monkees- but all three shared that vice).
"You will never guess who I ran into-" Jeni began.
"Peter Tork," the other girls chorused, not taking their eyes
off
the television screen.
"Yeah, how did you- " Jeni began again, but the other two
interrupted.
"We figured it out tonight," said Melinda .
"You mean, that we've all met our favorite Monkee?" asked Jeni.
"You got it, babe," Amy said, mimicking Michael, as she took a
drag
of her smoke, "And their lives are completely different than we know
them
to be."
"Peter said he'd write me a song," said Jeni, "That makes me
wonder- Melinda?"
Melinda looked extremely put out.
"No, Micky didn't promise to write me a song," she huffed,
"That's
not fair."
"Well, he wasn't a musician anyway, he only wrote songs because
Mike encouraged him," said Amy, "Hey Jeni, what song do you suppose he
wrote 'for you'?"
They all stood around thinking for a moment before Melinda
answered.
"I know," said Melinda, "Remember the song 'Tear the Top Right
Off
My Head'?"
"Yeah!" Jeni said, "The one that goes, 'Walkin' down a lonely
street, I need someone to meet-"
"-I come across sweet-lookin' you, do you know what you do?"
continued Amy, and then all three of them burst into song, "You tear the
top right off my head and blow my mind, I'm goin' blind..."
"You know something?" Melinda asked, "Everything that has
happened
to us has happened in a Monkees song- I mean the things that have
happened
around Mike, Micky, and Peter."
"You're right!" Amy said, "I think mine was a combination of
Sunny
Girlfriend and Sweet Young Thing!"
"Sweet Young Thing?" asked Jeni, "How do you see that?"
"Think about the lyrics: 'turned on to the sunset like I've
never
been before'."
"I don't know," said Melinda, "I think Sweet Young Thing is a
stretch. I think I might have been helping Micky build the lyrics to
Randy
Scouse Git, though."
"So we're becoming the fact behind Monkees-song fiction," Jeni
said, "Now all we have to do is figure out what's going on here. I
think I
have said that three times now, and things just keep getting stranger."
"Why do you want to figure it out?" asked Melinda, "We're
happier
now than we've ever been before, and we can each hang out with our
favorite
Monkee as well. Also, they're not famous, nor are they going to be, so
we
now have the chances we always wanted. Who cares why it's happening?
At
least it's happening...and it's happening to US!"
There was a long, drawn-out silence. Finally, Amy spoke.
"Just remember what happened the other night at the Hotel
California," she admonished, stubbing out her cigarette, "This entire
experience could very well be a wolf in sheep's clothing."
End of Part Five,
Part Six
A few days later, Peter called Jeni. He seemed fearful that she
would rudely brush him off, but when she asked him if he wanted to meet
her
somewhere that afternoon, he settled down.
"I'd love to, Jeni," he said warmly, "I have a girf for you."
"Oh, Pete, you didn't need to," Jeni said, giggling.
"My name's Peter, not Pete," he said gently, "I'll come pick you
up
at two o clock, OK?"
"That's fine," Jeni said, "See you then, Peter."
Jeni had stars in her eyes (figuratively speaking) as she rang
off.
She took out one of her cute summer dresses and ran a bath for herself,
humming "Tear the Top Right Off My Head" under her breath.
Suddenly the bathroom door burst open.
"Sittin' by a firelight, coffee cups for two,
Touch my lips with your fingertips, do you know what you do?"
Amy
sang raucously, but impressively well.
Melinda stuck her head in the door just then.
"You tear the top right off my head, and blow my mind! Yeah, I'm
goin' blind!" Melinda sang, just as well and as loudly, but with an
Australian accent.
Jeni was laughing by this time, and she slipped on some water on
the bathroom floor and nearly fell in the tub.
"Good luck, Jen," said Amy, "Maybe you'll be the next Mrs.
Tork!"
"One of the many," Jeni said dryly, "Now get out of here, you
two-
I need to get ready for my date."
"Yeah, you tear the top right off my head too, Jeni," Melinda
said,
and they closed the bathroom door, giggling.
"I sure pick strange friends," Jeni muttered to herself, and
smiled.
Peter picked her up at exactly two o clock, showing up with a
bouquet of daffodils, which made Jeni break into uncontrollable
laughter.
Peter watched her anxiously, hoping that he had done the right thing.
He
didn't want to mess up his chance with this one-in-a-million beautiful
girl.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Peter," Jeni gasped, trying to catch her breath,
"it's just that...oh, I'm not even going to try to explain. These are
beautiful- it's just that they remind me of something I saw once on
television."
Peter smiled his uncertain smile again, and held his hand out.
"Shall we go?" he asked, and she took his hand and let him lead
her
out the door.
They spent the day walking through the Union Square area in San
Francisco, the same place where they had first met. Peter would tell
her
about his beliefs regarding the government, and she would tell him her
opinions about music, careful to stick to pre-1966 bands (which wasn't
too
hard, since both Amy and Jeni were ignorant of music that was made past
the
year 1971 anyway).
"Speaking of music," Peter said, "remember how I told you that I
had a present for you?"
Jeni smiled, the wind combing through her hair (which was
the same cut and color as Peter's, and had been for about two years
before). She looked up at the sky and saw that the moon was out, in the
middle of the afternoon.
"Hey, look!" she said, pointing skywards, and thereby finishing
the
similarities in their reality to the song Peter had written "for her".
Peter looked up and smiled. He put his arms around her as they
both gazed at the "daytime moon". Jeni put her head on his shoulder,
and
he sighed contentedly.
"Here," Peter simply said, handing her an envelope, "I got these
a
while ago, but I never knew anybody that I thought would want to come
along."
"What's this?" Jeni asked, taking the envelope. They were
sitting
in a small outdoor cafe, having lunch. Peter was a vegetarian, and Jeni
was having a salad just to appease him. She didn't want to offend this
man
who she had fallen in love with...and was finally getting to know.
"Just open it," Peter said, a playful smile on his face.
Jeni tore the envelope open. When she pulled out two small
rectangles of stiff paper, she read and reread what was written on them.
She felt like she was hallucinating, and she shook her head in
disbelief.
"You like them?" asked Peter earnestly.
In her hands, Jeni was holding two tickets that read, THE
BEATLES
AT CANDLESTICK PARK AUGUST 29 7PM. She had almost forgotten about the
billboard they had seen when they had first arrived in California.
"Oh, Peter!" Jeni cried, throwing her arms around him, "You will
really never, ever know what this means to me!"
Peter smiled, and this time, he was confident.
"I'm going to pick up a few papers," Amy said, putting her
wallet
into her back pocket.
"Still searching for that big break?" Melinda teased, smiling.
"I'll never get into movies if I don't keep trying," reasoned
Amy,
"See you in a couple of hours, Aussie."
Melinda watched Amy leave, then she picked up the telephone book
and paged through it. She found what she was looking for, and began to
dial.
"Hello?" a young female voice asked.
"May I speak with Micky?" asked Melinda, trembling with
excitement.
Her stomach was filled with butterflies.
"Yes," replied the girl on the phone, and then she screamed,
"MICKY! THERE'S SOME GIIIIIRRRLL ON THE PHONE FOR YOU!"
Melinda blushed, embarrassed. In the background, she could hear
Micky shouting.
"Coco, just give me the phone!" he demanded, then he said,
"Hello?"
"Hi, Micky," said Melinda, hoping he remembered who she was.
"Melinda," he said instantly, "I didn't think I'd ever talk to
you
again. Sorry about that, by the way- my sister Coco's visiting and she
thinks that everything- including my phone- in my pad is hers. Anyways,
how've you been, girl?"
Melinda felt relieved that he remembered.
"Great," Melinda answered truthfully, "And you?"
"I'm less a man without you around, girl," he said, and Melinda
laughed.
"Let me get this straight," Amy said, amazed, "You and Micky are
going steady now, and Peter and Jeni are as well?"
Melinda and Jeni both nodded in agreement, identical dazed looks
on
their faces.
"Incredible," Amy said, "I haven't found anything new
acting-wise,
I haven't had any inspiration for a novel- surprisingly, what with all
the
stuff that's been going on here, and I don't even get to date a Monkee.
What's the world coming to?"
Suddenly, Melinda snapped out of it.
"Wait, Amy," she said, "I remember something that Micky said to
me.
He said that night I gave him that midnight ride was two years ago!"
"But that was less than a month ago," Jeni said, coming out of
her
trance.
"Don't look now, guys," said Amy, "but I think this just got a
little stranger."
They turned towards where Amy was pointing. On the floor in the
living room was a remote control- for a VCR.
"That does NOT belong here!" Jeni said, "I mean, I saw that VCR
in
the storefront window the other day, and I thought it was a fluke or
something!"
"Did Peter give you acid?" asked Amy, smiling knowingly.
"No, man, I saw that thing in the store before I met Peter,
remember?" Jeni said.
