CALLING ALAMEDA
by Amy Hoff (amy.hoff@mailexcite.com)
"China clipper calling Alameda!" came Jeni's overjoyed voice
over
the miles, "I'm leaving at
four o clock. What time do you think I'll get in?"
Amy grinned as she cradled the phone on her shoulder, stirring
her
Ramen noodles. Ever
since she had been accepted at Chabot College in Alameda County, just
below
San Francisco, Jeni
and Melinda always greeted her with "China clipper calling Alameda!",
which
was a spoken-word
line from a Monkees song. It was finally spring break, and Jeni was
flying
in from Hope College in
Michigan- where the snow was six feet deep- to spend her vacation with
Amy
in California. Melinda was also flying in from Australia, where she had
been attending college in the improbably-named
town of Wagga Wagga, to spend spring break with her friends.
"This is so cool!" Jeni exclaimed, "I've never been to
California...well...I mean..."
She lapsed into silence then. The girls rarely spoke about
their
adventure on Route 66. They didn't want to be reminded of the brief,
shining moment in their lives when every one of their dreams had come
true.
They had drived down Route 66 straight into a Twilight Zone-style time
warp back to 1966. They had attended the last Beatles concert ever, in
San
Francisco's Candlestick Park, with- of all people- their beloved
Monkees.
The strange part was that none of the boys were the Monkees anymore.
This
mystery was solved when Amy brought home an advertisement for an
audition-
the Monkees audition- except it called for girls, not boys. The tables
had
turned- Jeni, Amy, and Melinda had become three of the members of the
manufactured pop group, as well as another girl, Shannon, who ended up
to
be one of Jeni's new college buddies. However, the nineties caught up
with
them and they were returned to their normal, albeit boring, teenage
lives.
"So, I'll see you in a few hours!" Amy finally said, breaking
the
silence, "I'll be at the airport- you'll recognize my Volkswagen."
"How will I know it's you?" asked Jeni, relieved with the change
of
subject, "There's gotta be thousands of those microbuses at the airport
alone!"
"Not 'buses like mine," Amy said, smiling. "I AM an artist,
y'know."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Jeni asked, "You decorated it,
didn't you?"
"You'll seee," Amy said, "I'll be parked in front of the
Northwest
gate. You won't miss me."
"Hey, we're still on for the Monkees concert Friday, right?"
asked
Jeni. The tone of her voice alluded to the fact that she still carried
a
torch for Peter, and that she hoped he would- somehow- recognize her.
However, when the girls returned to their normal reality, everything
else
went back to normal- and to the rest of the world, their adventure had
never occured. Deep within their hearts, though, they still harbored
feelings for the boys they knew and loved.
"Yeah. Traffic's gonna be hell, though. We'll probably have to
leave a couple of hours early just to get in," Amy said, pouring her
noodles into a strainer, "Got front-row seats, though- can you dig it?"
"You're kidding! Front-row seats?! Amy, you rock!" Jeni cried,
"Oh! Look at the time! Gotta run, or I'll miss my plane!"
"I'll meet you in a few hours," Amy said, "Melinda's coming in
at
three- I should get going myself."
"See ya in a few!" Jeni said.
"Bye!" Amy said, and hung up. Then, she set about eating her
late
lunch.
Amy pulled up to the Northwest gate in the circular driveway of
San
Francisco's busy airport. She noted, with a wry smiled, that her
Volkswagen- as usual- was turning quite a few heads.
The Volkswagen had been hand-painted and displayed an amazing
variety of psychedelic swirls. On one side, (with permission) she had
written, "ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE", in large, undulating letters. She had
also painted The Beatles themselves- at least, their Yellow Submarine
cartoon images- standing atop the words, "THE BEATLES". However, on the
opposite side, the Monkees' guitar logo (also used with permission) was
proudly emblazoned beside Amy's cartoon rendition of the four
bandmembers.
The words SAVE THE TEXAS PRAIRIE CHICKEN were written just above the
bumper, and the hood had Amy's trademark- a peace sign inside a heart
with
a musical note built into the center line of the peace sign- painted
where
the Volkswagen symbol should have been. All in all, the microbus was an
excellent example of Amy's talent and quite eye-catching.
"You got permission to paint that stuff on your van?" a passing
police officer asked her, "That stuff is copyrighted, you know."
Amy sighed and reached into her glove compartment as the cop
headed
her way. This had happened countless times, so she had kept the letters
which gave her permission to use the images she had painted on her
vehicle
with her at all times. It saved her embarrassment, as well as a lot of
time.
She flashed the letters in front of the policeman, and he walked
off grumpily, probably annoyed that he didn't get to raise any hell.
Amy
put the papers back where they belonged, and settled back for a quick
nap
before her friends arrived.
Melinda pushed her way through the airport crowds, searching for
the right exit. She knew the Monkees were in town, and was hoping to
catch
a glimpse of one of them. Besides, the man she had always thought of as
"her Micky" lived in San Francisco, and there was even more of a chance
she
might see him.
Melinda had lost the most from their adventure. She had married
Micky on a rocky cliff overlooking the ocean. They had been deeply in
love, and had taken a honeymoon in Hawaii. He had taken to calling her
Roo, and she called him Munchichi (mostly in private). They were
inseparable, and though Micky had slipped up once and had had an affair
with the woman who, in real life, had been his wife, Melinda had
understood
and had forgiven him. They had been looking forward to a long, happy
future together. When she had been returned to her own time, she had
locked herself inside of her bedroom for days, pining for her lost love.
It had taken her awhile to readjust to her old life, and she figured
that
hooking up with her old friends again and finally seeing the Monkees in
concert would pound the last nail into the coffin of her grief, and she
could hopefully get on with her life.
As she made her way through the crowd, every man of average
build
with long, dark hair in a ponytail made her turn to make sure it wasn't
"her Micky". She shook her head. It was unbelievable, how hard it
was
to extinguish that flame.
Finally, she found the exit from the Northwest gate and stepped,
blinking, out into the California sunshine. Upon seeing Amy's colorful
microbus, however, she squealed with uncontained delight.
"You're a legend!" she cried, as Amy stepped out of the microbus
to
hug her friend, "That van is a kack!"
"It's a microbus," Amy corrected her, grinning at the Australian
slang, and hugged her friend tightly. Whatever pain Melinda had felt
about
being so cruelly stolen away from her precious Munchichi, it seemed to
have
abated.
"When's Jeni coming in?" asked Melinda, as she climbed into the
Volkswagen.
"A couple hours from now," Amy replied, as she started up the
microbus.
"Let's go out for coffee," Melinda suggested, "This jet lag's
gonna
kill me."
"I know the perfect spot," Amy said, and they drove out of the
airport and onto the busy street.
****************************
Jeni looked excitedly out of the window of the plane as it
taxied
down the runway. She was happy to see California again, even if the
Summer
of Love was long over. She felt a pang of regret at the realization
that
she couldn't go over to Peter's house and have coffee with the guys,
warmed
by a crackling fire. There would be no more late-night jam sessions at
his
house, or chicken dinners cooked expertly by Michael. She sighed
wistfully, savoring the memories for a moment before she finally pushed
them out of her mind. She didn't want to dwell on the past- it was
spring
break, and she intended to enjoy it before she had to return to the
snowbound world of Holland, Michigan.
Jeni sat outside on the sidewalk in front of the Northwest gate,
a
litte annoyed. She didn't see any Volkswagens, let alone any painted
ones.
It was odd- Amy was almost always on time. She entertained herself by
observing all the colorful people coming in and out of the airport in a
constant flow. Like Melinda, she was keeping an eye out for her man.
Peter would recognize her, she was sure of it- her resemblance to him
was
astounding. She wished that the girls had never returned to the
nineties.
A tear came to her eye, and she hurriedly brushed it away. She wondered
if
the other girls felt the same way as she did...man, it was depressing!
If
only there had been a way to stay anchored in 1966...
She glanced up, and noticed right away why Amy had told her,
with
great confidence, that there was no way Jeni could miss her Volkswagen.
As
the microbus rolled to a stop before her, Melinda leapt out and gathered
Jeni into a smothering bear hug. All of her sixties-related thoguhts
faded
away as she was greeted by her friends, but the loning for those times
still beat a tattoo within her heart.
*************************
"Ah've known fer a long tahme the kinda girl you are," Amy
crooned
loudly to Mike Nesmith's "Propinquity- I've Just Begun To Care" in an
overexaggerated Texas accent, "The smahle that cuvvers teardrops, the
way
yer head yields to yer heart..."
"Mike's such a great poet," Jeni commented as they traveled down
a
steep San Francisco street, "Everyone calls him a country bumpkin, but
his
songs are incredible."
"Not bad for a long-haired weirdo, huh, America?" Amy stopped
singing long enough to say, quoting one of Micky's lines from the TV
show.
Melinda and Jeni laughed, and the next song came on.
"Walkin' down a lonely street, I need someone to meet-" Peter's
voice sang out of the speakers. Amy jabbed the VW's EJECT button and
the
tape stopped. She dared to sneak a look at Jeni. Her friend's face was
death-pale, and she looked mortified. Peter had written that song for
Jeni, in their alternate version of history, and it had elicited strong
emotions in her ever since she'd fallen in love with him. Amy quickly
put
a Beach Boys tape in the stereo, and Jeni seemed to calm down a little.
It
was really a drag; ever since the girls had been returned to their own
time, everything they knew and loved was now only a source of sadness
and
pain. At least the Beach Boys were still OK- which was a relief to Amy,
since Brian Wilson was one of her idols and she'd been a die-hard Beach
Boys fan since childhood.
The worst part about all of this was that it wasn't only Monkees
things that got to the girls. The song "Micky" always made Melinda
burst
into tears. Especially when the squeaky-sounding girl sings "You take
me
by the heart when you take me by the hand", because Melinda could
identify
with the sentiment, bubblegum-style though it was. Her Australian
friends
would never understand her sudden crying jags whenever they happened to
sing that song, but it had happened so often that they refrained from
singing it at all and left the explanation for Melinda's emotional
reaction
as Melinda's business. Truth was, they didn't really want to ask- the
answer may have been more than they could have beared.
"Let's go to Berkeley," Amy suddenly said, turning sharply off
the
freeway and onto an exit ramp, "I'm sick and tired of everybody moping
around. The Monkees were a fun thing for us once, and they still should
be. We've got to come to grips with the fact that it's over."
"No!" Melinda protested, "I can't go back there!"
"It still hurts too much," Jeni emphatically agreed.
"Look," Amy said, as she turned the Volkswagen in the direction
of
Berkeley, "I was taught to confront my problems. If we don't put this
thing in its grave right now, we'll never have any peace. And I want to
have a good time- you guys are NOT going to sabotage your own spring
vacations. And Jeni, if I have to play "Tear The Top Right Off Of My
Head"
until your ears bleed, then I will! Now grit your teeth and pipe down-
we're going to Berkeley."
"Amy," said Melinda, suddenly thinking of something, "why don't
you
listen to 'Sunny Girlfriend' anymore?"
Amy sighed resignedly.
"OK, you caught me," she said, "I haven't been to Berkeley since
our little escapade- and I only live an hour away! I guess I have some
feelings I need to bury, too. Man, those eyes of his...they could give
a
girl a heart attack..."
Jeni grinned.
"Yeah, Peter was a sweetheart," she reminisced, "Let's go to
Berkeley. You're right, Amy; it would to us all some good."
Amy slipped the Monkees tape back into the stereo, and the
opening
lines of "Tear The Top Right Off Of My Head" came blasting out. This
time,
Jeni jubilantly sang along with the song. It seemed like the girls were
well on their way to recovery.
End of Part One, Calling Alameda.
Calling Alameda, Part Two:
"Nothing's changed," said Jeni in awe, "It's just like it was in
1966!"
"That's the beauty of Berkeley," said Amy, as she took a hot dog
from a vendor on the U of Berkeley campus, "Nothing changes here. It's
a
Mecca for hippies."
"I see that," said Melinda, as they strolled along the Berkeley
campus, "I've never seen so many long-haired weirdos."
Jeni smacked her playfully.
"Hey, all three of US are long-haired weirdos, Aussie," she
said,
flipping her hair over her shoulder.
"Did I say anything was wrong with that?" asked the Australian
girl
as she swiped Amy's hot dog, "Friends share, y'know."
"Hey!" Amy cried in protest, and then said, "Oh well. At least
I
still have my Coke."
"You know, Berkeley's a lot like us in spirit," Jeni mused,
"Just
like us, it's stuck in the Sixties."
"That's why I wanted to go to college here," said Amy, "it's
like
meeting a soulmate, coming to this city."
They continued along thorugh the crowds of university students,
unconsciously searching for "their boys" Of course, it had been over
thirty years since "their boys" had been, well, boys- but anyone with
sideburns and ear-length hair was a candidate for a good, long stare
from
at least one of the girls. They all wordlessly seemed to communicate
their
longing for the three men who had been yanked so rudely out of their
lives.
However, they seemed to be feeling much better.
"Let's go to Peter's house," Jeni suddenly suggested.
Amy turned to her friend, surprised.
"Are you sure?" Amy asked, "Are you ready for that yet?"
Jeni smiled, and looked so much like Peter in that moment that
Amy
and Melinda both laughed.
"I'm ready," said Jeni, and they set off toward Peter's house.
*****************
They stood before Peter's house, which was boarded up and
crumbling. Jeni kept blinking, as though she couldn't believe her eyes.
The house looked as if it had been vacant for years. It was hard to
believe that this was the place in which the girls had shared so many
wonderful nights playing music and talking with the men they had loved,
and
subsequently lost.
"Wanna break in?" offered Melinda.
"I'd like to see it again," said Amy.
"Let's go," Jeni said, and started to pry the boards away from
the
front door.