"You know what I think is happening?" asked Melinda, who had
been
fairly quiet up until then.
"What's that?" asked Amy.
"Well, maybe we're moving forward in time while everyone else
stays
in the same place, like we're traveling, and these things are just
beginning to leak through, y'see?"
"And eventually everything will become more and more modern,
until
we're back in our own time, right?" asked Jeni, "Although it seems that
the
time we've spent in San Francisco has been behaving itself...we're going
day to day and week to week, instead of skipping years. Maybe we were
moving forward in time when we were on the road, but now I think that
what
will happen is that the world around us will slowly morph back to 1998.
I
wonder how much time we have left?"
"No!" cried Amy, grasping the counter as though it would keep
her
from returning to the 90's, "I want to stay here! This has been my
lifelong dream!"
"Not much we can do about it, is there?" asked Melinda, and they
all exchanged quiet, worried glances. They felt as though they had just
been told that they had three weeks to live.
"Well, let's make the best of it while we can," said Melinda, "I
could be wrong, you know."
"Yeah!" agreed Amy enthusiastically, "It could just be a strange
fluke, y'know. Or we've just been hallucinating."
"It doesn't change the fact that we still have this," said Jeni,
picking up the remote control.
"Let's not think about that anymore," said Amy, "Tomorrow is the
Beatles concert, right?"
"Yeah," said Jeni dreamily, "I can't wait."
"Oh!" Melinda said, "I forgot to tell you guys. Micky called me
a
couple of days ago and invited me to the concert, too! Seems he had an
extra ticket that he'd been trying to scalp, but then he found out I
wanted
to go. He's a legend, man."
"Listen to you! 'Man'- you're hanging around Amy too much!" said
Jeni, laughing.
Amy looked miserable.
"My favorite band, the most legendary band of all time, and I
have
to stay home," she moaned, "and it's their last concert, too!"
Jeni and Melinda tried their best to comfort her.
"We'll take a camera and get some pictures," Jeni assured her,
"It's all we can do, Amy. The tickets have been sold out for months."
"I know, I know," sighed Amy, "I'll just have to be satisfied
with
that, I guess."
"Hey, at least YOUR Monkee wrote you a song," Melinda said, "All
I
got was a whole weekend with mine!"
All three of them laughed, but Amy didn't feel much better. She
went into the living room and curled up with her copy of STRANGER IN A
STRANGE LAND, her favorite novel, and began to read.
The next night was a flurry of excitement. Jeni and Melinda
were
rushing around, trying to find the perfect outfits.
"Do you think this makes me look too pale?" Jeni asked, holding
up
a yellow velour shirt.
"Do you think this makes me look fat?" asked Melinda, and they
looked at each other, realizing how ridiculous they sounded, and broke
up
into laughter. These three girls were the kind of women that scoffed at
other girls who cared enough about how they looked to put on makeup
daily,
and to say things like they had was quite out of character.
A knock came on the door, and Amy got up to open it.
Suppressing
the usual urge she had to scream and wrap her arms around Peter, she
ushered him inside.
"Jeni," he said, in his usual tones of hushed awe, "you look
beautiful. I brought you roses this time- I thought you'd like them
better
than the daffodils."
Jeni smiled warmly and kissed him, taking the roses.
"They're great, Peter," she said, "and the daffodils were great,
too. Thanks."
"Ready to go?" asked Peter.
"I've been ready for this night my whole life," Jeni assured
him,
and they left, talking and laughing.
"Amy, I want to look my best," said Melinda, "Which one of these
do
you like better?"
"If you want to look your best, why are you asking me for
advice?"
asked Amy, grinning, as she indicated her own outfit. It was a dress
that
looked as though it had started its life as a paisley bedsheet and then
became a sort of tentlike dress with a belt Amy could tighten around her
waist, and a pair of knee-high, fringed leather Native American trail
moccasins.
"Hey, that's a cool outfit," said Melinda, "Now, which one is
better?"
Amy looked at the two outfits Melinda was holding out, and
pointed
to one that was a bellbottom/flowered shirt combination.
"I agree," she said, and there was another knock at the door,
"Will
you get that? I need to put this stuff on. Thanks!"
Melinda ran back to her bedroom as Amy opened the door a second
time. Again she suppressed her urge to go into hysterics, and led Micky
inside.
"You look mighty fine, girl," Micky said, as Melinda came into
the
living room. Amy had to agree. She had never seen Melinda look quite
so
alluring.
"Let's go," Micky said, unable to tear his eyes off of Melinda,
"See ya later, Amy. Too bad you couldn't come along."
"Bye, Micky. Bye, Melinda. Have fun," Amy said halfheartedly,
and
she closed the door behind them.
About fifteen minutes later, Amy decided she didn't want to be
stuck in the house. Everybody who was somebody was at that Beatles
concert, and she wanted to be one of those people. Either she would
sneak
in, or she'd listen from outside.
She drove to Candlestick Park in her red '65 Mustang, which was
her
dream car and she had finally purchased one after a stint in a Ford
commercial, and she parked about a mile away from the stadium. The
parking
lots and streets were choked with cars and people. There were large
groups
of people in the trees, hoping to get a glimpse of the Beatles, and as
she
drew nearer to the stadium itself, she could hear the sound of thousands
of
people milling around.
She began to fight her way towards the doors into the stadium,
trying to think of a way to sneak inside. Just then, a hand dropped
onto
her shoulder.
"Amy!" said an all-too-familiar Southern twang, "I can't believe
it's you!"
Amy looked up into Mike's handsome face, and this time, did not
suppress the urge to scream and throw her arms around him.
"Mike!" she cried out happily, "I thought I'd never see you
again!"
"I thought the same," he said, holding her tightly, "Listen, I
have
an extra ticket to the concert. You want to come inside with me?"
Amy wanted to cry, she was so relieved.
"Do fish swim?" she asked, and then began to laugh when she
realized what she had said.
"My, my, girl, I couldn't wait to see you again," he said, "I
wrote
you two songs, babe."
"Really? What're they called?" asked Amy, her voice muffled by
Mike's shirt.
"Well, there's one called 'Sunny Girlfriend', and there's this
other one that I've been working on since we met called 'Sweet Young
Thing'," he said, "but that one needed further input, so I thought I'd
wait
til I saw you again to finish it, even if it took my whole life to find
you."
"You're a sweetheart, Mike," Amy said, "they should make more
men
like you."
"Thanks," he said quietly, touching her hair.
"All right, let's break up this cozy little scene," Amy said,
straightening up. She wasn't much for romantic things.
"Let's go inside," Mike suggested, "Take my hand?"
With a smile touching the corners of her mouth, Amy did just
that.
End Part Six
Route 66, Part Seven
The crowd was overwhelming as they entered the stadium. Girls
everywhere were already screaming, "Paul!" and "John!" Amy was in
seventh
heaven, and was extremely awre of whose hand she was holding.
Quickly, they found the other two, Melinda and Jeni having told
her
where they would be seated, in case an emergency came up. The other two
girls' faces registered shock when they saw Mike, but they soon
recovered.
"This is so amazing!" Amy tried to shout over the ruckus, but
soon
discovered that any attempt at communication would be in vain. She
settled
back into her seat, and Mike put his arm around her shoulders.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE WELCOME TO SAN FRANCISCO'S
CANDLESTICK PARK...THE BEATLES!!" came a voice over the loudspeakers,
but
it was mostly drowned out by hysterical screaming.
Then, finally, they could see four men walk out onto the field.
They were lucky; Micky, Mike, and Peter had great seats- just a few rows
up
from the playing field. As the Beatles picked up their instruments,
Amy,
Jeni, and Melinda found themselves screaming as well.
After the initial excitement, the three girls calmed down and
tried
very hard to hear the music being played. It was to no avail. The
thousands of girls screaming and weeping in the stands overwhelmed the
weak
amplifiers, and Amy began to notice John's weary irritation and Paul
forgetting the words to songs she had long ago tattooed on her heart.
"I get high when I see you walk by," John sang, obviously bored,
as
he missed a few notes on his guitar.
It didn't much matter to any of the girls, though. Just the
fact
that they were attending a Beatles concert in 1966 was enough to send
them
into states of euphoria. Amy stared with great love at John Lennon,
until
she became aware that Mike seemed a little put out by it. She glanced
over
at Melinda and Jeni, and they seemed to be quite taken by the Beatles as
well. Micky looked angry and Peter seemed hurt, and soon the other
girls
came back to the real world and checked themselves. Jeni thought about
the
fact that the girls loved the Beatles and Monkees equally, and smiled.
If
only they knew, she thought, looking at the three boys they were seated
with, if only they knew.
As the Beatles finished their last song, Jeni got to her feet.
She
screamed for so long and so loud that she nearly lost her voice. They
came
back for a quick encore, again messing up the words and the notes, but
Jeni
could excuse that. With all the concerts they had performed and the
prisonlike lives they led, they deserved a break. All three girls were
cheering wildly...because they knew that this was the last time the
Beatles
would ever play a concert.
Suddenly Amy remembered something.
"Mike!" she shouted loudly into his ear, "can you get us
backstage
passes?"
He rubbed his ear for a moment and turned to her.
"I don't know, honey, that may be a little hard to swing," he
shouted back. Amy shivered. She liked it when he called her that.
"But you know John-" she began to shout to him, then quickly
corrected herself, "I mean, you should be able to, right? There's
something I need to tell John Lennon! It's a matter of life and death!
Literally!"
Mike gave her a look that was half-jealous, half-confused.
"I don't have any idea what you're talking about, but I'll try
and
get ahold of some passes," he shouted, and got up from his seat, "I'll
be
back!"
As she watched Mike fight his way through the crowd, trying not
to
get trampled, Amy prayed that he would find a way to get all of them
backstage. If she could avert John Lennon's horrible death, then this
entire weird experience would seem a little more worthwhile and a little
less selfish. She glanced over at Jeni and Melinda, who had heard the
conversation, and realized that both of them were hoping for Mike to
come
through on this, also. Micky and Peter seemed a little confused, but
any
chance to meet the Beatles was fine by them. They just didn't
understand
how important it was.
Finally Mike returned.
"Sorry, babe," he shouted, "There's no way. I just don't have
enough power or money, I guess."
As Mike sat down beside her once again, Amy sighed sadly.
Perhaps
this was the way it was meant to be. Maybe it was best not to fool
around
with history. After all, if John hadn't been shot, he probably wouldn't
have ended up a legend.
Eventually, the stadium cleared out, and they all made their way
to
the parking lots. Jeni and Peter climbed into her Volkswagen, and Micky
and Melinda got into his Pontiac GTO, a fact about him that always made
her
smile. As Amy and Mike neared her Mustang, he stopped and turned to
face
her.
"Mind if I come over?" he asked, his voice seeming like a
whisper
after the intensity of the screams inside the stadium.
"Not at all," Amy said, and he touched her cheek. She backed
away
immediately. She knew that starting something with Mike would only hurt
both of them, since they had finally figured out that the three girls
would
be back in 1998 sooner or later...and would have to leave the boys
behind.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, "I just thought..."
"No, it's all right," Amy assured him, "Just give me some time
to
think about this. I'll explain when I can...I hope..."
"I just wanted to finish what I started on Venice Beach a couple
of
years ago," he said, and before she knew it, he was kissing her.
She was in heaven for those few glorious seconds, and then came
down to earth with a resounding crash. He had spent an afternoon with
her
on Venice Beach a month ago...and the fact that he had said "two years
ago", just like Micky had, reminded her of the situation she was in.
"Thanks, Mike," she said, "but let's not start this, OK?"
Mike smiled and his brown eyes softened.
"All right," he agreed, "Now, can we go? I'm starving, and I'll
cook you dinner....I'm a good cook, I promise."
"Sure, let's go," she said, "but only if you drive."
"How come?" asked Mike, smiling slyly.
"Oh, no reason," Amy said with a shrug, "Just want to see a
strong
Southern man behind the wheel of a hot red convertible. I have my
reasons."
Mike grinned crazily.
"I thought we weren't going to start that," he teased, and she
gave
him a playful punch in the arm, "Ouch! That's why I like you, girl.
You're so strange you don't even understand yourself."
Complying with her wishes, Mike climbed behind the wheel of the
Mustang, tipping her a wink, and they drove off towards Berkeley.
"Mike, that was an excellent meal!" said Melinda, wiping her
mouth
with her napkin.
Mike, who for some reason was wearing an extremely girlish pink
apron, said, "You see, Amy? I told you I was a great cook!"
Amy nodded. She was so full she could barely move. Mike ducked
down and gave her a quick peck on the cheek before he went back into the
kitchen.
"Mike," Amy warned, and he just grinned.
Melinda leaned over and whispered in Amy's ear.
"I have to admit, when he brought out that chicken I nearly died
laughing," she said, and Amy smiled, "If I see one more Monkees
reference
around here, I don't think I'll be able to hold it in any longer."
Micky stood up from the table just then, and led Melinda into
the
living room. Everyone else soon followed, Mike untying his ridiculous
apron and throwing it on the naugahyde couch.
"Let's listen to some tunes, man," Micky said, and began digging
through a box of records which Jeni had packed in the car before they
had
left home.
"No, Micky, don't-" Melinda cried, rushing over to stop him, but
it
was too late.
"What's this?" he asked, pulling out a shiny record sleeve that
read, THE BEST OF THE MONKEES, "I've never heard of these guys before,
I-"
Melinda and Jeni put their hands to their foreheads, shaking
their
heads. Amy sighed resignedly, and waited for the inevitable.
Micky looked more closely at the picture.
"Hey, that's me!" he said, surprised, "And that's Mike and
Peter!
But...I never met any of you before tonight. What-"
"Lemme see that," Mike said, snatching it away, "Hey, yeah,
that's
me! And that stupid green hat I used to wear all the time, even to bed!
Man, did I ever get tired of that...come to think of it, my mom did
too."
Peter came over and inspected the record.
"Who's that weird-looking short guy?" he asked.
Mike was naturally the first to turn a challenging look towards
the
girls.
"What's going on here, darlins?" he asked, "Tell us the truth."
After the entire story had been related to the three guys, there
was an uncomfortable silence.
"So, we're supposed to be this famous rock band on TV and you
guys
are time travelers?" asked Peter.
"So that's why you gals act so strange," Mike muttered,
standing
at the window and staring out into the night, "And I thought it was
something in the water. Man, this is weirder than some HG Wells book."
"We missed our chance to be like the Beatles?" asked Micky, "Aw,
man, why did you have to mess it up for us?"
"Leave them alone, Micky," Mike said, a razor edge creeping into
his voice, "Like they said, it happened by acccident. It ain't their
fault."
"Sorry," Micky said softly, taking Melinda's hand, "It's just
real
hard to swallow, y'know?"
"I know, old buddy," Mike replied, "but you do care about
Melinda,
right?"
Micky glanced over at the Australian girl, and his face
softened.
"Oh, yeah," Micky said dreamily.
"Then that's all that matters," said Peter, "Besides, fame and
money are nothing compared to someone you love. I've never met anyone
as
pretty or sweet as Jeni. Even if they 'warp' back to their time, when
I'm
in my fifties I'll find her again. I swear it."
Mike came over and tried to put his arm around Amy. She shied
away.
"Amy, don't do that," he said, "I understand why you're scared
to
start anything. I'm sure everyone else is worried, too...but if you dig
me, act on it, girl."
Amy smiled, relieved that he finally understood, as he draped
his
arm over her shoulders. She gave him a quick kiss and Mike continued.
"All right," he said, "then it's agreed that nothing changes,
right?"
"Right," said Micky and Peter simultaneously.
"Now, there's just one thing I have to do," said Mike.
"What's that?" asked Amy.
"I want to listen to every Monkees record you have," he said, a
smile spreading across his face, "and see how good we really were."
With a maniacal laugh, Mike dug into the record box and the
night began.
"This is totally unbelievable," said Mike a few hours later as
they
were listening to HEADQUARTERS, having gone through almost all of the
Monkees albums, "That's the song I wrote for you, Amy- Sunny
Girlfriend."
"I know," Amy admitted, squeezing his hand. She had been so
afraid
that once they knew the truth, they would hate the girls forever. Mike,
however, simply seemed amazed. Perhaps it hadn't hit him yet.
"So we were your idols, and now you haven't only met us, you're
dating us," Micky said in tones of great awe, "That's so strange. And
the
weirdest thing is that you are each dating the- what was that- Monkey?
that
you loved the best."
"I think someone up in the cosmos is having a laugh at our
expense," Peter muttered, "still, it's an interesting premise."
"So that means that whatever I do to you, you'll still love me?"
Micky teased Melinda, and she smacked him a good one.
"I reckon this has a lot more to do with you three girls that
with
us, even if we WERE supposed to be famous," Peter interjected, "I mean,
I
never wanted to be anybody's idol, or anything-"
At this, Micky interrupted, his trademark crazy grin lighting up
his face.
"I've ALWAYS been a teen idol," he boasted jokingly, "Don't you
know that girls are always swarming me, begging for sexual favors?"
"Especially at malls around Christmastime," Melinda added, and
though the joke was lost on him, Micky agreed.
"Yes, the women are everywhere," he said, "I can't keep them
away!"
Everyone threw various odds and ends at him, until he finally
cried
uncle.
"I myself am deeply jealous," said Mike, and the girls went into
fits of laughter, thought the joke, again, was lost on the guys.
"All right, all right, calm down, it wasn' THAT funny," said
Mike,
"Now. You're saying you knew this all along and you didn't tell us?