+ They stood, coughing, in a bare living room which was
accentuated
by a beautiful stone fireplace. Spiders skittered away from the girls
as
their voices echoed hollowly through the empty house.
"This really brings back memories," said Jeni, with a
deep-seated sigh.
Amy carefully picked her way across the creaking floorboards and
disappeared into the kitchen. Then, she leapt back out into view,
striking
a comical pose which could only be a pantomime of Michael's laid-back,
South-Texas-bred posture.
"Y'all want some chicken?" she drawled, and the other two girls
collapsed into giggles.
Suddenly, an amazing jolt and a flash of light hit the girls
like a
bullet, and they were suddenly standing in the same room- but it was as
it
had been thirty years before. Mike stepped out of the kitchen, surprise
etched on his face.
"What're y'all doin' here?" he asked, his smile warm and
welcoming,
"I didn't hear y'all come in."
"Michael!" Amy cried, throwing her arms around the lanky Texan.
"Hold it, shotgun!" Mike laughed, hugging her, "I love you, too,
honey...but I just saw you yesterday!"
Tears streamed down Amy's face as she hugged Mike even tighter.
"Where's Micky?" asked Melinda eagerly. The girls were
grinning
like crazy, relieved to be back home.
"Right here, Roo," came a voice at her side. Melinda squealed
with
delight and covered a stunned Micky with adoring kisses.
"Jeni?" came a soft voice at Jeni's shoulder. Peter was soon
enveloped in Jeni's arms.
"Hey, it's good to see you girls, but what's all the excitement
about?" Micky asked, once he had disentangled himself from Melinda.
"Sit down, boys," said Amy, her arms wrapped possessively around
Mike, "This is going to take awhile."
"Peter?" Jeni asked, "Will you make some coffee?"
"And a fire?" Melinda interjected.
> "Anything for three beautiful girls," Peter said, and smiled
his
>sweet smile....which, up until then, the girls hadn't been aware how
much
>they missed.
>
>
>*********************
>
> "Well, I'm glad you came back," said Micky, touching Melinda's
>hair, "I don't know where I'd be without you, Roo."
> Melinda blushed.
> "I know what it's like to live without YOU," she pointed out,
>tousling Micky's thick Afro.
> "I'm so sorry you had to go through that," said Micky, smiling
>compassionately into her eyes.
> "OK, cut out the mushy stuff," said Mike, "What if this happens
again?"
> They were all seated cozily around a blazing fire, warming
their
>hands on mugs of coffee. Mike and Peter had their guitars lying across
>their laps, and Micky was nuzzling Melinda. The girls had finally
returned
>to their version of paradise.
> "It better not happen again," said Jeni, cuddling up to Peter,
who
>was absentmindedly strumming "Tear The Top Right Off Of My Head", much
to
>Jeni's pleasure.
> "Munchichi," said Melinda, and he blushed at the public use of
his
>nickname, "Run and fetch me some sugar. Peter, you make the blackest
>coffee I've ever tasted."
> "Mike's right, though," Amy said, "it's great to be back, but
who
>knows when-"
> Then, a jolt and another brilliant flash of light dumped them
on
>the dusty, rotting floorboards in the now-empty living room. Coughing
and
>choking, the girls picked themselves up and brushed off their clothes.
> Amy glanced at her surroundings, and her Nesmith-style temper
>reached its breaking point.
> "Stop it!" she screamed, in the general direction of the
ceiling,
>"Stop screwing around with our heads! Whoever you are!"
> Jeni put a hand on her friend's shoulder.
> "It's OK, Amy," she said, "Now that we were expecting it, the
blow
>didn't hit quite as hard."
> Resignedly, the three girls put their arms around each others'
>shoulders and walked out of the house.
>
>
****************************
>
> "Where are we going again?" asked Melinda, as they walked down
a
>staircase leading to a subway terminal beneath the streets of Berkeley.
> "This is the Bay Area Rapid Transit, BART for short," Amy
>explained, "It goes right under San Francisco Bay. I just thought
you'd
>like to take a ride on the underground rails."
> The girls paid for their tickets and soon, one of the clean,
smooth
>trains bulleted through the station. Melinda and Jeni stared after it,
>openmouthed in shock.
> "We're riding one of those?" Jeni asked uncertainly.
> "I felt the same way the first time I rode the BART," said Amy,
>laughing, "Don't worry, Jen, it's a smooth ride all the way. It IS
kind of
>like riding an amusement-park ride, but it's faster than taking my
beat-up
>old VW anywhere."
> "Your VW is NOT beat-up!" Jeni protested, "That's the
>grooviest-looking thing I ever saw!"
> "With a body like that, and those SIDEBURNS!" said Melinda,
quoting
>an obscure Monkees joke. The other two girls laughed, and then their
train
>pulled into the station. They stepped through the sliding doors, and
they
>were off.
>
>
*****************************
>
> "Floatin' in the river with a saturated liver," the three girls
>sang as quickly as they possibly could, "and I wish I could forgive her
but
>I do believe she meant it when she told me to forget it and I bet she
will
>regret it when they find me in the mornin' wet and drowned, and word
gets
>round, goin' down!"
> Micky's song, "Goin' Down", was Melinda's favorite Monkees
tune.
>It was a sort of tradition of theirs to try and sing the song as fast
as
>they could without tripping up or forgetting the words. They all
>simultaneously took a deep breath and began the second verse.
> "Comin' up for air it's pretty stuffy under there I'd like to
say I
>didn't care but I forgot to leave a note and it's so hard to stay
afloat
>a-soakin' wet without a boat," they sang, then suddenly stopped.
> "What's the next line?" Amy asked, "I just got a mental block."
> A few seats away, an older man with a potbelly and dark hair
tied
>back in a ponytail was observing the girls with an ear-to-ear grin.
They
>had been concentrating so hard on the song that they hadn't even
notices
>when he had turned around, recognizing the song they sang with pleased
>surprise.
> "The next line is, 'and I knew I should've taken off my shoes,
it's
>front-page news'," said the man, grinning.
> "Micky!!" cried Amy and Jeni, at the same time Melinda said,
>"Munchichi!"
> "Munchichi?" asked Micky, sitting down beside Melinda, "Where'd
you
>get that from?"
> "Melinda," whispered Amy, "We're in the normal timeline now-
Micky
>doesn't know you, and he's not your husband!"
> "I know that," Melinda hissed back, "I'm not a dag! I just
slipped
>up a bit, that's all. You have no respect for my obviously superior
>intelligence."
> Amy rolled her eyes good-naturedly as Melinda turned to Micky.
>Although he had aged, the sly twinkle in his eyes and his impish smile
>remained. His younger self shone brilliantly through his weathered
face.
> "It's cute," Micky said, "and please call me Micky, miss."
> "Call me Melinda," she said, smiling.
> "Australian, right?" asked Micky, "I've always loved
Australians."
> They continued to talk and laugh together, oblivious to the
world
>around them. Jeni and Amy exchanged disbelieving glances. Thirty
years
>later in a different timeline, and it was happening again- Melinda and
>Micky must have always been a perfect match.
>
> "This is where I get off, kangaroo girl," said Micky, "Or maybe
>I'll just call you Roo."
> "Sure," said Melinda dreamily, and Micky stepped off the train.
>Immediately, Amy and Jeni turned to their friend.
> "Melinda, he's FIFTY-SIX years old!" Amy exclaimed, "You're
only
>eighteen! Isn't that a little weird?"
> "No," said Melinda defensively, "He's still the same man I
loved
>yesterday....uh, thirty years ago? Yesterday? This time-warp stuff is
>confusing."
> "I still can't believe you were coming on to him," laughed
Jeni,
>shaking her head.
> "Well, he's still my husband, in some alternate universe,"
Melinda
>reasoned, pulling some slips of paper out of her pocket, "Besides, he
gave
>me backstage passes."
> "Backstage passes?!?!" Jeni and Amy screamed, attacking their
>Australian friend. Melinda smiled smugly as the train came to a stop
at
>their final destination. Even though their dream had once again been
>rudely interrupted, things were coming up roses.
>
>
>End of Part Two.
> Calling Alameda, Part Three:
>
> "Man, I KNEW that was going to happen!" said Amy, serving the
girls
>pizza, "This is SO FRUSTRATING. I wish Time would just make up its
mind,
>and then leave us alone."
> "It's an adventure, that's for sure," Jeni said between
mouthfuls
>of pizza.
> "I can't believe we saw Micky on the BART," Melinda said,
digging in.
> "Hurry up and eat, guys," advised Amy, "We've gotta leave
pretty
>quick here if we want to make it to the concert on time. The San
Francisco
>traffic is pretty ridiculous."
> Jeni checked her watch.
> "Amy, the concert doesn't start for another four hours," Jeni
said,
>"What's the rush?"
> "Just want to be absolutely sure that we make it to our first
>Monkees concert on time," said Amy, "I wouldn't miss it for the world!"
> "Yeah, you're probably right," Melinda said, collecting the
pizza
>and putting in into a container, "We can eat this on the way there.
Let's
>get going!"
>
> "I hope we don't get hit with a time switch while I'm driving,"
Amy
>said, as she maneuvered through the thick San Francisco traffic, "I
love
>this Volkswagen and I don't want to see it get totaled."
> "I just hope we get switched back again- but for good this
time,"
>said Jeni wistfully.
> "I hope it doesn't happen 'til after the concert," said
Melinda, "I
>can't wait to see Micky in action!"
> "I hear wedding bells...again," said Amy, and Jeni laughed.
> "Can you imagine? Getting married to the same man twice in
thirty
>years, but you've never been divorced?" asked Jeni.
> "And I'm still the same age as I was thirty years ago," Melinda
>added gleefully.
> "What a trip," Amy remarked wryly.
> "There's the auditorium!" cried Jeni, pointing out the window.
> There was an enormous sea of cars in the auditorium's parking
lot,
>and a large crowd of people milling around at the entrance. Every so
>often, someone in the crowd would belt out a few lines of a Monkees
song,
>and everyone else would enthusiastically join in. Pretty soon, a loud,
>boisterous sing-along would be underway. When the song was finished,
the
>crowd quieted down for awhile- until someone else started singing
another
>well-known song. Monkees fans were a rare breed; there was only a
handful
>of die-hards in every city, and like their beloved band, they were
vastly
>misunderstood. No matter how much they tried to explain their reasons
for
>loving the Monkees, they were usually laughed at or ignored. So,
whenever
>they united, for whatever reason, it was like coming home to family-
where
>their passion for the prefabricated band was finally understood. The
girls
>also felt at home, as they stood in the crowd and listened to people
whom
>they had never met discuss subjects that the girls held near and dear
to
>their hearts- and were definitely not used to other people talking
about.
> "I love Peter's smile," a girl confided to her friend, "He's my
>favorite. You know, that girl over there looks a lot like him. Wonder
if
>they're related?"
> "Let's go ask," her friend whispered back.
> "Oh no, I couldn't," said the first girl.
> Another group of people to the left of the girls were playing
a
>game with quotes from the Monkees' TV show.
>The quotes had to elicit a laugh; otherwise, you were out of the game.
If
>one person couldn't think of anything, or repeated a quote, they were
out
>of the game as well. The girls enthusiastically joined the circle.
> "Defending mah honor- isn't that groovy?" quoted a youngish
girl
>who looked to be in her early teens.
> "You've got no wings, you chicken! I've seen your kind
before!
>Don't come near me!" said an amazingly fat middle-aged man standing
next to
>her.
> "And you're a funk and a pony!" Jeni interjected, and everyone
>laughed. The circle widened to accept the three girls, and the game
went
>on for quite some time, until there were only two people left- Jeni,
and an
>impossibly thin older man who looked startlingly like Christopher
Walken.
> "If you take the Monkees off the air, I'm gonna hold my breath
'til
>my face turns blue!" Jeni said. The other two girls and a small
cluster of
>people from the crowd cheered her on.
> "Your home, shotgun, not mine," said the tall gentleman, who
had
>his own group of cheerleaders.
> "He looks like a hairy, near-sighted monster with a guitar,"
Jeni
>shot back.
> "We're MONKEEMEN!" said the lanky man, but the crowd didn't
laugh-
>and he lost.
> "I won!" cried Jeni, jumping up and down.
> "Ooooh, she won, she won," the thin man said, and everyone
laughed.
> Then, the doors to the auditorium were opened, and the little
crowd
>merged with the larger one. The gameplayers were lost in the noise and
the
>shuffle, but the girls stuck together like glue. They didn't want to
be
>lost in San Francisco- whether it was the sixties or the nineties.
> The girls found their seats just below the small stage, and
waited
>breathlessly for the show to begin.
> "You don't think Peter will recognize me?" asked Jeni
hopefully,
>"You know- in a sort of deja-vu way?"
> "Sure he'll recognize you," Amy cracked, "In a
>hey-I-just-saw-you-in-my-bathroom-mirror-this-morning kind of way."
> "But I'm cuter and younger," Jeni responded in a high, flutey
>voice, as she batted her eyelashes. The other two girls giggled, and
>suddenly the auditorium lights went down.
> "Shh!" came the command from across the auditorium, and the
girls
>could hear people moving around onstage. They started to blink their
eyes
>rapidly, trying to get used to the darkness.
> Then, the trademark drumroll that opened "The Monkees Theme"
washed
>over the audience.
> "Here we come," intoned Micky's voice, and the lights came up,
>spotlights playing on the four Monkees. The entire audience cheered,
>whistled, and screamed, and Micky's voice was drowned out for the
entirety
>of the song. Amy felt doubly blessed to have purchased front-row
tickets
>because she could actually hear Micky singing...and also because Mike
had
>looked down at her and winked conspiratorially- at least, she liked to
>believe it had been conspiratorial. Peter just kept staring at Jeni,
as if
>he couldn't believe his eyes. Jeni seemed to be enjoying this, and
kept
>making Peter-esque faces, much to the middle-aged Monkees' apparent
>amusement. Micky kept smiling at Melinda from behind his drums, and
she
>looked as though she might faint. Then, as the song to a close, Micky
>spoke into his microphone.