Why
not?"
The girls exchanged confused looks, but Peter saved the day.
"That's all right," Peter said, "you don't need to answer that.
I
think we all know why. If the same thing had happened to me, I wouldn't
have told us either...if that makes any sense."
"And to think, all this time I've been trying to become a
successful musician," Mike said wryly, "and I already am one. Sort of."
"Hey, what's this one?" asked Micky, pulling a videocassette
tape
out of the box.
"Micky, please don't look at that," Melinda pleaded
halfheartedly,
already knowing that it was too late.
"Oh, man, come here and look at this," Micky groaned, looking at
the cover of JUSTUS, the Monkees 1996 thirty-year reunion album
pictures.
"My hair!" exclaimed Peter, putting the palm of his hand against
his hairline.
"Man, who is that?" asked Mike, laughing, "What a geezer!"
"Mike," Amy said gently, "that's you. In thirty years."
Mike seemed mortified by this information. He looked at his
reflection in the darkened window, looked at his own face staring out at
him from the picture, and then back at his reflection again.
"Just who is this geeky little jerk, here?" asked Micky, jabbing
his finger at Davy's picture.
The girls giggled and explained Davy Jones. They had never been
too fond of him.
"I can see why you didn't like him much," Peter said, hugging
Jeni
tightly, "I just don't want this to affect our relationships-"
"-and hopefully friendships with each other," added Micky,
indicating the other two guys, and for once being entirely serious.
Amy smoothed out an invisible wrinkle in her yellow dress, and
asked Micky if he would sing her a song, just for the sake of hearing a
Monkee sing.
"I don't know if it will be the same as it would have been, had
things turned out the way they were supposed to," sighed Micky, "but I
guess so. I don't really think I can sing..."
"Go ahead, man," Mike encouraged him, in a strange pantomime of
what happened within a totally separate reality.
"All right," he said, "here goes."
Suddenly, he kneeled on the floor in front of Melinda and began
to
sing to her in front of everyone. The girls recognized the beautiful
song
immediately, and his voice was so tender and heartfelt that even Mike,
who
seemed solid as a rock, had tears in his eyes.
"When your dreams have died around you,
she'll be there,
when you need a hand to guide you
she'll be there,
and when you feel rejected
'cause life is not what you expected
she will...always be there."
Micky's song was met with thunderous applause, and Melinda
blushing
fiercely.
"Thanks," MIcky said, "Sorry to embarrass you, Roo...but did you
like it?"
"Roo" was a name he had given Melinda in reference to her
Australian background. Normally Melinda would fight tooth and nail to
be
dressed with ill-fitting Aussie stereotypes, but it was cute when Micky
started calling her his kangaroo. Not that he actually knew anything
about
Australian life besides that one fact, but she put up with it in good
humor
anyway.
"Yes, Micky, that was absolutely brilliant," said Melinda,
beginning to recover from the impact that the song had made upon her, "I
can't wait until you finish it."
"We're pretty predictable, aren't we?" Mike suddenly intervened,
changing the subject.
"What do you mean, Mike?" asked Amy, who had started to braid
beads
into Melinda's hair.
"Well, since you know our life stories and all, as well as
everything about us, you'll never be surprised," he complained, "that's
not
fair. We should be equal in all ways."
"I disagree," said Jeni, "I think that because of this odd
change
in facts, you guys may be completely different than we think you are.
If
one fact changed, then there should be other changes."
"Besides, it's not as if the girls actually lived with us in
their
time," Peter added, "I think this will be, with the exception of a few
minor details, such as attitudes, beliefs and songs, quite the magical
mystery tour for all of us."
The three girls nodded their heads in agreement to Peter's
statement.
"It's been quite the magical mystery tour for us already,"
smiled
Melinda, "Now we're just waiting to see where Route 66 takes us next."
End Part Seven
Route 66, Part Eight
A few days went by without incident. The girls were discovering
that despite the culture explosion, living in the late sixties was
pretty
much the same as living in the late nineties...with minor irritations,
such
as the fact that there was no such thing as microwave popcorn, since
microwaves hadn't been invented yet. Melinda was working for Micky,
keeping his...ahem...affairs in order. Jeni and Peter were both folk
singers, called- in a spark of inspiration- Jeni and Peter. Amy was
still
hunting for that big break into show business or for publication of one
of
her novels, and Mike was trying to produce his first record and bossing
everybody around, as usual. The girls almost forgot that the boys they
were dating were their once-idols, and the days ran together like melted
wax. A couple of days into September, the girls finally discovered the
purpose for their excursion into the Twilight Zone.
Micky and Melinda were seated in the middle of the living room
amidst the naugahyde seats. Micky was picking a familiar tune out on
Mike's guitar.
"She's a wonderful lady, and she's mine, all mine," here he
paused,
and said, "That part's about you, Melinda.."
Then, he continued the song.
"...and there doesn't seem a way she won't come and lose my
mind,"
he sang, "it's too easy humming songs to a girl in yellow dress-" here
he
paused again and said, "that's about Amy, on the night when we found out
who we really were to you girls-" then resumed singing again, "it's been
a
long time since the party and the room is in a mess."
Melinda grinned and sang in her Australian accent, "The four
kings
of EMI are sitting stately on the floor, there are birds out on the
sidewalk and a valet at the door, he reminds me of a penguin with few
and
plastered hairs, there's talcum powder on the letter and the birthday
boy
is there."
Micky laughed charmingly, shaking his head.
"I just can't surprise you, can I, Roo?" he asked, "I wrote that
song because Mike told me I should try writing, since I was the lead
singer
of the Monkees, and I would probably do OK-"
"I'm sorry, Micky," she said, touching his cheek, "it's just
that
'Randy Scouse Git' is one of my favorite songs...and trust me, Mike was
right. Jeni, Amy, and I are always discussing how you should have
written
more songs."
"Thanks," said Micky, smiling, "but why would I name that song
after a horny Liverpudlian jerk?"
"Hey! Melinda!" Amy burst through the front door just then,
panting with exhaustion, and Melinda looked at her friend.
"Oh, hi, Amy," she said, "what's going on?"
"Look at this," Amy said, handing her a copy of a Hollywood
trade
paper that featured a great many advertisements for open casting calls
and
other movie auditions.
Melinda took the paper from Amy, and scanned the classifieds to
see
what her friend was ranting about. Amy assisted her by jabbing her
finger
towards a fairly large advertisement, and as Melinda perused it, the
Australian girl's mouth dropped open in shock.
The advertisement read: MADNESS! WANTED: FOLK SINGERS AND
MUSICIANS! RUNNING PARTS FOR FOUR INSANE GIRLS, AGES 17-21. WANT
SPIRITED BEN FRANK'S TYPES.
"Is this what I think it is?" Melinda managed to say.
"Yeah," said Amy, "it's the advertisement for the Monkees' TV
show,
but it's more than a year late, and it's asking for girls instead of
guys!"
"I think I get the idea behind this whole Twilight-Zone-style
experience now," said Melinda, "I think that this means that the Monkees
still exist...but now, the Monkees are US."
"Which would explain why each one of us met our favorite
Monkee,"
Amy nodded, deep in thought.
Just then, Jeni and Peter came through the door, laughing so
hard
they had to lean on each other to stay upright.
"VERY stoned," mouthed Melinda, and Amy hid a smile.
Jeni suddenly noticed her friends' grim looks, and the laughter
died in her throat.
"What's wrong, guys?" asked Jeni, her brow furrowing in an
incredible pantomime of Peter Tork's "worried" expression.
"Well," drawled Amy, "how do you feel about being The Dummy?"
The line to get into the auditions in Hollywood circled the
block.
Over 400 hopeful girls had shown up, and Jeni, Amy, and Melinda were
very
aware of how slim their chances were. Peter held Jeni's hand as they
stood
in line, trying to encourage his lookalike girlfriend.
"Jeni," he said, "if you girls were the ones who traveled back
in
time because of your love for the Monkees, they have to pick you- it's
fate. Besides, nobody else could mimic my faces like you."
"Yeah, baby," Micky's silk-soft voice spoke to Melinda, "I can't
imagine anyone else making it. You girls are all too fine- how could
they
not dig you?"
"Still," Amy said doubtfully, wringing her hands, "we're not the
most talented chicks on earth. Besides, I'm an actress, not a
singer...and
I want to direct movies and produce more than I want to be on TV or in
film, since I write movies anyway.."
"Peter's not the most talented singer on earth, but he made it
into
the original Monkees and they sold millions," Mike said, his arm draped
loosely over Amy's shoulders, "Sorry, Pete, but it's true."
"Mike, why on earth do you have to be so mean?" Amy asked him,
"You
can be so nice and then you turn into a snake."
Mike didn't seem to hear her. Peter gave Mike a hurt look, but
left it at that.
The Hollywood sun beat down on them as they awaited their turns.