> "This next song is for a special girl in the audience," he
said,
>winking at Melinda, "Hope you like it, Roo."
> "If you were an apple, I would take a bite," Micky sang, in a
low,
>sexy voice. Melinda leaned on her friends to keep from fainting.
> "You weren't this twitterpated when he wasn't famous, Melinda,"
Amy
>said to her Australian friend.
> "It's just that I've never seen him onstage before," Melinda
said,
>"It's exciting...besides, Amy, you're pretty enthralled by Mike's fancy
>guitar work. Now, shh- I want to listen!"
> "Right, listen, yeah," said Amy, "the crowd is so noisy that
they
>wouldn't notice if our boys stopped playing altogether!"
> "They're not just 'our boys' anymore," Jeni reminded her
friend.
> "Ain't that the truth," Amy remarked, taking in the crowd of
>people- which was of all ages- who seemed to be close to swooning over
the
>four men on stage, or at least singing along enthusiastically.
> "Shh!" Melinda hissed again, and the girls turned their full
>attention towards the show.
>
> *********************
>
> "This way, girls," said a security guard, as he led them down a
>backstage hallway.
> Melinda, Jeni, and Amy could hardly contain their excitement.
As
>they walked into a large room and beheld Davy, Micky, Mike, and Peter
>seated around one of the tiny cafeteria tables, the guys looked up. As
>Micky pulled out a chair for Melinda, the inevitable happened.
> The now-familiar jolt and burst of light returned them to 1966.
>This time, they were dropped off in their own well-loved apartment,
with
>its naugahyde seats, shag rug, and boxy television set.
> "It's happened again," noted Jeni indifferently.
> A knock came on the door, and Amy let Peter, Micky, and Mike
inside.
> "You spilled coffee all over my rug," Peter complained.
> "You disappeared again," Mike said, wrapping his arms around
Amy,
>as if that would keep her from slipping away again.
> Micky and Peter similarly hugged their girls, and Mike excused
>himself, pulling Amy into the back bedroom.
> "No, Mike, I-" Amy began, but it was too late.
> Mike let out a long, low whistle. Amy's bedroom was almost a
>shrine- mainly to Jesus Christ, but in the corner, where her bed was, a
>veritable Monkees temple had been constructed. Her bead curtains and
>psychedelic lighting were pretty normal, for a hippie...but the entire
>corner was wallpapered with pictures of Mike. Her shelves were stocked
>with Monkees videos (useless in 1966, but she had kept them anyhow),
and an
>enormous picture of Mike covered the ceiling above her bed. Aside from
>this corner, which was totally devoted to Mike and his bandmates, the
room
>was tastefully decorated with pictures of Jesus Christ and a few
>crucifixes. Mike let out a loud belly laugh when he noticed a Monkees
>throw pillow leaning against the headboard of Amy's bed.
> "I could've asked you out the day we met, and you would've said
>yes," said Mike in amazement, "You sure do love us, don't you?"
> Amy was blushing fiercely, but she nodded.
> "Anyway, I didn't bring you in here to laugh at you," Mike
said,
>sitting down on the bed. Amy sat down next to him and picked up her
>Monkees pillow, hugging it to her chest.
> "What's on your mind, Mike?" she asked him.
> "Look, girl, I love you- I've loved you ever since I first saw
you
>on the beach," Mike said, "but I can't have a relationship with someone
who
>keeps disappearing- it's hard to hold on to."
> "You want to break up?" asked Amy, shattered.
> "No, no, honey," Mike assured her, grinning, "I want us to get
>married. So I can be sure you're mine no matter what time line you're
in."
> Amy's jaw dropped in amazement.
> "Oh, my God," she said, and then smiled, "Of course I'll marry
you!"
> Mike's sudden "Yeehaw" made her blush even more deeply. He
hugged
>her tightly, and then the time-warp happened again.
> As their eyes readjusted after the obligatory flash of light,
Amy
>saw that they were back in her own apartment...in the nineties.
> "Not again!" she yelled, agonized, and turned to put her fist
>through the wall. However, just before impact, a powerful hand grabbed
her
>fist and stopped it in midair. Amy stared at the long, thin, obviously
>male fingers wrapped around her fist in confusion.
> "Hold it there, shotgun," said Mike, stepping into view,
"that's
>your writing hand. You don't want to damage that, right?"
> Amy gaped at him.
> "What are you doing here?" she demanded. She turned to see
that
>Peter and Micky were standing with Melinda and Jeni.
> "We were all holding on to you girls when it happened," Micky
>offered, "I think we got pulled through with you."
> "Well, boys," said Melinda, heading for the kitchen to make
some
>coffee, "welcome to the nineties."
>
>
>*************************
>
> Amy walked into the kitchen that night and found the three boys
>huddled around the microwave. Mike was closely inspecting the buttons
and
>warding off the other two with his arm.
> "C'mon, siddown," Mike drawled authoritatively, "Just gimme
some
>room so I can figger it out."
> Amy tried to hide a smile.
> "Whatcha doin'?" she asked, and Mike jumped away from the
>microwave, startled. That particular movement was one she had seen
>countless times on the Monkees' TV show, and Amy laughed. The three
boys
>stood there with their hands in their pockets, looking sheepish.
> Mike cleared his throat and straightened up.
> "I'uz just tryin' to figger out this here television set," said
>Mike, gesturing nervously towards the microwave.
> This time, Amy burst out laughing.
> "That's not a TV," she said, as she tried to catch her breath,
>"that's a microwave."
> "A Mike what?" asked Micky, grinning, "Amy, you are WAY too
obsessed."
> "No, no," Amy said, as she gently pushed Mike out of the way,
"a
>MICROWAVE...as in microphone?"
> She quickly opened a package of microwave popcorn and put in
into
>the microwave. The guys watched with great interest as the little
glass
>table turned, and were amazed when the popcorn started popping. When
Amy
>removed the bag, Micky and Peter tore it open, and the popcorn spilled
all
>over the floor. Mike grabbed a handful and stuffed it into his mouth,
>quickly realized that it was extremely hot, and made a pained face that
>reminded Amy of the TV show again. She went into fits of laughter, and
>Melinda and Jeni ran into the kitchen to see what all the commotion was
>about.
> Amy explained why there was popcorn all over the kitchen floor,
and
>the girls had a good laugh. Then, they all sat in a circle around the
pile
>of popcorn (mostly to help repair Mike's damaged ego) and began to
>seriously snack.
>
>End of Part Three.
>CALLING ALAMEDA, Part Four
>
> "I guess we should've expected something like that to happen,"
>Melinda commented at breakfast the next morning, "I mean, they just got
>yanked into the sixties and dropped into the nineties without warning."
> "I expected it," Jeni said, as she ate her careal, "I just
wasn't
>sure how or when it would happen."
> The girls were impatiently waiting for the guys to get up.
They
>had all spent...ahem...busy nights, and the men were probably
exhausted.
>They had all discovered just mow much the girls really loved them...The
>girls themselves, however, were wide-awake- and ready for anything the
day
>might bring.
> Micky came into the kitchen, yawning and scratching his fluffy
>Afro. He looked at the girls, bleary-eyed, and identified Melinda. He
>shuffled over to his wife and kissed her on the cheek. Then, he
stretched
>and sat down beside her. Amy was amused by the fact that he was
wearing
>pyjamas, and Jeni was struck by how much Micky reminded her of an
actual
>monkey, because of his looks and his behavior...but she stopped herself
>from laughing at this notion, because Melinda would have surely been
>indignant. However, she made a mental note to mention it to Amy later.
> Then Mike sauntered into the kitchen, drawing gasps from the
girls.
>He was clad only in boxer shorts, and his famous "chicken legs" made
him
>look hilariously gawky. His upper body was fairly built, but he was so
>thin that he seemed bony. His ear-length hair was a mess, and he
smoothed
>his sideburns self-consciously.
> "Didn't hear that there rooster," Mike said, smiling slightly,
"and
>I was right, girl...you sure are a sweet young thing."
> Amy ducked her head in embarrasssment as he gave her a quick
peck
>on the cheek. Then, he pulled up a chair and put his head on Micky's
>shoulder.
> "Oh, honeylips, you were absolutely MAHvelous last night!" Mike
>simpered, batting his lashes.
> Not missing a beat, Micky puffed up his chest.
> "Well, you've never had a REAL man in bed before!" he said, in
an
>impossibly deep voice, "Now git into that kitchen and make me some
food,
>woman!"
> They had the girls in stitches until Peter walked in. Everyone
>stopped laughing suddenly, and Micky began to choke on his breakfast.
> Peter puttered around the kitchen, opening the fridge and
taking
>out the orange juice. Whistling, he poured himself a glassful and
turned
>to join them at the table. He stopped when he saw their stunned,
>disbelieving looks.
> "What?" he asked, standing there with orange juice in hand.
> "Well..." Mike drawled, turning his attention back to his food,
>"you're naked, old buddy."
> Peter looked at him, confused.
> "So?" Peter asked, looking down at himself.
> Jeni got up and walked over to him.
> "Peter, this is the nineties," she gently explained, "nobody
walks
>around naked...except maybe in front of their own families."
> "But why not?" Peter asked, as he was shepherded back to the
>bedroom to get dressed, "That's not very comfortable, is it?..."
> Amy and Melinda grinned at each other, and Melinda mouthed,
"NICE
>ASS!" Micky elbowed his wife and smiled.
> "I saw that," he said, and Melinda simply giggled. All was
well
>again on the Western front.
>
>
>***********************
>
> "So now what?" asked Melinda, as they walked with the boys down
one
>of the streets near the Berkeley campus. They had taken the BART to
>Berkeley after breakfast, and they were having a little trouble
explaining
>to the boys that they might be recognized.
> "I will NOT take off my hat, Amy," Mike was saying (he had
taken to
>wearing it again after he and Amy had started dating- he said it
brought
>him luck), his fingers pulling his green wool cap tightly around his
head,
>"I don't care if anyone recognizes me!"
> "But Mike," Amy patiently explained, "how am I supposed to
explain
>you if we run across any Monkees fans?"
> "I don't care," Mike grumped, and went over to a park bench.
He
>pulled his long legs in towards his chest and made a lanky, yet
>perfectly-compacted ball of South Texas temper. Amy went over to him,
and
>Melinda shook her head as she watched her friend trying to talk sense
into
>the tall boy with the green wool hat.
> "That's something you don't see every day," Melinda said, "Our
>friend with the shortest temper in three realities trying to be patient
>with the firecracker Monkee."
> At that moment, Micky was clinging to her like the monkey he
looked
>to be. Occasionally he would rub his head against her arm in imitation
of
>a pleased, purring cat. Jeni couldn't tell if Micky was just goofing
off
>or he sincerely felt that way. She supposed it didn't matter either
way;
>Melinda would still love him.
> "Maybe opposites really don't attract," Jeni remarked, watching
Amy
>as she tried to talk to Michael (who was her soulmate in temperament),
and
>she grinned.
> "Takes one to know one," Peter suddenly reminded her, handing
her
>an ice cream cone.
> "Vanilla?" asked Melinda doubtfully.
> "Well, I..." Peter began, then shrugged it off, "If you don't
like
>it, I'll have it, Jeni."
> "Nah, I like it, thanks, "I think I see trouble, Melinda."
> Melinda looked up, and stifled a scream. Coming towards her
was
>Micky Dolenz- the Micky of the nineties.
> "Ah shit," said Jeni conversationally.
> "Maybe he won't recognize me," said Melinda, who was trying to
>wrestle Micky behind her so he couldn't be seen.
> "Amy, hide Mike!" Jeni hissed, as she suddenly took the ice
cream
>and shoved it in Peter's face.
> "Hey! What-" Peter started to protest, but Jeni was spreading
the
>ice cream over his face, effectively hiding his features. Then, she
>grabbed Melinda's Coke and dumped it over his head.
> "Jeni, when this is over, I'm going to....to...I don't know
yet,
>but it'll be bad," Peter vowed.
> "That's fine. Now, shh! He looks like he's coming this way,"
Jeni
>said.
> "Oh, no!" Melinda said, thinking fast, "C'mere, Micky. I'm
going
>to sit on you."
> "Oh, yeah, do it to me, baby," Micky leered.
> "Sit down and shut up," Melinda commanded, and Micky sat down
>quickly on the park bench. Melinda sat in his lap and leaned back
against
>his face.
> Jeni glanced over to see how Mike and Amy were faring. Amy
didn't
>have to do anything- Mike grabbed his wool hat and pulled it down over
his
>face. He was still a compact contortion of long, lanky limbs.
> "Hiya, Roo," Micky greeted Melinda, and the version of Micky
she
>was sitting on growled something angrily through Melinda's shirt.
> "Hi, Micky," said Melinda, smiling innocently.
> "Uh, Roo...what are you doing?" asked Micky curiously,
examining
>the skintight trousers that his younger self was wearing, "Who are you
>sitting on? And why?"
> "Oh...ah...it's kind of a new sort of art," Melinda said,
latching
>on to the first thing she could think of- Micky liked art, maybe he'd
>believe it.
> "Is that why that guy over there is all wet and has ice cream
on
>his face?" asked Micky, "You sure are strange, girl. Anyway, I thought
I'd
>say hi. I'm off to your home country now. Australian tour, y'know."
> "Micky sure got ugly once he got older," Mike said, his voice
>fairly muffled by his hat.
> "Huh?" Micky asked, turning to see who had insulted him, "Who
said
>that?"
> "Shhhh!" Amy commanded, but she could already see that it was
too
>late. She put her hand to her forehead. She knew how rude and
sarcastic
>she could get when she was provoked; Mike was apparently no different.
> "Ah SAID, ya old goat," Mike said through his hat, his Texas
drawl
>thickening, "ya sure are 'bout as pretty as the business end of a
donkey
>now that yer older than dirt."
> Micky's face lit up. He seemed to have ignored everything Mike
had
>just said, and threw his arms around Mike's gaunt frame.
> "Michael Nesmith!!" Micky shouted jubilantly, "I didn't know
you
>were here! Are you coming with us on tour...say, Mike, you sure got
skinny
>again. And what's with the hat? I thought you hated that thing! Hey,
>that IS the exact same hat you wore on the show! Mike, what-"
> Melinda smiled, deciding that there had been no way that the
girls
>could've kept the younger Monkees away from a man who would know them
best.
> "Micky," she said, "I want you to meet...uh, yourself, I
guess."
> She stood up, and let Micky get up as well.
> "Roo, if you ever suffocate me like that, I'll-" Micky began,
>pointing at her.
> His older self stared, gapemouthed. His eyes looked as though
they
>were about to goggle right out of his head.
> His younger self smiled and stuck out his hand.
> "I'm Micky Dolenz, Playboy of the Bay Area," he cracked, "Women
>come from miles around just to hear me talk."
> His older self didn't accept the proffered hand. For a moment,
>they only stared at each other.
> By then, Peter had wiped most of the ice cream off of his face.
He
>walked over to Melinda, Micky, and Micky. He stuck his hand out, too,
>smiling wetly.
> "Hi, I'm Peter Tork," said Peter, and the spell was broken.
The
>older Micky looked from Peter back to himself, and made strangled
sounds in
>the back of his throat.
> Then, Mike strode purposefully up to the group, as Amy was
begging
>him all the while not to disturb Micky any further. Mike, of course,
>ignored his fiancee, and added his hand to the other two which were
waiting
>to be shaken.
> "Ah'm Mah-kell Nessmith," Mike drawled impressively, and then
the
>inevitable happened.
> The older Micky absorbed all of this, and then fell to the
ground
>in a dead faint.
>
> "Mike, I'm going to kill you," Amy promised, "but for now, just
>take Micky and Peter over to Peter's old house, and wait for us there.
It
>should still be open- we broke into it last week. And for once, listen
to
>me and just STAY THERE until we come for you."
> "Why?" Mike asked, crossing his arms.
> "Mike, I'm just as much of a stubborn ass as you are. But if
the
>paramedics- and probably the newspeople, considering that this IS Micky
>Dolenz- catch us standing around with you, Peter, and Micky's younger
self,
>tehre's going to be a big fuss that I really don't want to deal with.
Now
>GET!"
> She pinched his butt to get him motivated, and he got moving.
He
>took Micky and Peter each by an ear, and they soon disappeared into the
>crowd.
> "He has a great ass," said Amy absentmindedly, "How's Micky
doing?"
> Melinda was kneeling by the aging, overweight Monkee. She
grinned
>devilishly.
> "CPR, anyone?" asked Melinda. Amy made a face.
> "He's a little old, isn't he?" she asked, but she knew that she
>didn't really need an answer to that. Any of the guys, no matter what
age,
>would always be attractive in their eyes.
> "The paramedics are on their way," Jeni said, appearing out of
the
>crowd. A very small circle had gathered around Micky's prone body by
then.
> "Is that Mike of the Monkees?" whispered somebody.
> "Micky," Melinda corrected them, annoyed.
> "No, Mike's the one that's dead," someone else whispered,
ignoring
>Melinda. The Australian girl threw up her hands in frustration.
> Then, Micky started to come around. He blinked his eyes,
confused,
>as he looked around at the unfamiliar faces surrounding him. Then he
saw
>Melinda, and he smiled slightly.
> Melinda helped him to sit up, and she kept her arms around his
>shoulders.
> "I had the strangest acid flashback," Micky said, looking
earnestly
>into her eyes, "I met myself...and Pete and Mike when we were just
kids-
>when we were your age, Melinda. Crazy, huh? Papa Nez is right. I'm
going
>senile. Can you believe it?"
> The paramedics pushed through the crowd, and Micky pushed
Melinda away.
> "Get out of here before the press comes, Roo," he said, "You
and
>your friends. I don't want them slandering your names, too. Go."
> "Bye, Micky," Melinda said, and then pushed her way through the
>crowd. Amy and Jeni were waiting expectantly on the outskirts of the
>crowd, and when they saw Melinda, they all set off toward's Peter's
house
>without a word spoken between them.
>
> As they neared the now-abandonded house, strains of a guitar
and a
>banjo could be heard through the boarded-up windows. They knew it was
Mike
>even before they heard his Texas accent, just by the music.
>
> "There's a smile on the wind as
it
>touches my face
> and starts to erase all the
gloom
> and the sun, with a kiss,
> begins to dismiss
> the memory of my life without
you.
> Well, it seems like yesterday
> that my path took me away
> although I know it's been at
least
>a year
> but now my path heads home
> and your patient time alone
> has brought me even closer to
you,
>dear.
> And this plane gets closer
ev'ry
>minute I look down
> to a watch that keeps lookin'
back
>at me
> and it says to me,
> "Be patient, son, you've
waited
>this long"
> but how can I be strong?"
>
> "Go on," they heard Peter say, clapping, "that's a groovy
song."
> "It's sorta about me and Amy, but sorta not," Mike explained,
>"Anyway, it's not finished yet. That's just the part I have so far."
> "My turn," said Peter, as the girls climbed the crumbling
cement steps.
> Peter grinned as he saw them, his banjo on his lap. He went
into a
>wild rendition of an old folk song called "Cripple Creek" as the other
two
>guys whooped it up and clapped their hands to the music.
>
> "Women in Cripple Creek 'bout half gone
> Jump on a man like a dog on a bone,
> Roll my pants up to my knees
> I'll cross old Cripple Creek when I
please.
> Goin' down to Cripple Creek, goin' on
the run,
> Goin' down to Cripple Creek to have
some
>fun..."
>
> One by one, the girls' mouths dropped. Looking through the
screen
>door, inside, the house was the same as it had been in the sixties.
>However, outside, it was the crumbling, dusty edifice of the nineties.
> "What-" began Jeni, and Micky hastened to explain.
> "It seems as though our times have reached a happy medium," he
>said, over Peter's raucous singing, "In the house, it's 1967...but once
we
>walk outside, it's 1998. Thirty-one years of difference in one
>step..wonder what Plato or Descartes might have thought of that."
> "Oh," Melinda said, and she stepped through the door. She
braced
>herself for the jolt and the bright light which she had long since
gotten
>used to, but it didn't come. She decided to leave all the questions
and
>confusion alone; it probably didn't matter how or why anyway. She made
>herself comfortable next to Micky, and her husband handed her a cup of
>Peter's unfailingly black coffee. She wrinkled her nose and headed to
the
>kitchen to add much-needed cream and sugar.
Part Five
>
> Amy and Jeni closed the heavy oak door behind them and locked
>themselves away from the cruel world of the nineties. They settled
down
>next to their men, and Peter finished up Cripple Creek to a roar of
>appreciative applause.
> "That was incredible, Peter," Mike said, who didn't normally
dish
>out compliments, especially to Peter, "I'm impressed."
> "Thanks, Mike," Peter said, grinning from ear to ear.
> "I have one," Micky said suddenly, "I think it's a little
>frightening- I mean, it's the most morbid song I ever wrote- so I
thought-
>well..."
> "Don't apologize for it, old buddy," Mike encouraged him, "Just
>play the thing, and we'll judge it for ourselves."
> "OK," Micky said uncertainly, suddenly seeming very much like
>Peter, "Can I use your guitar, Mike?"
> "Here ya go," Mike said, handing it over, "and wail, baby. I'm
>gonna go make some food."
> "Fried monkey's brains?" Amy asked, quoting Indiana Jones and
the
>Temple of Doom.
> Mike just rolled his eyes goodnaturedly, and stood up in one
quick,
>fluid movement. With such gangling limbs, Mike's natural grace was
>surprising. His posture, however, left something to be desired...and
his
>loping, wolfish walk gave away his dirt-poor Texas background. He
>sauntered into the kitchen, and Amy shook her head, smiling. Even
after
>all that, she still loved him more than anything on earth.
> "Play the song," Peter reminded Micky, and snapped Amy out of
her
>thoughts.
> "Oh. Yeah," Micky said, who seemed as though he had been in a
>trance, "Here goes. This one's called 'Mommy and Daddy'."
> He sat there for a second, fiddling nervously with the guitar.
> "Well?" prodded Jeni, "Why don't you play it?"
> "I just don't want to offend anyone," Micky finally explained,
"I
>mean, the song is about everything I wish I could say, but I can't.
>Just...don't be offended, OK? Promise?"
> "Man, you're starting to act just like Peter," Amy said, and
that
>seemed to get Micky going.
> "OK, here goes nothing," Micky said, and took a deep breath.
Then,
>he began to sing one of the stranges, most moving songs any one of them
had
>ever heard.
>
> "Ask your Mommy
and
>Daddy what happened to the Indian
> Ask your Mommy
and
>Daddy to tell you where you really came from
> Your Mommy and
>Daddy will probably quickly turn and walk away
> Then ask your
>Mommy and Daddy who really killed JFK
> Wok ta tikka
>tattoo, too...wok ta tikka tattoo, too.
> Ask your Mommy
if
>she really gets off on all her pills
> Ask your Daddy
why
>doesn't that soldier care who he kills
> After they've
put
>you to sleep and tucked you safely down in your bed
> whisper,
"Mommy
>and Daddy, would it matter if the bullet went through my head?
> If it was my
blood
>spilling on the kitchen floor,
> If it was my
>blood, Mommy, would you care a little more?"
> Don't be
surprised
>when they turn and start to cry
> And tell your
>Mommy and Daddy
> Tell your
Mommy
>and Daddy
> Scream it to
your
>Mommy and Daddy
> They're living
in a lie
> It's all a
lie,
>lie, lie, lie, lie...."
>
>
> Everyone sat around Micky with their mouths open in shock. He
had
>just given one of the most heartfelt performances any one of them had
ever
>seen. Micky looked around at his friends shyly, and he really did seem
a
>lot like Peter in that moment.
> "That's the unissued version," Amy managed to say, for no real
>reason. It was all she could think of.
> "That was the single most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my
>life," Jeni breathed in awe.
> "Munchichi," Melinda began, but decided the nickname was a
little
>improper after the song, "Micky, that was wonderful. It was cruel, but
it
>was wonderful."
> "Thanks," Micky said, "I'm proud of it. I just wasn't sure how
>everyone would take it."
> "Rice a Roni for supper?" Jeni asked, as Mike returned from the
>kitchen and passed out the plates, "Mike, I thought you were more of a
>gourmand than that."
> "Well, babe, let me tell you one thing," Mike said, "Ain't no
way,
>no how that Rice a Roni could've been in a Monkees episode. So?"
> "You got us this time, Michael," Melinda said, starting to eat,
"I
>can't think of a single reference."
> "I can," Jeni said, and shoveled a huge amount of Rice A Roni
into
>her mouth as she said through the food, "I come from England, and I'm
>hungry!"
> The girls laughed and Mike looked a little put out.
> "OK, OK," Mike said, taking the guitar back from Micky, "Now
it's
>the cook's turn to play a few notes."
> "Go, Michael," Amy said, between mouthfuls.
> "Y'all ready?" asked Mike, "You gotta pay close attention to
the
>words in this 'un, or you'll lose the whole thing. It'll slip through
your
>fingers."
> "We're paying attention," Peter assured him, but he seemed to
be
>concentrating more heavily on his dinner than anything else.
> "All right, here goes," said Mike, and he began to work magic
with
>the red Gretsch guitar.
>
>
> "In a dusty caravan was a girl
with
>a golden tan
> and she asked me if I was
headed
>to the east
> I politely stepped aside and
said
>I did not need a ride
> that I'd druther take my
chances
>with the heat.
> well, when she turned and
walked
>away, I saw my big mistake
> there were jewels on her body
>oh-so-rare
> Had it been another day, I
just
>might've rode away
> with that woman ridin' off to
>god-knows-where.
> So, the years, they came and
went,
>and found me living in a tent
> far above a little marble
stream
> and it may have been the light
>that shone out through the night
> that attracted the hand
scratchin'
>on my screen.
> When I cautiously looked out
>through the night, there was no doubt
> that the owner of the hand was
>that girl
> so I bid her, "Do come in, and
>I'll open up a tin,
> if you'll tell me 'bout your
trip
>around the world."
> Well, she said, "If you think
back
>to the first time that we passed
> I'm sure you'll picture me in
all
>my jewels.
> It was shortly after then that
I
>ran into another man
> and I asked him the same
question
>that I asked you.
> But now he- he didn't refuse,
and
>he took off both of his shoes,
> and climbed aboard my
east-bound
>caravan
> and in the twinkling of an
eye, he
>had knocked me off the side
> and left me there for dead
upon
>the sand.
> And I thought that I was dont,
>lyin' naked in the sun
> when much to my surprise, who
>should pass?
> but this old friend of yours,
he
>said he knew you from the wars,
> and I told him that I thought
>you'd headed west.
> well, he said he should've
known,
>that you liked to be alone
> and that's the time I knew you
>were my one
> so I asked him for a ride,
just to
>get here by your side
> and stay here above this
stream
>out of the sun."
> Well, we sat quiet for awhile,
and
>then I began to smile
> and I said, "Well, it's
strange,
>but I don't care"
> and some nights when I'm at
rest,
>I wonder, if I'd said, "Yes",
> if she'd have come to me from
>god-knows-where...
> or would I have been the one
to
>leave her lyin' in the sun,
> and then ended up with only
>precious stones?