The girls, knowing the entire story already, were well aware of how they
must behave in front of the producer/directors if they wanted a shot at
being the Monkees. The old question, "If I was a Monkee, which one do
you
think I'd be?" which they asked each other over and over again, was
about
to be answered.
"You'd definitely be Peter," Amy said to Jeni, "You look almost
exactly like him. I mean, not saying you look like a guy, but maybe
like
his twin sister."
"Who would you and I be, then?" asked Melinda, "We're kind of a
combination of Micky and Mike. You've got Micky's insanity and Mike's
temper and creativity; I've got Micky's lechery and Mike's deadpan
humor."
"Amy Hoff?" the casting director suddenly called out.
"I guess we're going to find out that answer," said Amy, taking
a
deep breath. Summoning up her courage, she walked inside.
The room seemed extremely dark after the brightness of the
California sun, and Amy could barely amke out the figures of two men in
the
room. She wasn't at all surprised to see the room cluttered with
plastic
cups and pizza boxes, and she watched as the two men, who were seated on
the couch, as they began to stack all the various odds and ends in an
improbable tower. She realized that she was definitely in, and exactly
whose role she would be playing. She picked up a paper cup and set it
on
top of the precariously-balanced pile.
"Checkmate," she said triumphantly, and sealed her fate as the
drummer for the new made-for-television band.
"Jeni Huber?" came the casting director's voice, and Jeni shot
an
anxious look at Peter. Peter squeezed her hand and gave her a quick
kiss.
"Go ahead," he said gently, "I'll be praying for you, honey."
Jeni walked through the door into the studio. The first thing
she
did was bump into the wall as she came in the door, Peter-style. The
two
men in the room, apparently the directors, laughed at her, and then
completely ignored her. They became deeply involved in a heated
argument,
leaving Jeni standing there, uncomfortable and extremely confused. She
had
no idea what she was supposed to do, if anything, so she began
practicing
her Peter Tork faces from the Monkees episodes she'd seen.
Finally, one of the men turned to look at her, just as she was
doing a face she had named "I'm Extremely Confused But I'm Playing It
Cool". He burst out laughing and mentioned something about Harpo Marx.
With Peter-like unsurety, Jeni smiled, and that uneasy smile cemented
her
role in the new series as the hapless fool on bass guitar.
"When are they going to call me?" Melinda asked, frustrated.
Her
friends had not yet come back out to join them, and Melinda was getting
impatient. She had her laundry to do and she was anxious to get back to
San Francisco and to Peter's house- he had invited them all over for an
impromptu jam session around his fireplace that evening, and a jam
session
with the Monkees- whether they were now factually the Monkees or not-
was
not the kind of thing the girls would EVER miss! Even though it was an
eight-hour drive back to San Francisco, Melinda would prefer that to
standing around in Hollywood for hours.
"Settle down, babe," Micky said soothingly, "they'll call you
soon."
Even Micky's ultra-sexy voice couldn't calm her down, though-
she
wanted to get everything finished down here in Hollywood and get back up
to
San Francisco before midnight so she'd have at least a few hours to
spend
with the guys. She made an irritated noise and stuck out her lower lip
in
annoyance.
Micky was digging through her laundry bag, giggling at her
nineties-styled clothes.
"Man, oh, man, what is this?" he asked, holding up Melinda's
precious green wool hat. Melinda had spent months searching for the
perfect green wool hat to sew a tassel on and wear, Mike Nesmith style.
"That's my green wool hat," she said, finally breaking into a
smile, "like Mike's, remember?"
Micky stuck the hat on her head and rolled it up so it looked
perfect.
"Hey, with that hat on, you kind of look like Mike, you know
that?"
Micky asked, smiling.
"Melinda Thompson?" the casting director shouted, and Melinda
rolled her eyes.
"It's about bloody time," she said, and stomped inside.
She walked into the studio and saw the two directors seated
behind
a table, discussing something or another. She walked right up to the
table
and slammed her fist down on it.
"What's all this about?!" she demanded.
The two men exchanged glances, and in that split second, Melinda
remembered the green wool hat that Micky had plunked on her head before
she'd come in. She realized instantly that she had become "W.H.
Woolhat"...the "leader" of the Monkees.
"So it's all figured out, then?" asked Jeni later on that night,
as
they sat around the fire at Peter's house, "I'm Peter, Melinda's Mike,
and
Amy's Micky."
"Who's Davy?" asked Amy, "I'd like to know. I 'd also like to
know
why I have to be the lead singer- you and Melinda have much better
singing
voices than mine. Mine is more like Peter's- sorry, Peter, no offense."
"None taken," he assured her, "none ever taken. I know you love
my
voice anyway- and I love yours."
"The girl who plays Davy's part- Shannon- is dating Davy Jones
herself," Melinda annnounced, "she's pretty short, too- she fits the
part
perfectly."
"Davy Jones?!" exclaimed Micky, "That's the famous Manchester
jockey! I hear about him all the time- the girls really dig him! Was
he a
Monkee? I didn't think he could sing!"
"Neither did we," said Melinda dryly, "but yes, he was a Monkee-
remember the first picture we showed you when you first found out the
truth?"
"Oh, yeah," said Micky, "that weird-looking little guy. I
wonder
why chicks dig him so much? I can't see it, myself. Besides, I think
he's
better as a jockey."
"Thanks, Peter, for what you said about my singing voice," Amy
broke in, "but I still want to know- why am I the lead singer? I don't
have a sexy voice like Micky's."
"Hell yes you do," shouted Mike from the kitchen. They all
ignored him.
"Well," Melinda grumped, "they told me that I was too unAmerican
to
sing lead. They said my Australian accent wasn't cool because they were
trying to combat the Beatles' popularity with a so-called 'All-American'
singing group. I'm OK to be in the show for comic relief- but they
won't
let me sing lead. Kind of like what happened to Mike Nesmith- they
didn't
want him to sing lead because of the 'country flavor' to his voice."
"Hey!" Mike shouted again, "I heard that! Country flavor, my
ass!"
"Your ass is country-flavored?" asked Amy teasingly.
"Come on, Amy, don't you already know the answer to that?" asked
Melinda slyly, and Amy gasped in mock horror.
"Awwwrubelator!" Jeni yelled, and everyone laughed.
"Oh, shut up," Mike called from the kitchen.
"So why not Jeni?" asked Amy, "she can sing much better than I
can,
and besides, she has experience!"
"Well, she's supposed to be the dummy," explained Melinda, "the
dummy can't be the group leader, Shhtooopid."
"Why do you always do that?" asked Micky, kissing her ear.
"Do what?" asked Melinda, giggling.
"Every time you say the word 'stupid' you put an 'sh' in front
of
it, and you say, 'shhhtoopid'," he told her.
"Because I damn well feel like it," said Melinda, "got a problem
with it?"
"Hell no," said Micky, "I just think it' s cute."
"Damn straight," said Melinda, and Mike emerged from the
kitchen.
"You've got an attitude that rivals mine, Melinda," he
commented,
sitting down next to Amy.
"Amy's worse," Jeni said, "and she's a control freak."
"Just my style," said Mike, and he hugged Amy.
"You two aren't even going out, are you?" asked Melinda, and
Mike
and Amy shook their heads.
"Don't start, Michael," warned Amy. They had discussed this,
and
had agreed to remain friends because it seemed healthier that way.
Mike,
however, was not easily dissuaded.
"Well, now I have to wear this stupid green wool hat
everywhere,"
Melinda complained, changing the subject, "I can understand why Mike
stopped wearing it."
"Dinner's done," Mike announced, "Chinese food this time- I hope
it's not a Monkees reference, girls. I tried real hard to think of
something that was completely unAmerican. Well?"
The three girls exchanged glances, and then broke into laughter.
"There's a Monkees episode- one of our favorites- that takes
place
in a Chinese restaurant," Jeni explained, "but don't worry about it,
Mike-
all three of us are obsessed with the Monkees. Anything you say or do
could be referenced back to them."
Mike just rolled his eyes, and suddenly Peter jumped up.
"I want a picture!" he announced, producing an Instamatic
camera.
Everyone crowded together, smiling and waving peace signs. The bulb
popped
and everyone groaned, blinking their eyes to get used to the darkness of
the room again. Then Mike took a picture of the girls with Peter and
Micky, so that Peter could be in the pictures too. The photos came out
beautifully, and Peter smiled.
"Here, Jeni," he said, "you can have these. To remember us in
case
you fade away..."
Everyone was silenced by the suggestion of this possibility, and
the tension in the room was thick.
"Come on, let's eat," invited Mike finally, and they all went
into
the kitchen, while the girls made obscure Monkees jokes which, it
seemed,
only they would ever truly understand.
End of Part Eight
Part Nine
"But I can't play the drums!" insisted Amy, "I can play a little
guitar, but not the drums!"