> Or would the woman in my arms
be
>givin' me her charms
> if the answer that I gave her
was
>a "No"?"
>
>
> A hearty cheer went up as the song ended. Everyone was pretty
much
>done with dinner, and Amy hugged Mike jubilantly.
> "I'm very impressed, Mike," Amy said, "That was great!"
> "Say, Mike," Micky said, "You ever think of writing songs that
>aren't so...uh...country-sounding? I mean, that music's pretty boring
and
>hokey. It's not really cool, or anything."
> Mike rounded on Micky before he could blink.
> "That's the way I express myself," said Mike, "You don't come
down
>on my style, I won't come down on yours."
> "Sorry, man," Micky said, subdued, "I just thought...well, that
>kind of music is pretty repetitive, y'know?"
> "Well, that's your hangup, man," Mike said, "I know where it's
at."
> The girls burst into laughter again, and the boys, for once,
>ignored them completely.
> "Maybe Micky's right, Mike," Peter ventured, "You're a great
>writer, but if you ever want to make it, you'd probably have to start
>writing more...uh...commercial stuff."
> Amy immediately recognized the fire that suddenly sparked to
life
>in Mike's eyes...she'd seen it many times, inb her reflection in the
>mirror. He was a lot like her; you could only push them both so far.
Up
>to that point, both of them were easygoing, peaceful people...but if
>someone got them across that line, things got ugly very quickly.
> "Music is music, and that's all there is to it," Mike said,
through
>clenched teeth, "At least I write music for my girl. Peter and Micky-
both
>of you wrote just ONE song for your women?! If you call yourselves
>musicians, you should be writing more for them...that is, if you really
DO
>love them."
> These words had the affect on the other two guys that Mike
seemed
>to have been hoping for. They cut both Micky and Peter right to the
bone.
> "Hey, I LOVE Jeni!" Peter shouted, springing to his feet and
>jabbing his finger at Mike's face.
> "And I'm NOT a musician, you bony-assed South Texas chicken
>farmer," Micky snapped, "I'm a PHYSICS MAJOR, remember?"
> Peter and Micky were circling Mike like hungry sharks, just
waiting
>for another taunt. Mike glanced down at the girls and saw their
horrified
>faces...and then looked at Amy. She wasn't horrified...she looked cold
and
>calculating, as if she already knew the outcome of the fight. He
stared at
>Amy for a long while, and she watched him, detatched and expectant.
She'd
>seen it too many times...only this time, it was someone else besides
>herself who had the terrible temper.
> "Just give me the Gretsch, Michael," she said, in a voice that
>mirrored her expression, cold and detatched, "It's the only one of five
>ever made, and you don't want to break it."
> Melinda and Jeni looked at their friend, shocked. A brawl was
>about to break out, and Amy was worried about the guitar?
> Mike gave her the beautiful guitar, and she hugged it to her
chest
>tightly. She watched her boyfriend as he eyed Micky and Peter.
> "Ah, never mind," Mike said finally, "I don't want to fight
with
>anybody...especially not my friends."
> He sat down quickly, as though his legs had buckled underneath
him.
>Amy put a hand on his shoulder, and he looked into her eyes. The look
she
>gave him seemed relieved and proud, and Mike started to feel a little
>better.
> "Come on, let's get out of here for awhile, before the sun goes
>down," Jeni suggested, "All this time traveling and singing's got me
tired
>out. This place feels cramped."
> "I suppose it should be; I mean, it IS basically holding the
entire
>year of 1967 inside of it," Melinda reasoned.
> So everyone decided to get out and do something. As they
headed
>towards the BART terminal, a pickup truck full of college kids passed
them
>and slowed to a stop at the traffic light.
> "Aw, man, it's the frat boys," Amy groaned, "Well, we're going
to
>have to walk past them to get to the terminal. Heads up, everyone."
> As they headed toward the staircase down into the BART
terminal, a
>few of the boys in the back of the pickup noticed Amy.
> "Hey, look, it's Monkeewoman!" one of them taunted.
> "Yeah, the Monkee junkie," his friend added, and they both
guffawed
>at their lame joke. They didn't seem to notice that they were the only
>ones laughing.
> "Shut up," said Amy evenly, embarrassed. She didn't want the
guys
>to hear the insults most people hurled at her because of her love for
the
>prefabricated band. It was humiliating.
> "The Monkees SUCK!" they screamed, and took it up as a mantra,
"The
>Monkees SUCK! The Monkees SUCK!"
> Every time they shouted the word "suck", they would punch the
air
>with their fists. Amy only smiled serenely, but she was boiling
inside.
>Mike looked like he was about to explode. Micky was biting his fingers
in
>hilarious mock horror, and Peter's usual look of indignance was written
>across his face.
> "Whaddaya think of that, Monkee junkie?" screamed a
particularly
>meaty boy in the back, "Who's your skinny little boyfriend with the
fuzzy
>sideburns? He walks like he just screwed the entire barnyard!"
> "Who's the white nigger with the Afro?" asked someone else, and
>another chorus of laughter came from the pickup truck. Melinda glared
at
>them, but Micky continued to hold his expression of mock horror.
> "We said, the Monkees SUCK!" shouted the meaty boy.
> "But only if you ask nicely," Amy said flatly, surprising the
kids
>in the truck. Everyone laughed at Amy's joke, and the meaty guy looked
>embarrassed. Suddenly the tables were turned, and she had everyone's
>attention instead of him.
> "Have a nice day, kiddies," said Jeni regally, and they walked
down
>the staircase into the darkness of the terminal.
> Immediately, Amy smashed her fists into the wall of the
staircase
>and screamed in frustration. Other people on the staircase quickly
>scurried away. Jeni and Melinda watched, their eyes round and
frightened.
>They had heard stories, but they had never actually seen their friend
lose
>it.
> Finally, Mike took her into his arms, and they huddled in a
corner
>of the terminal. She seemed to be crying, but that was
impossible...Amy
>never cried. Ever.
> Melinda pulled Jeni over to another corner.
> "What are we going to do about all this?" Melinda demanded,
"They
>belong in the alternate reality of the sixties. I mean, we made the
real
>Micky Dolenz faint, and now Amy's lost her bloody mind."
> "Uh, I think she was like that already," Jeni said.
> "I don't care," said Melinda, "the point is that if we let it
go on
>like this, something really bad is bound to happen."
> "Well, what are we going to do, then?" asked Jeni, checking her
>watch. They had about two minutes before their train came.
> "Well, where would the guys feel most comfortable?" asked
Melinda,
>her Australian accent ringing out throught the nearly deserted train
>station.
> They thought for a moment, and simultaneously came to the same
>conclusion.
> "On stage," they said in unison, and they both began to smile.
Part Six:
>
> They were sitting on the BART, watching the cities of Alameda
>County whip by. Mike was staring off into space, and Peter was
reciting
>poetry to Jeni. Micky was kissing Melinda so deeply that it looked as
if
>he were about to swallow her. Suddenly, he broke away from his beloved
>wife.
> "Hey, Pete, did you bring your banjo?" asked Micky.
> Peter shook hi head and smiled.
> "Sorry, man," he said, "Why?"
> "Oh, Roo and Jeni want us to perform live," said Micky, and
Mike
>suddenly snapped out of his trance.
> "Live?!" he exclaimed, "I better go home and get my Gretsch!
Maybe
>I'll play Sweet Young Thing or Sunny Girlfriend or-"
> "Calm down, Mike," said Amy, "you wouldn't be playing live
tonight.
>Just practicing for some other time."
> "Oh," Mike said, disappointed. He decided to space out again.
> "What are we going to do when break is over?" asked Jeni
suddenly,
>"We've only got a couple of days!"
> "Write a paper entitled 'What I Did On My Spring Break' for our
>professors," Amy suggested, and then laughed.
> "Or 'Who I Did On My Spring Break'," Melinda cracked.
> "Ha ha ha," remarked Amy, in a droll voice, stealing a glance
at
>Mike, who looked absolutely gorgeous in profile.
> "Really, though, we need to figure this out," said Jeni
>insistently, "I mean, what-"
> "I think you're just going to have to take us home with you,"
said
>Peter.
> Melinda stared at him, all traces of good humor gone from her
face.
>Take them home?
>
>
*****************
>
> "All right, boys, we'll give you a try," said the owner of the
tiny
>coffeehouse, "but if they don't like you, you're out on your asses."
> Peter winced a little at the use of the swearword. He didn't
seem
>to like swearing very much.
> Mike adjusted his wool hat confidently, brushing aside his
thick
>wave of black hair. There was fire in his dark brown eyes.
> "Our asses will stay right up on this here stage," Mike said,
who
>didn't mind a little swearing if it got the job done.
> "I like your ass better than his," Micky said loudly to
Melinda,
>and she told him to be quiet. He pinched her, and she squealed.
> "Micky, will you stop fooling around and get up here?" asked
Mike,
>gesturing towards the complicated 90's drum kit.
> Micky looked at the drums warily. He sat down behind them and
>rapped out a small beat on one of the drums.
> "Man, I can't play this!" Micky exclaimed, "Why are there so
many
>drums and stuff on this thing?"
> The manager of the coffeehouse was looking at him skeptically.
He
>shook his head and massaged his temples, frustrated.
> "I know what you can do, man," said Peter, and he began to
>dismantle the drum set.
> "Hey, what're you doing?!" the manager exclaimed, "Stop it!
Those
>don't belong to you!"
> Mike fixed him with his no-nonsense South Texas glare.
> "If you don't shut up, there'll be no show," he said firmly,
and
>the manager quieted down.
> Finally, the drum kit was down to the size it would have been
in
>late 1967, and Micky seemed satisfied. He gave it a test run, drumming
otu
>the beat to "Randy Scouse Git".
> "Hey, Micky, you're pretty good," commented Peter, "It's a good
>thing you've been practicing."
> "Thanks for teaching me, Peter," said Micky, and Peter smiled
and
>nodded.
> "Where are the lines to those songs that are supposed to be our
big
>hits?" asked Mike, "Micky, did you practice those?"
> "Yeah," said Micky, shaking his head, "I think we write better
>songs by ourselves."
> "I think so, too," said Melinda, Amy, and Jeni simultaneously.
>They exchanged glances, and then laughed.
> "OK, boys, you've got two minutes to get ready," said the
manager.
>People were filling up the coffeehouse, and it was time to start the
show.
> "Good luck, Mike," said Amy, kissing him on the cheek. Mike
nodded
>abruptly, then went back to tuning his guitar.
> "Baby, this is all for you," Micky said, and gave Melinda a
soul
>kiss before she pried herself away from him and went to sit beside Amy
and
>Jeni.
> "And now, the group you've all been waiting for!" came the
>announcer's voice, haunting and authoritative, "The Monkees!...huh? Is
this
>some kind of joke?"
> The lights went up to show three bewildered boys standing on
the
>stage. Mike shook it off and started to dive into "Circle Sky" when
the
>announcer broke in.
> "Hey, boys, get off the stage, willya? We billed the Monkees,
>they're getting the Monkees...not some imitation group. You're not
even
>middle-aged, for Pete's sake!"
> "For my sake?" asked Peter, and the crowd roared.
> "They actually billed themselves as the Monkees?" asked Melinda
in
>a horrified whisper, "Whose bright idea was that?"
> "I think it was probably Mike's," Amy whispered back, "I don't
know
>why he'd do that!"
> "There's going to be a riot," said Jeni, "These people paid
very
>good money to see a Monkees concert. What are we going to do?"
> "Please, boys, get off the stage," said the announcer, a razor
edge
>creeping into his voice.
> "One, two , THREE!" screamed Mike, and went into the opening
riff
>of "I'm a Believer".
> The crowd went wild!! The girls had never in their lives heard
>such screaming. However, Melinda hadn't been caught off guard. She
>climbed onto the stage and stood behind Micky, waiting for her cue.
> Just after his trademark sigh that lead into the instrumental,
>Melinda leaned into the microphone.
> "Well, all right!" she said, and her dream of being able to say
>that onstage with Micky was fulfilled.
> The song ended, and recieved a standing ovation. Then, the
>announcer cut in again.
> "Boys, PLEASE GET OFF THE STAGE," he said, and there was no
>mistaking the dagger-sharp sound of his voice this time.
> "Aw, let 'em play," said someone in the crowd, "They're cute,
and
>they're great imitations!"
> Mike didn't give anyone else a chance to speak. He wanted his
>moment in the sun, and he was determined to get it- and for Peter and
Micky
>as well. The next song they did was a rousing Nesmith number called
>"Listen to the Band"...which had been written by Mike himself and was
also
>a Monkees hit, so Mike knew it already. The girls screamed and
clapped;
>their boys were showing the same charismatic quality that their
>true-reality counterparts were famous for. As Michael led them through
>"Auntie Grizelda", "Pleasant Valley Sunday", "I'm Not Your Stepping
Stone",
>and various others, it was obvious that they were a hit. Finally,
however,
>Mike had to take a breather...and that was when the announcer cut in.
> "Get off the stage. We have called the police," said the
announcer
>coldly.
> Mike looked around himself wildly, daring anyone to challenge
him.
> "Why don't you come out here where we can have a look at you?"
Mike
>demanded of the thin air, "You're preachin' at us from inside a little
room
>somewhere, and you're too chickenshit to come out and face us,
man-to-man!"
> Peter flinched at the swearword again, but he stood his ground.
>Micky had taken on that cool, unruffled look that he pulled off so
well.
> "Let them play," Amy said angrily.
> "Let them play," someone else agreed, "they're good!"
> "Yes, let them play," said another voice from the doorway, "and
let
>us up there so we can play along."
> Everyone turned around to see Micky Dolenz in the doorway...his
>older self. The girls gasped, a little embarrassed.
> "Micky!" cried Melinda, jumping up from the table to hug him,
"I
>thought you were in Australia!"
> "We're leaving tomorrow," Micky said, and then whispered, "That
>wasn't really an acid flashback, was it, Roo?"
> "No, it wasn't," Melinda confirmed, "those boys onstage are
very real."
> "Wow," said Micky, "Oh, the other guys are outside. Mike?
Peter?
>Davy? Come on in."
> The older Monkees walked in, bathed in the late afternoon
sunlight.
>They regarded their younger selves with some apprehension.
> "Well, if you're gonna play, play!" said the older Mike to his
>younger self.
> "Y'know, I like this guy's attitude," said Mike, and the seven
men
>all climbed onstage together to sing and play. Hey, hey, they were the
>Monkees...times two.
>
>
>***************
>
> "I'd go the whole wide world, just to find her," the older
Micky
>shouted into the mike, and they finished the song with a flourish.
> "And for our last number...a song that brought us from 1966 to
1998
>full circle.." said Mike's older self, "Circle Sky!"
> The seven men onstage ripped through the Nesmith classic, and
the
>girls got up out of their seats to shout one of the lines of the song
along
>with them.
>
> "Well, it looks like we've made it once again!
> Well, it looks like we've made it to the end!!"
>
> "Wait, wait!" Davy Jones cried, "Don't go yet! That's not the
last
>song, Mike!"
> "Oh, sorry, Davy," said Mike, "I didn't know you were here.
You
>know you're out of my basic line of sight."
> "No short jokes," Davy admonished, smiling, "Our last number is
one
>of my songs..."
> The girls wrapped their arms around each others' shoulders,
knowing
>exactly what song the guys were about to sing. Amy's lighter clicked
to
>life, and they began to sway back and forth to the music.
>
> "It's not too late to turn this ship around
> to sail into the wind, my love, before we run aground
> it's not too late to say that I love you
> and it's not too late for you, my love, to say you love me
too
> it's not too late...to turn this ship around!"
>
> The concert ended, and a standing ovation immediately followed.
>People had come in off the street, and the coffeehouse was tightly
packed.
>Melinda, Jeni, and Amy could only see the flushed, ecstatic looks on
the
>faces of their men. The cops had never shown up.
> "Say, who are you guys, anyway?" asked Mike, looking at his
younger
>self.
> "I am Robert Michael Nesmith, born December 30th," said Mike
stubbornly.
> "I believe you," said Mike's older self, scratching his beard,
"For
>some reason, I believe you."
> "And I am Peter Halsten Thorkelson, born in Washington, D.C.,"
said
>Peter's younger version. Peter's older self simply laughed and nodded.
> "And what about you?" asked Micky, tugging on the T-shirt that
did
>a poor job of covering his impressive potbelly, "Are you George Michael
>Dolenz, of Circus Boy fame?"
> "No," said Micky. Everyone turned to look at him.
> "Oh? Who are you, then?" asked the older Micky, a small smile
>playing on his face, as though they shared a private joke and he
already
>knew the punchline.
> "My name is Havershap Spleenbaum, but you can call me Micky,
>without the E, thanks," said the younger Micky with a straight face.
>Everyone onstage burst into laughter, and shook hands all around.
> "What about me?" asked Davy, "Where's my younger version?"
> "Hey, you're that short freak from England who didn't have any
>talent so you had to play the maracas and the tam-" Mike suddenly said.
> "Shh! Mike, be nice!" Amy hissed from the edge of the stage.
> Davy looked at him curiously.
> "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you really were
>Michael," said Davy, shaking his head and smiling, "You certainly are
as
>rude as he used to be. And you're just as bony."
> Mike's older self looked indignant.
> "Yeah, yeah, yeah, if I talk like that anymore you'll sue me,"
said
>Davy nonchalantly, and the guys all chuckled as they left the stage.
Their
>younger selves hopped down into the girls' arms.
> "That was it? That was all?" asked Amy, amazed, "I thought
there
>would be more sparks, or something. I mean, they just met themselves!"
> "That's not what they really believed, though," said Jeni
sensibly,
>"They just thought that our boys were great imitations."
> "Which, in a way, they are," said Melinda, "they're not the
genuine
>article. They're from an alternate universe, remember?"
> "Well, now that all this is over, let's go eat," suggested Amy,
>"I'm starving."
> "Yeah, baby!" said Micky excitedly, "Hey, are you going out for
>fast food? Lemme give you some money and we can get all KINDS of good
>stuff!"
> Micky continued to babble as they made their way outside,
pausing
>once in a while to sign autographs. The girls shook their heads. You
>could take a man out of the Monkees, but you couldn't take the Monkee
out
>of the man.
Part Seven
>
>
> "Well, this will certainly be interesting," commented Jeni, as
they
>all packed their belongings into the microbus. Amy had decided that it
was
>high time to visit her friends and family in Minnesota, and besides,
she
>was definitely up for another road trip down Route 66. The guys were
>coming with them...which would be, as Jeni said, interesting- to say
the
>very least.
> "All right, where's the guitar?" asked Mike, as he climbed in
and
>shut the door.
> "We had to pack it, Mike," said Amy, as she turned out of the
driveway.
> Mike harrumphed, and slouched down in his seat. This was going
to
>be a long ride.
>
> The days passed uneventfully, compared to their last
cross-country
>trip. There were a few brief arguments about musical merit between
Mike
>and Peter, and Jeni and Amy discussed who their original favorite
Monkees
>were, to the general frustration of their boyfriends. When Jeni said
>something about Mike being almost as good as Peter, Mike sat in his
seat
>for hours, not speaking, his face frozen in a smug, self-satisfied
grin.
>Peter, however, stared ou the window with a look on his face that
people
>only get when they're trying their hardest not to cry. Otherwise,
>everything went fairly smoothly.
> Soon, they were in Duluth, and Amy pulled up the driveway to
her
>house. Her parents and sister were overjoyed by the surprise visit,
and
>although they seemed a little suspicious, they didn't seem to recognize
the
>boys.
> "Mom, Dad, Christa- Micky, Mike, Peter," said Amy quietly.
Mike
>took off his hat and began to knead it nervously.
> "Hi, boys," said Amy's mom, "there' s pop in the basement, OK?"
> Amy's family went inside, and the girls soon followed.
> "Wonderful," said Jeni, under her breath, as they walked into
the
>house and stomped the snow off their boots, "They don't even know who
you
>guys are."
> "My parents weren't really into the stuff that went on in the
>sixties," Amy explained, "it's best that they don't know, anyways."
> As they made their way up the staircase, a knock came on the
door.
> "Hang on," said Amy, "I gotta answer that."
> She ran downstairs and flung the door open. Her friend
Vanessa, a
>blond, Marilyn-Monroe-esque vision, was standing on the stoop.
> "Hi," said Vanessa, smiling brilliantly, "Mind if I come in?"
> "How'd you know I was home?" asked Amy wonderingly.
> "I didn't...but I was at Ashleigh's house, across the
alley...and
>that van couldn't belong to anyone else," said Vanessa, grinning.
> "Microbus," Amy corrected her, "Sure, come on in!"
> Vanessa came inside, taking off her coat as she did so. Amy
>noticed that she had her guitar. Vanessa was an excellent musician-
>self-taught- and she often played her songs for Amy.
> Just then, Mike poked his head around the corner.
> "Hey, Amy, are you coming up?" he asked, and then saw Vanessa.
>His mouth dropped open.
> "Well, hello," he said, a smile spreading across his face, "You
>play guitar?"
> Amy rolled her eyes. She knew exactly where this was heading.
>
>
****************
>
> "Oh, wow, that was great!" Mike cried, staring appreciatively
at
>Vanessa. He then went into a detailed explanation of different chords
he
>used and songs that he liked, playing along sometimes. He held his
hand
>splayed out as he spoke, his long fingers and strangely long, thin
thumbs
>seeming to beckon to her.
> "Man, it's been almost two hours they've been talking," mused
>Melinda, "they haven't said a word to us!"
> Amy was boiling under her skin. She loved Vanessa like a
sister,
>but she should have known that the petite, beautiful lady musician
would
>appeal to Mike. If only Amy had stuck with her guitar lessons when she
was
>younger!
> "Don't fret it, man," said Peter soothingly, "I think he's
found a
>soul mate. You know? But he still loves you..."
> "That didn't help, Peter," said Jeni.
> "A soul mate," Amy repeated, her stomach turning over uneasily.
> "Well, it's been great talking to you, Mike," said Vanessa,
taking
>her car keys out of her pocket, "but I promised to meet someone down at
>Perkin's, and I'm already late."
> She put her guitar away, snapping the cover closed.
> "Okay, Vanessa," said Mike, "I hope I'll see you again soon."
> "Thanks," she said sweetly, "You're a great musician!"
> "You too," he said, enchanted.
> "Thanks, Amy, it was fun," said Vanessa, as she walked out of
the
>room, "See you soon! Love ya!"
> "See ya, Vanessa. Love you too," said Amy softly.
> Mike suddenly snapped out of his trance.
> "She was great," he said in awe.
> "Great," said Amy sadly.
> "Let's go somewhere else," said Melinda, "c'mon, Jeni, let's go
in
>the other room and watch The Monkees."
> "Yeah," said Jeni, and the other four left the room hurriedly.
>
> "So?" Amy asked, folding her arms.
> "What?" asked Mike, setting his guitar down on the bed.
> "What do you think?!" Amy exploded, "You were drooling over my
best
>friend! Every single guy I've ever gone out with left me for my best
>friend!!"
> Mike stared at her coldly.
> "Look, I don't belong to you. You didn't purchase me from some
>Monkee Vendor or something. If it wasn't for this time warp, I
wouldn't
>even be DATING you," Mike snapped, and the words pierced Amy through
the
>heart.
> "You jerk," she said, "I knew I should've believed the
stories!"
> "What?" asked Mike, confused.
> "The stories of how you were! That you were cruel and cold to
>everyone! That you didn't care about anyone but yourself! That you
>treated poor Phyllis like a ball and chain! Phyllis was your wife, by
the
>way," Amy shouted, "You know those songs you sang to me? Well, here's
a
>song to you from me. And you wrote it, too!"
> Mike glared at her, but sat on the bed and waited.
> Amy opened her mouth, and began to sing, fighting back tears.
>
> "They told me what you'd do
> if I ever stayed with you
> they told me that you'd laugh
> while I cried.
> they told me what you'd say
> that you'd turn and walk away
> and find another place to play
> while I cried.
> now I think back on those times
> I didn't read between the lines
> how all the things that you said
> never seemed to match the things you did.
> Thougts keep turning 'round in my mind
> now I see reason and rhyme
> Time spent with you has brought me something
> and I brought nothing, if you are that kind...
> They told me what you'd do
> if I ever stayed with you
> and sure enough, it all came true..."
>
> A tear finally escaped, and Amy brushed it hurriedly away.
> "You're crying," said Mike softly, his hard exterior beginning
to crack.
> "I. DON'T. CRY!" Amy screamed, and Mike stood up and gently
>enfolded her within his arms.
> "I love you, Amy," he said suddenly, his voice cracking with
emotion.
> "What?" she asked.
> "I love you, that's all I can say," said Mike quietly, "I'm
>suspicious and jealous, just like you...and yeah, I'm cold, cruel, and
>mean- JUST LIKE YOU. I know that nothing I say will convince you...but
>Vanessa wasn't the girl who loved me so much that she traveled through
time
>just to have two seconds' chance with me. I have to love you. No one
who
>meets you, or Melinda, or Jeni, can resist loving any of you, don't you
>understand that? I love you, Amy...and that's all I really have to
say."
> He was silent then, looking pensive and a little nervous.
> "Oh, Michael," sighed Amy, putting her arms around him and her
head
>on his shoulder, "Of course I believe you. And I love you, too."
> They stood there, a portrait of strange beauty in the dying
embers
>of the late April sun.
>
>
>*******************
>
> "Well, the adventure continues," said Melinda, as she climbed
into
>the 'bus beside Micky, "On to Hibbing...and whatever comes next."
>
> "And is it so, once more thou art returning?
> Hast thou lost thy way as once before?
> I warned thee more than many times thus would it be
> I shall not be thy refuge once more...
> Thou makest me free
> then soon thou makest demands on me
> and I am not thy love; thou workest in me slavery
> but I shan't heed thee as before...
> I prithee...do not ask for love once more..."
>
> The Monkees' song "Prithee" played in the microbus as they
turned
>down Howard Street (Hibbing's main street), heading towards the house
in
>which Melinda had once resided. She had decided to come along and say
>hello to old friends.
> "Melinda!" cried Natalie, the girl she once lived with (and one
of
>Amy's lifelong friends), who threw her arms around the Australian girl.
>Then, Natalie saw the three men who stood behind Melinda, and her eyes
grew
>wide.
> "That's Micky...Peter...Mike," she managed to whisper.
> Melinda nodded in agreement, and put a finger to her lips.
> "Don't say a word, Nat," said Melinda, "and we'll tell you the
>whole story."
> Nodding mutely, Natalie led them inside.
>
> "You're back!" cried Bernardo, one of their foreign exchange
>student buddies.
> "Yes, I am," said Melinda.
> It was later that day, and an impromptu welcome-back party was
>being thrown in her honor. Everyone she had ever known was there.
>Bernardo had, of course, recognized the guys as well...but under threat
of
>tickling, he kept his mouth shut.
> Then, Nick (Natalie's older brother) walked in. He looked like
a
>hybrid between a Beatle and Young Elvis, and had looked like that his
whole
>life. Mike was suddenly en guarde- Jeni had told him that Amy had been
in
>love with Nick ever since she could remember...and Mike wasn't much for
>competition.
> "Hi, guys!" said Nick, giving the girls each a kiss on the
cheek,
>and making Amy blush. Mike watched all of this, seething quietly.
> "Hi, Nick," everyone chorused.