"Don't worry about it, kiddo," said the director, "you don't
really
need to know how to play the drums. Other musicians will substitute the
soundtrack for you. You just need to act out the part."
"Oh, OK," said Amy, unsure of herself. She knew what kind of an
explosion had happened with the original Monkees as far as their music
was
concerned.
"But Jeni and I really ARE musicians!" protested Melinda, green
wool hat askew on her head, "we want to be able to play!"
"Sure, sure, kid," the director assured them, "soon. It's just
that the first record we put out will have to be studio musicians with
your
voices layered over the music. You girls are too busy with the
television
series right now to be bothered with music. Since the demand is huge
for
your records, girls, we have to hurry up and package a few songs to get
you
established. After that, the stage belongs to you."
After having met Shannon, a tiny girl who beat on a tambourine
for
the entirety of the show, and who was supposedly the "cute" one, the
dubious Monkees were formed. The first few rehearsals had gone well,
and
now, the girls were just waiting for their television debut. The three
girls and guys had moved to a home in the Hollywood hills so that the
girls
could be close to the studios. Amy and Jeni had quite the University of
Berkeley, and were considering UCLA. Peter and Jeni were engaged, and
Melinda and Micky were to be married within the month. Mike and Amy
were
still essentially just friends, since they thought the other two couples
very silly because of the time-warp problem which was looming over all
of
them like a black cloud. Still, everything seemed to be coming up roses
for the girls. Now, however, with this slippery talk from the director,
none of the girls were very confident about their new jobs.
"Let's go home, guys," Amy sighed, as the director walked out,
"We
can hang out with the guys and maybe figure out what to do next."
"I'm going out with Micky," Melinda announced as she put on her
jacket, "Don't wait up, girls!"
"We won't," Jeni and Amy assured her. They were deeply involved
in
a game of Scrabble on the living room rug. The door closed, leaving the
two girls alone.
Amy took her Sony Discman- a souvenir from the nineties- and put
a
Monkees CD inside of it. As the disc began to spin, Amy sat bolt
upright.
"There. 'Phantasmagoric'. That's a lot of points, Liquid Paper
Girl, you'd better-" Jeni looked up and saw the death-pale look on her
friend's face, "What's wrong, Amy?"
"Listen to this song," Amy said, and Jeni took the little
Discman
from her friend. She instantly recognized the song as "She'll Be
There"-
the song Micky had sung to Melinda.
"Remember how we said that our lives were becoming the fact
behind
Monkees-song fiction?" Amy whispered, "Just listen to the next lines of
the
song, Jen. He's going to cheat on her- or he already has!"
"....If I hadn't lied and cheated
she'd be here
if she wasn't so mistreated
she'd be here..." came Micky's pained voice from the
headphones.
"We'd better go," Jeni said, and they put on their jackets and
walked out the door.
"Roo," Micky was saying, "I have something I need to tell you."
Melinda, smiling, looked up at him. They were having a late
dinner
at a fancy restaurant, and the night had been something straight out of
a
fairy tale.
"What is it, love?" asked Melinda. She touched the beautiful
golden engagement ring he had given her, and her heart went out to
Micky.
"This is serious, Roo," he said, his voice choked up.
Melinda eyed him suspiciously, fear in her heart. Micky was
never
this way unless he had bad news.
"Roo, I haven't been faithful," he blurted out.
Melinda felt as though he had stabbed her through the chest and
pinioned her like an insect in a science exhibit.
"What did you say?" she asked softly, as though he had knocked
the
wind out of her.
"This beautiful English girl, Sammy- she and I- we- " he
stammered,
grasping her hand, "I'm so sorry, Roo."
Melinda couldn't believe her ears. Somewhere in the back of her
mind a little voice was telling her not to take it so hard, that Sammy
was
his wife in the sense of reality that Melinda knew, but for some reason
that fact didn't much matter to the Australian girl. Micky- the man
she'd
invested her whole life in before she'd even met him- he had cheated on
her!
"Did you- did you have...with her?" Melinda asked, unable to
come
right out and say the word.
Micky simply nodded, tears in his eyes.
"Bastard," she whispered, glaring at him. She threw her napkin
on
the table and pushed her chair back. Disgusted beyond belief, she
walked
out of the restaurant.
"Roo, wait," Micky called after her, but she kept walking,
mostly
so that Micky couldn't see the tears that stained her face.
"Melinda! Melinda!" Jeni and Amy shouted, running up to their
freind with Discman in hand, "Micky'd going to-"
"I know," Melinda interrupted them, wiping the tears from her
cheeks, "He already has."
"Are you OK?" asked Amy, as she and Jeni put their arms around
their friend.
"Yeah," she nodded, "let's get home, all right? I need a good
rest. And Amy?"
"Yeah, Lin?" she asked, as they walked with arms around each
other's shoulders, kind of like the Monkeewalk.
"Do me a favor and take down the fullsize poster of Micky I have
on
the ceiling above my bed," she said, "and hide all the Monkees albums.
I
don't need that right now."
Later that night, after they had helped Melinda to bed and put
away
all things Monkee, Mike stopped by. The three guys had a separate house
on
the corner of Yucca and Wilcox, which (strangely) was the site-to-be of
the
Hotel California. Jeni went to her room to read, but mostly to give her
friends some privacy.
"Amy," said Mike, "I wrote you a song. I hope you like it."
"Mike, I thought you weren't going to do this," Amy said.
"Just hear me out," he said, and he picked up his guitar.
Amy sat back, amused. She was well aware that whatever Mike
sang
to her she would already know and love.
"Don't wait for me
I'll be a long time comin'
unless by then
you have told me something
that shows how much you care
I've done much more
than, as a man, I should have
why did you not do all you could have
to show how much you care?
Over and again, I wondered, was I wrong?
I keep thinking I maybe should've come along
but then there comes a time in every man's life
when he must be strong
and my time's come
so if you're gone
then I guess I'll cry
and hold to memories
of what might have been
and when I finally leave
that will show how much I care.
Over and again, I wondered, was I wrong?
I kept thinking that I maybe should've come along
but then there comes a time in every man's life
when he must be strong
and my time's come
so if you're gone
then I guess I'll cry
and hold to memories
of what might have been
and when I finally leave
that will show how much I care."
Amy stared at him, stunned.
"That..." she began, and cleared her throat, "That's kind of
mean,
Michael."
His dark eyes had taken on a sharpness Amy had never seen
before.
"Look, Amy, I care about you," he said, "and if we, as a couple,
are going nowhere fast....I'm moving back up to San Francisco, and I
will
never see you again."
"But Michael, the time travel-" she began.
"F*** the time travel!" he exploded, "We have a short time on
earth
and in that time the only thing that matters is love!! Good God, Amy,
can't you see that I'm so totally in love with you I can't even see
straight?!"
"Well, I'm in love with you, too, damn it!" she shouted back at
him, "I just don't want to hurt you and I don't want to get hurt! If we
all return to our normal time, you won't even know who I am! Excuse me
for
trying to protect us both!"
Mike was quiet for a moment.
"They told me," he said softly, "your friends told me that you
have
a terrible temper and you like to be alone. The boyfriends you've had
couldn't handle you. You're chaos personified. And you don't think I
have
the strength to put up with a woman who has a personality that matches
mine
so well that it makes Jeni and Peter's similarities seem insignificant.
You're scared, Amy. You're scared to death."
"I am NOT scared!" Amy said, and then she glanced over at him,
"All
right. Maybe I am scared."
"Trust me, girl," he said, smiling gently, "I can handle
you...if
you can handle me."
Amy grinned.
"I don't know," she said, "if we end up living together our
house
will look like Swiss cheese, what with us putting our fists through the
walls."
"Let's worry about that later," he said, "I wrote you another
song.
It's not a love song; it's my description of you, how you wanted to come
to California by yourself and how you want to be alone all the time.
Want
to hear it?"
Amy gave him a worried look.
"Is it mean, too?" she asked cautiously.
He laughed quietly.
"Of course not," he said, "Just like you, I have my nice side,
too.
Otherwise, neither of us would be friends with Micky, Peter, Jeni, or
Melinda."
"True," said Amy, "The girls have never seen me angry...and I
count
that as one of my blessings."
"All right, so do you want to hear this song?" asked Mike.
"Sure," she said.
"Here goes," said Mike, and he began to strum the guitar, "and
remember, I'm singing from your point of view."
Amy braced herself.
"Slowly I walk through the gently falling rain
and I know that I will never pass this way again
never wondering why
teardrops chafing my eyes
longing to be
where the noted kisses fall
lingering and still
while quietly they tell their all
blue is the color of the sun
and nothing stops when everything is done.
Now my whole world opens up in different rhymes and tunes
with the highways making up the verse
and then suddenly I see the light of something called the moon
and though my path is planned, it's not rehearsed
so I move along to the next thing on the list
knowing full well that some of them just don't exist
but I am finally alone
and where my foot steps down is where it's home."