> "Can't stick around- I have to work at KFC til close," he said,
and
>walked out the door. Mike let out a breath of air that he hadn't been
>aware he was holding.
> "It's OK, Mike," Amy whispered, squeezing his hand. Mike
seemed to
>finally calm down, but things were just getting interesting.
> "Hey, look, it's that Brit," said a voice at Melinda's
shoulder.
>Melinda groaned. It could only be Tim Erickson.
> "And here we go again," Melinda sang under her breath (it was
part
>of a Mike Nesmith song called "You Just May Be The One), and she turned
>around.
> "Hi, there," said Tim, in a falsely cheerful voice, "It must be
>weird coming back to civilization...that over there's a microwave, and
this
>here's a spoon...but you don't use utensils over there, do you?"
> "I don't live in the bush, you dag," said Melinda, her hands
>curling into tight fists.
> "You speak English?!" asked Tim, and then nearly fell over with
>laughter at his joke.
> Micky was watching these proceedings with the detatchedness of
a
>professional killer. If Melinda had happened to glance over at him
right
>then, she would have fainted. Micky looked incredibly sexy...and
suddenly,
>inexplicably dangerous.
> "If you think I'm British, you should know that the British
>invented the bloody language," Melinda said evenly, "but for the
record,
>I'm Australian."
> "How do you like that?" asked Tim, "She even knows how to
fight.
>Tell me...was your mother a kangaroo or a duck-billed platypus?"
> Suddenly, Micky's fist came out of nowhere. Tim went down
>instantly, and lay prone on the floor...utterly unconscious.
> There was a split second of silence, and then Melinda looked at
>Micky, her mouth a perfect O.
> Micky was stretching his fingers out and shaking his hand in
the
>air to relieve the pain.
> "Micky?!" asked Melinda incredulously.
> "Yeah, it was me," said Micky, "he deserved it, Roo...you
shouldn't
>let anybody talk to you like that."
> "But I never knew you could punch like that!" Peter said,
amazed.
> "I've been taking a few lessons from Mike," said Micky,
smiling.
>Mike nodded his head seriously, and tipped him a crafty wink.
> "You always were my favorite," Bernardo said, out of nowhere.
The
>girls started laughing, and the party continued...and no one bothered
to
>pick Tim up off the floor. They did, however, take a few Polaroids
that
>were suitable for blackmail....
>
> ***********
>
> "Michigan Blackhawk," said Amy softly, quoting the name of one
of
>Michael's songs, as they made their way to Jeni's dormitory.
> "You know, you and Mike fight like cats and dogs," Jeni said to
Amy.
> "Hey, wasn't it you who said that Mike and I would be totally
in
>love with each other if we met, but we'd be one of those couples that
>fights all the time?" asked Amy, smiling.
> "Yeah, I guess that was me," said Jeni, "I'm a pretty damn good
>judge of character!"
> Amy elbowed her goodnaturedly, and they headed up the stairs to
>Jeni's dorm.
> "I think that this part's going to be the most amusing," said
Jeni,
>as they entered her dorm.
> Micky gasped in awe as he saw the infamous Shrine to Dolenz
which
>Jeni's roommate had constructed.
> "Ladies and gentlemen," Jeni announced, as she set her bags
down on
>the bed, "Welcome to Monkees Central."
>
> About an hour later, Mary, Shannon, and Sarah spilled,
giggling,
>into the room.
> For one frozen moment, they looked at the three Monkees sitting
on
>the floor. The three Monkees sitting on the floor looked curiously
back at
>them.
> "Start your engines," Melinda muttered under her breath, and
then
>the screams began.
>
> Ten minutes later, after they had sufficiently pried Mary off
of
>Micky, they explained the entire story to the girls.
> "And until this whole thing blows over, they're going to stay
with
>Amy in California," said Melinda sadly, "Micky, won't you come to
Australia
>with me?"
> Micky smiled charmingly and hugged his wife.
> "I'd love to, Roo," he said, "but if we get warped back again,
I'd
>like to be in my hometown."
> "Hey, where's Davy?" asked Shannon (a huge Davy fan), but
everyone
>ignored her.
> "It's better if we stick together," said Amy, "and we've gotta
be
>off soon. Anybody want to come along?"
> The girls in Jeni's dorm clamored at the opportunity, but Amy
held
>up her hands.
> "I meant Jeni," Amy said, grinning.
> "I wish I could come along," said Jeni ruefully, "but I think
I'd
>better stay here. This was the adventure of a lifetime."
> Peter put his arms around Jeni.
> "I'm staying right here," he said determinedly.
> "Aw, c'mon, Pete," said Micky, "we gotta stick together! You
heard
>the lady."
> Peter shook his head.
> "No," he said, "No matter what, I'm going to stand by my Jeni."
> "Aw, how sweet," said Mike sarcastically, and everyone laughed.
> "We'd better split, man," said Amy, checking her watch, "If we
want
>to get out of the state before dark, we should leave right now."
> "OK," Melinda agreed.
> There were hugs and tearful goodbyes all around. Finally, the
two
>remaining guys and girls left. The last thing they heard was one of
Jeni's
>friends speaking in tones of utter awe.
> "Did we really just talk to The Monkees?" she said, and Amy and
>Melinda shook their heads. What was reality, anyway, when you were
truly
>in love?
>
>End of Part Seven.
Part Eight
>
> "Wait!" cried Jeni and Peter, just as the others were about to
>climb into the 'bus. Holding hands, the Monkee and his girl raced over
to
>them.
> "Forget college," Jeni panted breathlessly, "Open this door.
I'm
>not letting this adventure slip through my fingers. I can go back to
>college once this is all over. I'm having fun. Let's go back to
>California."
> Mike obligingly opened the door, and Peter and Jeni climbed
inside.
> "You mean we drove all this way just to drive back again?"
asked
>Mike, incredulous.
> "Can it, redneck," said Peter, "we'd better get moving. Mary
and
>the other girls are on their way down here, and unless you want a taste
of
>what Monkeemania might've been like, we need to put the pedal to the
>metal."
> Mike stared at Peter, his eyes large. Peter never spoke like
that;
>perhaps he had been taking dominance lessons from Mike as well.
> Suddenly, they saw Mary and Shannon tearing down the sidewalk
after
>them at breakneck speed.
> "Go!" Micky screamed, curling up into the foetal position. He
knew
>that he would have the most trouble getting away from the girls if they
>were caught.
> Amy stepped on the gas, and the microbus squealed away from the
>curb. Micky breathed an audible sigh of relief as they drove on down
the
>road, heading once again for California.
>
>
>***************
>
> A week later, they had arrived in Berkeley. Everything seemed
as
>though it had gotten back to normal. Well...fairly normal, anyhow.
> "Michael, get out of the bathroom! You've been in there for
>hours!" shouted Melinda, pounding on the door.
> Mike looked up, irritated. He was relaxing in the bathtub,
>drinking coffee and reading a newspaper...and listening to a
>country-western station on the radio. Mike had become a country junkie
>when he'd discovered that "his kind" of music had become extremely
popular.
> Finally, the bathroom door opened. Mike walked out in a fluffy
>green bathrobe, protectively carrying his radio under his arm. He
climbed
>into one of Amy's velour chairs and curled up around it, as if he were
>trying to absorb every note with his body.
> "Looks like we've lost Michael for good," commented Jeni, as
they
>watched him from Amy's tiny kitchen. Melinda flipped her hair over her
>shoulder in an impatient gesture, and slammed the bathroom door behind
her.
> Amy looked at her would-be husband sadly. Something had
changed
>about him...something had changed about all of the boys.
> "Jeni," said Amy, and her friend looked up from her cup of iced
>tea, "I think there's something very wrong going on here. I mean, we
KNEW
>about the sixties! We knew what to expect...maybe this whole
time-travel
>business is messing with their heads."
> "Mike!" Melinda screamed from behind the bathroom door, "You
used
>up all the hot water!!"
> The two girls seated in the kitchen turned to Mike to witness
his
>reaction. He just turned up his radio and muttered something under his
>breath about "stupid Australians".
> "Mike's lucky she didn't hear that, you know," said Jeni, and
Amy
>nodded in agreement.
> Just then the front door opened, and Peter entered with Micky
close
>behind.
> "Hey, Mike," said Peter, but Mike didn't even acknowledge him.
The
>boy from Texas was too busy listening to "Livin' on Refried Dreams".
> Micky grinned, and flopped into a chair.
> "Ah, don't try to talk to him, Pete," said Micky, "he's lost to
the
>world now. No creativity What. So. Ever."
> Peter looked at Micky, his face drawn and sad.
> "My name's Peter, not Pete," he said softly, "and I had really
>wanted to work with Mike...he had a lot of talent."
> "MMMGRLPHM!" mumbled Mike. Everyone glanced at the mound of
black
>hair and terrycloth that once was Michael, astounded. It was the first
>attempt at communication he'd made in weeks.
> "What? Mike, did you say something?" asked Micky.
> That was when he noticed Peter was acting strangely. He was
>leaning on the wall as if he needed support, and his eyes were rolling
>around in his head.
> "Hey, Pete? Jeni, Amy, something's wrong with Peter!" Micky
said,
>trying to get up from his chair.
> Jeni and Amy rushed into the living room, just in time to catch
>Peter as he fell into a dead faint.
>
>
******************
>
> "Hey, Doc, what's wrong with him?" asked Micky, following the
>doctor into the hospital room where Jeni and Amy were already waiting.
> Peter was lying on the hospital bed, breathing shallowly.
Jeni's
>face was pale and frightened, and she held Peter's limp hand.
> "Well," said the doctor, putting his pen into the breastpocket
of
>his coat, "it seems that your young friend here took a heavy overdose
of
>sleeping pills."
> Amy gasped, and Jeni looked up sharply.
> "You mean...he tried to kill himself?!" Amy managed to ask.
> "I'm afraid so," said the doctor, "I believe he is severely
>depressed. I'd like to keep him here for awhile, make sure nothing
else
>happens. He's on a lot of anti-depressants now...the man you used to
know
>may not be the same man who comes home from this hospital- due to brain
>damage. Not to worry, though; we'll take good care of him."
> "But Doctor," said Jeni, "how do you know he's mentally ill?"
> The doctor smiled sadly.
> "When he first awakened, I ran a great deal of tests on him,"
said
>the doctor, "he's a very sick young man. Thinks he belongs in the
sixties,
>or something...He also has a staggeringly low IQ, if you don't mind me
>saying so, miss."
> Jeni shook her head, and crazily thought, "The dummy. I'm
always
>the dummy...."
> "Does he really need to stay in the hospital?" asked Amy,
>concerned. Amy knew what those kinds of hospitals did to people- she'd
>been there, done that.
> "I'm afraid so, miss," said the doctor again, "but once we're
sure
>he's healthy again, he's free to go home. However, he will be on a
strict
>regimen of anti-depressant pills."
> "Thank you, Doctor, we'll be sure to help him out in any way we
>can," said Micky, and the doctor left the room.
> "What are we going to do now?" asked Amy, taking Peter's other
hand.
> "I don't know," Jeni said sadly, "I don't know."
>
>
****************
>
> "Great. So Mike won't talk to anyone, and now Peter's
suicidal.
>What more can go wrong?" Melinda asked, frustrated.
> They were back at the apartment, and Melinda was out of the
bath.
>They had rushed out too quickly for her to join them. Now she stood in
the
>kitchen with a towel wrapped around her head like a turban, nervously
>chewing at her thumbnail. Amy and Jeni were sitting at the table,
drinking
>sodas.
> "What about Micky?" Melinda finally asked, "What's wrong with
him?"
> "Nothing...yet," said Jeni, "but I think that we've got to stop
>pretending everything will be OK. The boys need to be back in their
own
>time...living in the nineties is killing them."
> "Living in the nineties is killing ME," said Amy, rolling her
eyes.
> "Speaking of Micky," said Melinda, "where is he, anyway?"
>
>
*******************
>
> Micky walked purposefully across the Berkeley campus, and
entered
>the main building. An oblong cardboard box was tucked under his arm,
and
>there was a strange glow in his eyes that had never been there before.
> He came out onto the rooftop of the building, blinking in the
sun.
>All he could think about was his love for his wife and his friends, and
how
>the nineties were slowly strangling them all.
> He slowly took the AK-47 out of its box and loaded it. As he
>walked to the edge of the rooftop and looked down at the crowd of
students
>milling around below, he knew this was the only answer.
> "PEACE, BABY!" he screamed, and opened fire on the Berkeley
campus.
>
>
*********************
>
> "WHAT?!" screamed Melinda, staring at the television screen in
the
>living room.
> "What? What is it?" asked Amy and Jeni, rushing into the room.
>Mike was still huddled in the corner. His radio was now playing "I
Love
>You Period".
> "Micky's killing people!!" Melinda cried, tears streaming down
her
>face, "What's happening to all of us?!"
> Amy and Jeni watched the television screen with mounting horror
as
>the body count kept going up. Finally they caught Micky, and he was
>dragged away by the police. He was kicking and screaming, and Jeni
thought
>she heard him yell something about how everything was so much better
back
>then, and how much it hurt to live...Jeni shook her head in
frustration.
>Something needed to be done...and soon.
>
>
**********************
>
> "Are you sure this is the place?" whispered Melinda.
> "Of course!" hissed Amy, "Remember what we practiced earlier."
> "I'm not a dag, you know," Melinda reminded her.
> "I know. Now go! He should be in Block C," whispered Amy.
> Melinda nodded, and stood up. They had been hiding in the
bushes
>outside of the mental institution where Micky was being held. Melinda
had
>decided to dress up like a nurse and see if she could rescue him.
> "Here, I swiped this passkey from one of the nurses coming in
>earlier," said Amy, handing Melinda a flat plastic card.
> "OK," said Melinda, smoothing out her white uniform, "Here goes
>nothing..."