Mike stopped playing and looked at her expectantly.
"That's frighteningly accurate, Mike," she said, and smiled.
"Say," he said, "since I've written you all this stuff, what
about
that poem you were supposed to write for me?"
"Oh, c'mon," said Amy, embarrassed.
"You promised," said Mike.
"All right, all right," said Amy, and she began to recite a
poem.
"You're close enough to touch
but too far away to feel
you hypnotized my soul my mind
you taught me how to steal
just one kiss and I would know
who you really are inside
if I could steal your soul away
if I could hear you sigh
the longest time in agony
waiting for your touch
and my heart just cannot understand
you just can't love that much
so I'll treasure the soft moments
the sunset and the shore
to feel your soft smooth hand in mine
you make me yearn for more
it's not your face, your eyes, your looks
that let you pull me in
it's the vault you hide you call your mind
I would love to be within
and as the moments inside sunset
arrive and quickly pass
I realize this is precious time
and that all good things must someday pass."
Amy looked at Mike, and to her surprise, he was crying!
"Thank you, Amy," he said, "that was beautiful."
Amy smiled, and he finally stole a kiss.
"I want us to get married as soon as possible," Peter was
earnestly
telling Jeni, "What if this timewarp thing stops? Then where will I be,
without you?"
Jeni smiled at him. They were out on Hollywood Boulevard,
sitting
on the famous Stars, flowers in their hair and beads around their necks.
Her dream come true, but she couldn't quite bring herself to tell Peter
that she didn't want to get married immediately. Aside from that, if
they
did warp back to their original time, she didn't want to hurt any more
than
she already would- and she didn't want to hurt Peter in the same way.
Peter was fragile, very easily hurt, and she didn't want to be the cause
of
his pain.
"I'm sorry, Peter," she apologized, "I think we'd better wait."
"You don't love me," said Peter, giving her sad puppydog eyes.
"Oh, Peter, I'll always love you, no matter what happens," she
said, smiling, "You can trust me- remember, I told you I'd come back,
and I
did, didn't I?"
Peter smiled, and the sunlight touched his eyes, radiating
innocence which was decieving but beautiful.
"You're right, Jeni," said Peter, taking her hand, "and I love
you,
too."
In the late afternoon sunshine, it seemed to Jeni as though
nothing
could shatter her dreams.
"Roo?" came Micky's soft voice through the door, "Please let me
in."
Melinda, standing on the other side of the door, was undecided.
She had spent the entire day in her robe and looked like a nightmare,
and
the idea of seeing the love of her life, who had cheated on her with
"this
beautiful girl", in this state, was not the kind of thing that she
really
felt like doing.
"Please," Micky pleaded, anxious, "we have to talk, Roo."
Melinda quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and threw the door
open. Micky saw her outfit, threw her a curious look, and then charged
past her into the apartment.
"You've got five minutes, George Michael Dolenz," Melinda said,
crossing her arms and sitting down on the couch.
"AAAH!" Micky shrieked, biting his fingers in a pose that he had
struck many times in the Monkees TV show. Melinda had to bite her lip-
hard- to keep from bursting into laughter.
"Look, Roo, there's only one thing I can do to prove that I love
you," Micky said, taking a deep breath, "here goes. I learned this song
from an album Amy borrowed me awhile back, and it fits exactly how I
feel
about you."
"I'm waiting," Melinda said.
Micky opened his mouth, and the most beautiful song she had ever
heard issued from his lips.
"People come and people go
Movin' fast and movin' slow
I'm in a crowd and yet I'm all alone
The road is long, the road is rough
I do believe I've had enough
I'm gonna turn around and head for home
And I hope you're there, and you still care
And if you do, I'll spend my life with you.
I've had all the time I need
to rearrange my mind and lead
the life I thought I wanted yesterday
I played a game that couldn't last
and now some memories from the past
have turned my thoughts around a different way
and girl, I find...you're still on my mind
and if you want me to, I'll spend my life with you."
Micky smiled a shy smile, which was as breathtakingly beautiful
as
it was rare.
"I'll leave you alone now, Roo," he said, "but remember that I
love
you, and I made a terrible mistake. Just try to remember me the way I
was
before all this happened, OK?"
He walked out and the door closed behind him, leaving Melinda in
a
state of shock. About five seconds later, she was on her feet and out
the
door after Micky. She caught him halfway down the front steps, and as
they
embraced, Micky covered her cheeks with ecstatic, relieved kisses.
Tears
of joy streamed down her face, and she instantly forgave him everything.
End of Part Nine
Part Ten
Three days later, "The Monkees" premiered on television. The
small
gathering at the girls' apartment was eating hot dogs- yet another
Monkees
reference (Mike had decided to give up trying to invent foods that had
nothing to do with the Monkees), as they eagerly anticipated the opening
sequence.
"Hey, it's on!" Peter shouted from the living room, and Mike and
Amy came running in from the kitchen. Within a few minutes, Micky and
Melinda emerged from the bedroom, looking slightly rumpled. Amy and
Jeni
exchanged knowing looks, and Melinda caught them.
"Oh, don't even start, you two," Melinda admonished, "you're
just
jealous."
"Shh!" Amy said suddenly, "it's on!"
The opening, catchy drumroll came through the television
speakers,
and Shannon's face filled the screen. Thenm the girls were each
introduced, showing Melinda as she made strange faces and Amy singing
the
theme song, pounding the hell out of drums she had no idea how to play.
"Here we come, walking down the street," the song came out of
the
television like magic. The girls could hardly believe their ears.
Nothing could compare to that evening as they watched themselves
premiere on television, each of them sitting with the men who were
originally supposed to be on the other side of the screen.
Melinda and Micky were finally married later that month, in a
beautiful ceremony on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, to
symbolize
the bridging of the gap between Australia and California. Micky looked
absolutely gorgeous in a pristine white tuxedo, and Melinda was
resplendent
in a million-dollar wedding gown and had white flowers braided
intricately
into her long hair. They held hands as tehy said their vows, with Jeni
and
Amy standing by as maids of honor and Mike and Peter as bridegrooms.
The
ocean waves crashed against the rocks below, spraying a fine mist of
salt
water on the wedding party, giving the entire occasion a surreal
feeling.
"Do you, George Michael Dolenz, take Melinda Leanne Thompson to
be
your lawful wedded wife?" the priest asked, and Micky smiled a
beautifully
serene smile.
"I do," he breathed, and slid the ring onto his new wife's
finger.
"Do you, Melinda Leanne Thompson, take George Michael Dolenz to
be
your lawful wedded husband?" the priest asked, and it was all Melinda
could
do to keep from interrupting him with the obvious answer.
"I do," she said, and slid the ring onto Micky's finger.
"I now pronounce you man and wife," said the priest, "you may
kiss
the bride."
Micky kissed Melinda with such intense passion that everyone in
attendance was almost afraid for her life. Finally, he let her go and
the
band went into a jubilant rendition of "You're So Good". Everyone
hugged
the bride and groom, and saw them off to their limousine.
"This is the happiest day of my life," said Melinda, brushing a
tear from her eye and beaming.
"Have fun!" Amy said, then whispered, "And give us all the juicy
details when you get back!"
"Oh, I will," Melinda promised, and the window rolled up. The
wedding party waved at the car as it pulled away and headed down the
road,
and Mike and Peter kissed their girls.
"Well, it seems like everything worked out swell," Jeni said, as
the three girls were talking after Micky and Melinda's honeymoon in
Melinda's new mansion, "Mike and Micky always said, respectively, that
they
both were each other's favorite Monkee. And since Amy's favorite Monkee
is
Mike, it only makes sense that she's Micky. Melinda's favorite is
Micky,
so on the show, she's Mike....Did that make sense?"
"Yeah," said Amy, "I followed it. And your favorite is
Peter...and
Melinda and I both love Peter."
Amy held up the album HEADQUARTERS, which was exactly the same
as
it had been before...except that it featured Jeni, Amy, Melinda, and
Shannon on the cover, and the song, "You Just May Be the One" was
replaced
with Melinda's "It's All Good", which was about tall South Texas boys,
and
"Randy Scouse Git" was replaced by Amy's "Patriots and Flags", an
anti-war
song. All of their old Monkees albums were similarly changed, and if
the
girls wanted to hear any Monkee originals...well, they'd have to ask the
original Monkees.
"So now that we're the Monkees, let's sing- to commemorate this
whole experience as a success, I mean," Melinda suggested.
"Why not?" asked Jeni, "This is our day in the sun, right?
Melinda
had a sexy two-week fling with Micky in Hawaii, and I'm marrying Peter
in
six days. Mike asked Amy if she'd go steady with him yesterday, and
everything seems groovy with the music and the television show."
"Yeah, let's sing," Amy agreed, and they all leaned in together.
"Here we come
Walkin' down the street
We get the funniest looks from
Everyone we meet..."