> Melinda walked through the bright white corridors of the
>institution, looking for Block C. Finally, she found it and slid her
>passkey in.
> "Nurse? Nurse?" someone suddenly said behind her. Melinda
whipped
>around.
> "Oh, I'm sorry to startle you, ma'am," said a man in a doctor's
>uniform, standing a little further down the passageway, "I need your
>assistance with a patient. Please come with me."
> Melinda's mind raced for an excuse.
> "I would, sir," she said, carefully disguising her Australian
>accent, "it's just that I'm not feeling very well, and I promised I
would
>check these patients before I left for home. I saw another nurse down
the
>hall- perhaps she could help you?"
> The doctor smiled.
> "Oh, yes, of course, ma'am," he said, "Go right ahead. And I
hope
>you feel better tomorrow."
> "Thank you," Melinda said, and then quickly slipped through the
>door into Block C.
>
> The hallway beyond the door was dimly lit. Melinda knew these
were
>"rubber rooms"- where they put extremely violent patients. As she
peered
>into the tiny window set into the first door, she was rewarded with the
>sight of her husband.
> Micky was sitting in the corner of the cell, rocking back and
>forth. He was straitjacketed, and he looked extremely undernourished.
He
>was singing a song as he sat there, and Melinda recognized the tune
>instantly.
> "She's a wonderful lady and she's mine, all mine," he crooned,
"and
>there doesn't seem a way that she won't come and lose my mind..."
> There was something eerie and sad about the entire scene, and
>Melinda quickly unlocked the door.
> "Micky?" she asked hesitantly.
> Micky looked up at her. His eyes were dark and hooded, and he
>looked somehow frightening.
> "Melinda," he said, and a small smile crossed his face, "My
love.
>My one and only."
> "I'm here to get you out, Munchichi," said Melinda, helping him
out
>of his straitjacket.
> "Can't leave," said Micky, "Can't ever leave. Killed
>twenty-seven...twenty-nine...thirty innocent people. Just kids. Like
us,
>Roo. Can't leave. Can't, can't, can't, can't...."
> "I know, I know," said Melinda, deciding not to tell him that
he'd
>actually killed about sixty people. She helped him to his fet and took
a
>nurse's outfit out from under her own.
> "Here, Micky, put this on," she said, "and hurry. I don't know
>when they check this area, and I don't want us to get caught."
> Micky dressed infuriatingly slowly, and then they set off down
the
>corridor.
>
>
>******************
>
> Amy checked her watch impatiently. It had been quite a while,
and
>she was getting a little worried.
> Just then, Melinda burst through the door, half-carrying Micky.
>Amy gasped when she saw his condition, and helped her friend support
his
>weight. They finally made it to the microbus, and sat Micky down
inside
>it.
> "He looks like a corpse," said Amy, disbelieving.
> "Forget that now," said Melinda, ripping off her nurse's
uniform,
>"Let's get out of here before someone notices he's gone."
> "Right," said Amy, and she climbed behind the wheel. With
Micky
>mumbling to himself in the backseat, they drove off down the street.
>
>End of Part Eight.
>CALLING ALAMEDA: final part
>
>
> A few weeks passed, and the hunt was on for Micky. He had
become
>healthier by then, and was almost back to his normal self. However, he
>couldn't leave the apartment, and he spent the days pacing like a caged
>tiger. Every now and then he would start screaming incoherently at
>Michael, whose sideburns had grown to immense proportions. Amy tried
to
>keep him shaved, but after awhile it had become useless.
> Peter slept most of the time, and he seemed very disoriented
>because of his new medication. Sometimes he wouldn't even recognize
Jeni.
>The girls had to clear the house of pills and hide the razors because
Peter
>was still considered a danger to himself.
> "This is ridiculous," said Amy, as the three girls sat around
the
>kitchen table, "Something has to be done."
> "They need to get back to the sixties," said Jeni, and Amy
agreed.
> "How are we going to get them back there?" asked Melinda,
"We're
>just the victims of this time-warp. We don't know how to do it by
>ourselves!"
> Suddenly, Amy snapped her fingers.
> "I know," she said, "Let's get into the microbus and drive
around
>San Francisco for awhile. Maybe since it started there, that's where
it
>has to end."
> "You're right," said Jeni, "Let's go."
>
>
>*************************
>
> After they had bathed and dressed Mike and Peter, they drove
around
>San Francisco for hours. It seemed as though they would never find a
way
>back to the sixties.
> As they were crossing the Golden Gate Bridge for the fifth
time,
>suddenly the Volkswagen sputtered and rolled to a stop.
> "What the-?" Amy said, "I just filled the gas tank ten minutes
ago!"
> "We'd better push the 'bus out of the way of traffic," said
Melinda
>sensibly, so they got out and pushed. Mike, Peter, and Micky climbed
out
>of the microbus and walked over to the edge of the bridge. The three
of
>them simply stood there silently, staring vacantly out at the water.
> "OK, boys, what's up?" asked Amy, as the girls walked over to
them.
> "There's something strange in the wind," said Jeni, suddenly
>shivering, and Peter put his arms around her.
> They all stood at the edge of the Golden Gate, the six of them
>squinting into the early afternoon sun. The texture of the atmosphere
was
>fuzzy; the girls felt as though they had suddenly been swept into a
dream.
> It was Melinda who jumped first.
> Her hair streamed out behind her like long, flowing ribbons.
Her
>eyes were half-lidded, and her arms were opened wide, as though she
were
>flying...
> "Melinda!" Jeni and Amy screamed simultaneously, and looked
sharply
>to Micky to view his reaction.
> Micky seemed to ignore them as he stepped forward to the edge
of
>the bridge. Instead of screaming, he suddenly, inexplicably raised his
>voice in song, serenading his wife as she fell towards the sun-dappled
bay.
> "My...my...the clock in the sky is pounding away with so much
to
>say," Micky intoned hauntingly.
> "What the hell are you doing?" shrieked Amy, "That's your wife
down
>there!"
> Micky ignored her and continued to sing...and Jeni was the next
to
>step off the bridge and into the vast, empty space beyond.
> "Jeni!" Amy shouted, leaning dangerously far over the edge of
the
>bridge.
> "A face, a voice, an overdub has no choice, an image cannot
>rejoice," Peter began to sing along with Micky. Both of the men seemed
to
>be totally unaware of Amy or Mike's presence.
> Amy turned to Mike quickly.
> "I am not going to jump," she shouted, "Do you hear me? I WILL
NOT
>JUMP!"
> Mike smiled sadly.
> "I'll see you on the other side, babe," he said, and she felt
her
>limbs betray her as she walked unwillingly to the edge...and stepped
off.
> As the three girls fell towards the water, they could hear
Mike's
>rich Texas accent intermingle with the other two voices as the song
went
>on.
> "The porpoise is laughing...goodbye, goodbye...goodbye,
goodbye,
>goodbye," floated down to them as if from the heavens.
> Melinda hit the water with a mighty spray, and as she did,
Micky
>faded slowly away and vanished. Only Mike and Peter were left to
continue
>the musical eulogy.
> "Clicks, clacks, ridin' the backs of giraffes for laughs
'salright
>for awhile," was the last lyric Jeni ever heard. As she dove headfirst
>into the cool waters of the bay, Peter shimmered and vanished.
>
> Mike stood alone on the bridge, a tall, thin silhouette of
Southern
>style as he stood with one cowboy boot on the rail. He serenaded Amy
until
>she followed her friends into the dark depths of San Francisco Bay.
Then,
>with a slight raise of his hat, he sauntered over to the microbus and
>climbed in. He turned the volume up on the stereo as high as it would
go,
>and listen to himself belt out the song "I Won't Be The Same Without
Her".
>With a quirky grin, he threw the Volkswagen into drive, and started off
>down the highway. Within a few moments, the microbus vanished, as if
it
>were only a mirage...and the last few strains of "I Won't Be The Same
>Without Her" faded quietly away into the distance.
>
>
>*************************
>
> When Melinda came to, she was surrounded by fog. Frightened,
she
>called out for her husband.
> "Micky?" she shouted.
> "Right here, babe," said Micky, coming out of the fog like
magic.
> Melinda wrapped her arms around him, and he kissed her deeply.
> "I was so afraid," she said, clinging to him for dear life, her
>eyes closed in relief.
> "Where are we?" asked Melinda.
> "Look around," said Micky, and she opened her eyes.
> They were standing on a tropical beach in the setting sun,
>listening to a distant mariachi band. Two beach towels and drinks were
>nearby on the sand.
> "You're alone with me," said Micky, smiling.
> Melinda smiled back dreamily.
> "Heaven," she said, and he kissed her on the cheek.
>
> Jeni awoke on silk pillows, in a room filled with
sweet-smelling smoke.
> "Wha- what's going on?" she asked the empty room. It was the
>Arabic room from the movie "Head"- but she was alone. Nearby was the
>largest hookah she had ever seen, and it was billowing intoxicating
smoke.
>She noticed she was wearing a harem girl's outfit, and she sat up on
the
>pillows, trying to figure out what was going on.
> Just then, a door opened, and Peter walked through it. He was
>dressed like an Arab prince. He came over and sat down beside her, and
>then offered her one of the pipes from the hookah. Jeni smiled and
>accepted the sweet smoke.
> "Jeni," Peter smiled, touching her cheek, "Welcome to heaven."
>
> Amy slowly came around, aware that she was coughing fitfully.
She
>stood up quickly and took in her surroundings.
> She was standing in the middle of a desert highway, coughing
from
>the exhaust of a motorcycle. The highway was completely empty, aside
from
>the enormous Harley that stood like a trusted horse at her side.
> She looked down and noticed that she was dressed in leather and
>fringe, like a biker girl. It was all her own clothing- she often
dressed
>like that- but she didn't remember putting that outfit on that morning.
> "Ready to go, babe?" said a voice behind her, and she turned to
see
>Mike decked out in his brown leather fringed jacket and brown leather
>chaps. He lowered his sunglasses and winked at her.
> "Sure," she said, unsure of what he meant. Then, he saddled
the
>Harley and invited her to get onto the backseat.
>Quickly, she obliged.
> "Hold on tight, honey," said Mike, gunning the engine, "this
ride's
>gonna last forever."
> She wrapped her arms around Mike and inhaled the dusty leather
of
>his coat, and they took off down the deserted highway....and since it
was
>another day, Michael rode away... with that woman ridin' off to
>god-knows-where...
>
>
>
>
EPILOGUE
>
> Amy, Jeni, and Melinda had their funerals on the same day. It
>seemed that all of them had shared the same rare disease of a tumor in
the
>brain which killed slowly and caused major hallucinations. It was
strange,
>how all of them had suffered from the same disease within the same time
>span and in three different parts of the world. Each girl's family
said
>that during the moments when their daughters had seemed particularly
lucid,
>that they seemed to be talking to one another....and to three boys
named
>Micky, Mike, and Peter. The doctors put this down to the fact that all
>three of them were Monkees fans before the disease had debilitated
them,
>and left it at that. The girls' families, however, didn't understand
how
>it seemed as though Jeni, Melinda, and Amy were having conversations
with
>each other while they were unconscious, as well as being thousands of
miles
>away from each other. Even stranger was the fact that all three of
them
>began to sing what was later identified as The Monkees' "The Porpoise
Song"
>in the few minutes before their deaths...and that they all passed away
>within minutes of each other. Again, the doctors ignored these strange
>occurances, saying that their friendship must have been strong indeed,
to
>command such a seemingly telepathic relationship.
> However, as Jeni's younger sister Katie was going through some
of
>Jeni's things after her death, Katie found a Monkees album...INSTANT
>REPLAY. As she read the album information, something suddenly caught
her
>eye.
> "JUST A GAME- for Melinda. I'll always love you, Roo"
> With shaking hands, Katie placed the CD in her stereo and found
the
>song she was looking for. As she listened closely to the lyrics, she
>gasped and placed her hand over her mouth without being aware of what
she'd
>done. Micky had written Melinda one more song- although Katie didn't
know
>it- and it had somehow broken through into the normal timeline.
> Micky's voice came out of the speakers, full and rich...and
>haunting, in light of what had just happened to her sister and her
sister's
>friends.
>
> "There's a way
> there's a way for you and I if you'll just stay
> if you'll just stay to keep me hidden from the day
> and all its light
> that's covered up by night
> when you're away
> when you're away the image of your face is clear
> it is clear across the room and I am here
> against the wall
> afraid that it is all just a game
> just a game that's played in fun but not too real
> not to real to take a chance on finding out
> very lost
> I can't see you clearly while I'm here
> while I am here and you are in my state of mind
> my state of mind is changing places all the time
> and I am lost
> trying to get across another time
> when you're away the image of your face is clear
> it is clear across the room and I am here
> against the wall
> afraid that it is all just a game
> just a game
> just a game
> just a game..."
>
> Katie shivered as she hugged her knees to her chest. She
hadn't
>wanted to believe it, but when she heard the line "and I am lost/trying
to
>get across another time" she knew the truth. Or at least part of it.
> Katie took the CD out of her stereo and placed it gently pack
>inside its casing. Then, she hid the CD from sight...she wanted to be
the
>only one who really knew. No one would believe her, anyway.
> As Katie turned out the light that night, she had strange
>dreams...she dreamed that Jeni was with Peter in a beautiful, Arabic
room
>filled with pillows, smoking hashish as he played his acoustic guitar
in
>Jeni's version of heaven...that Melinda was lying on a tropical beach
with
>Micky, listening to his easygoing, sexy laugh and smooth, sweet voice
>forever...and that Amy and Mike were taking a road trip into eternity.
>
>
> Michael
>Blessing to All,
> And To
All,
> A Good
Night.
>
>
> THE END
(
geocities.com/televisioncity/set) (
geocities.com/televisioncity)