Suddenly, a blinding flash of light exploded all around them,
and
they felt as though they had just been caught up in a hurricane. The
wind
roared in their ears like a thousand freight trains, and their
collective
world faded to black.
With a strange noise that sounded like rushing water, Melinda
came
to. She opened her eyes and looked around. She was in her house in
Australia, and her brother Bill was looking at her as though she had
three
heads.
"Micky?!" she screamed, "Where've you put my Micky?!"
Bill jumped away from his sister.
"What's wrong with you, Melinda?" he asked, startled, "you've
gone
crackers or what? Who's this Micky? I come for a visit and you've lost
it!"
"Come for a visit?" asked Melinda, confused, "What?"
"I rang you up this morning, remember?" Bill said, "You said it
would be fine, that mum and dad wanted to see me and all that! Now,
who's
this Micky?"
"Nothing, never mind," Melinda said, regaining her bearings,
"Must
have been tripping."
"Tripping?" Bill shook his head, walking out of the room, "Those
wankers shoulda never put you in Hibbing, Minnesota. That was crazy."
Melinda stood in the middle of the room, trying to comprehend
what
had happened. She ran to get her Monkees pictures, and unrolled a
poster
Amy had sent her a while back.
The four familiar faces of Micky, Davy, Peter, and Davy smiled
out
at her from the picture, and she sighed heavily. So time had finally
decided to catch up with them, she realized. Too bad- Micky was a
wonderful lover- and hearing that sexy voice in bed was something else!
She happened to glance down at her hands, and what she saw there
made her heart leap with joy. Her wedding ring was still there! She
could
come to terms with the fact that something so wonderful could never
last,
but she was happy that she had proof that it had actually happened,
after
all. Besides, what better knowledge in the world was there for a
Monkees
fan that to know that they had lost their virginity to Micky Dolenz?
Jeni awoke to Pleasant Valley Sunday blasting in her ears. She
sat
up so quickly that she hit her head on the upper bunk of the bunkbed she
appeared to have been sitting on.
"Hey, hey, we gotta get to class," Mary, her college roommate,
shouted in her ear, "If we don't go the prof's gonna kick our ass!"
"Brilliant, Mary-where-you-going-to," muttered Jeni, rubbing her
head, "What's going on? What happened?"
"You just zoned out for a second there," Mary said, "I thought
I'd
lost you- I even ran over to the window and yelled, 'Hey! Look! Peter
Tork
naked!' and you didn't even flinch!"
Jeni looked around her familiar dorm room, and her heart sank.
The
magical mystery tour was over- and she didn't even bring back a
souvenir.
Then, suddenly, she remembered the photos Peter had taken, and she felt
the
stiff rectangles in her pocket. She sneaked a look at them- Micky,
Mike,
Amy, Jeni, and Melinda in one and Peter replacing Mike in the other.
Smiling with satisfaction, she glanced over at Mary's Shrine to Micky
Dolenz (also called Utopia), and wondered if she should try to tell her
Monkees-mad roomie about what had happened.
"How long was I out?" asked Jeni, standing up and adjusting her
bellbottoms.
"Oh, about five minutes, maybe less," Mary said, "I thought
maybe
playing the Monkees would wake you up. What happened, did you go into a
trance or something?"
"I guess you could say that," Jeni mused, "A trance is a good
way
to put it, I suppose. C'mon, Mary, let's go to class."
As Mary bounded out of the room, singing "Mary, Mary", Jeni
paused
a moment to contemplate the events that began with a Volkswagen and a
road
trip down Route 66. Althought she realized that an experience such as
this
would never last, she had hoped for at least a full year in the sixties.
Especially since she would've gotten a kick out of being Mrs. Tork. She
was surprised at how smoothly she had readjusted to the idea she was
back
in the nineties, and how unperturbed she was at losing the man of her
dreams. She walked over to her stereo and turned it on. She found the
song she was looking for and pressed PLAY.
"Walkin' down a lonely street, I need someone to meet
I run across sweet-lookin' you, do you know what you do?
Yeah, you tear the top right off my head, you blow my mind
I'm goin' blind..."
Jeni smiled. Yes, all she would ever truly need to take her
back
there was to hear Peter's lovesick voice crooning the song she now knew
he
had written for her. Such was the strength of suggestion surrounding
the
song that Jeni could almost feel the flowers in her hair and catch the
scent of Peter's light cologne. The smoky fireplace and the coffee; the
tight smooth scent of naugahyde...Mike's delicious "country-flavored"
chicken...she could feel the cool San Francisco breeze and the Hollywood
heat...hear the laughter of her friends, and Mike and Micky...and feel
the
cool shining wood of her bass guitar in her hands.
"Hey, Grizelda!" Mary called from the doorway, breaking through
Jeni's reverie, "You coming to class or not?"
Jeni grinned, Peter-style, and pretended to grab at her friend.
"Yeah, let's go," said Jeni, turning off the stereo and walking
out
of her fantasy back into the world of academia. She understood now why
there had been a VCR and a remote control in their warped version of the
sixties- it was the present shining through holes in the fabric of the
past, trying to break through. She should have known it wouldn't last.
Still, she would carry the experience within her heart forever.
Amy looked around in utter confusion as she regained
consciousness.
She was in the backseat of her father's car, heading down the freeway to
some unknown destination. She desperately looked around for Mike, but,
of
course, he was nowhere to be found. She slammed her fist into the inner
wall of the car and swore.
"AMY!" her father yelled, "Don't do that unless you're prepared
to
pay for it!"
"Sorry," she muttered, and felt sick with revelation. The dream
was finally over!! A tear slipped down her cheek. She had wanted to
stay
where she was, heading down a promising road with Mike, and with both of
her best friends safely married off to their favorite Monkees. What
better
life than that? She couldn't think of any life she'd rather live. With
a
sigh of disappointment, she put the book down beside her and decided to
concentrate on something less depressing.
"Where are we going?" asked Amy, and her mom turned around.
"The Mall of America, Amy, we just talked about it not two
minutes
ago," said her mother, "Are you feeling all right? Paul, maybe we
should
turn around and go back. I think Amy's sick."
"I'm not turning this car around, Marci, we're almost in
Minneapolis," her father said firmly, "We're going to that ridiculous
mall!
You and Christa were the ones who wanted to see it."
Amy's sister, Christa, who was sitting beside her, simply gave
Amy
a disdainful look that said, "I'm WAY too cool for this."
Amy sat there for a moment and thought. She needed to come to
grips with reality- and quickly! She wondered how the other two girls
were
taking it...probably much better than she herself was. At least she
knew
that she hadn't been dreaming- that it had all been real- but that it
was
never going to last. Suddenly, she realized the one thing that she
needed
to see to make sure everything was back to normal.
The moment Amy's family walked through the doors of the Mall of
America, Amy took off running.
"Where are you going?!" shouted Christa, "I thought you were
going
to Bath and Body Works with me!"
"Sorry, gotta check out the music store!" Amy called over her
shoulder, and disappeared around the corner.
"Let her go, hon," said Amy's mother, "she's not feeling too
good
today."
It took a little searching, but finally Amy found the music
store.
She ran up to the desk, panting, and grabbed the salesclerk by the
shirt.
"Monkees," she growled, and the bewildered salesman pointed
towards
the back of the store.
Amy ran down one of the aisles, looking frantically for the M
section. Finally she found it, and pulled out a Monkees CD.
"Oh, thank God," said Amy, relieved. Mike, Peter, Micky, and
Davy
smiled out at her from the CD cover. She flipped in over to check the
song
list, and it was correct- original Monkees work. She scooped up all of
their CDs - about twenty in all - and hugged them, laughing. Everything
was all right again.
Suddenly, she was aware that someone was standing behind her.
"Like the Monkees, huh?" asked an all-too-familiar Southern
Texas
accent.
Amy glanced down and saw that she was wearing her SAVE THE TEXAS
PRAIRIE CHICKEN tee shirt, which had 1334 BEECHWOOD written on the
sleeve
and Mike Nesmith's nickname, WOOLHAT, printed across the back.
Embarrassed
beyond belief, she tried to lean her head back so her hair covered the
word
WOOLHAT. Then, she turned around.
A friendly-looking older man who had probably been quite
handsome
in his heyday was standing behind her, wearing dark sunglasses. He had
short, white hair and a fairly full beard. She smiled shyly, trying to
cover the SAVE THE TEXAS PRAIRIE CHICKEN slogan with her armful of CDs.
"I'm your favorite Monkee, right?" asked the man, "I'm Mike
Nesmith- but I'm sure you already know that."
Amy nodded, amazed, and smiled at him.
Then, Mike leaned in for a closer look at the pretty young girl
whom he had hoped to surprise with his presence, and uttered words that
Amy
would remember for the rest of her life.
"Say," he drawled, taking off his sunglasses and squinting at
her,
"haven't I met you somewhere before?"
THE END
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