Peter and Mike sat outside the production office, waiting for Micky and Davy to arrive for the script meeting and read-through. Peter and Mike tended to arrive early for these in hopes of getting them over with sooner. Micky and Davy tended to arrive late in an effort to avoid them as long as possible. A couple hours after the script meeting, a costume meeting was scheduled. Bob had decided it was time for a "new look", something that looked more hip, and distinguished them from one another as characters. Genie (no last professional name), a new designer brought in from England who dressed all the hip young stars, had persuaded Bob to address the guys' real-life characters as much as possible, which meant this would be one of the "defining" meetings everyone (in the cast) hated so much.
Given the rush of meetings and rehearsals after returning from the tour a few days ago, this was the first time Peter had caught Mike alone and was able to talk for a few minutes. He informed Mike that their recording and concert sound engineer Chip had seen Mike leaving Bonnie's hotel room the morning after the Chicago gig. Peter had sworn Chip to secrecy, for fear of causing all sorts of upheaval. He really had no idea what that circulating story might lead to, but he did know that when things went crazy in their world of barely controlled chaos that everyone was capable of going crazy with them. And Mike, of all people, would be a bad choice to be at the center of it. As for Bonnie, he didn't want to chance causing her any trouble. Chip was a good guy, and on their side regarding their music battles. When he gave his word to keep his mouth shut, Peter knew he'd keep it.
So now Mike was trying his best to explain, to himself as well as Peter, what had gone on, and not gone on, in Chicago, and most importantly why. It was a tall order, since he wasn't all that sure himself. And if it were anyone but Peter, whose position as a fellow musician-turned-actor engendered some solidarity and trust, he'd frankly have told them to fuck off.
"No, Pete, it's not just about what I feel about her, it's about how I feel about me when we're together even for a few minutes. Or how I don't feel. I don't feel trapped and pissed off, I don't feel like I'm waiting for things to be better. I just feel like, for right then, things are just the right way. Aw man, you know I'm not all over that that hearts and flowers shit you're into, but something in the air just settles down, I settle down, mostly, and when I'm not settled down that's okay too, because I can just let it be and feel like I'm not fighting anyone about it. Can you dig any of that? But her and me, we just never thought about what's happening, or not happening, it just sort of goes like it goes. I can write songs up the ass but coming up with words that make sense of this is a real stretch."
"I think I get it," Peter told him. "It sounds like something's come up on the two of you, and if it's like you say and just makes things feel natural, good or bad, then I think that's really cool. I didn't mean to dig into your life, it's hard enough to have one in the middle of all this." He laughed then, and where it would be cynical coming from someone else, coming from Peter it was more a laugh of discovery. "Speaking of words, 'careful what you wish for' comes to mind! We may have what we wanted, but it looks like it has us too." Then Regular Guy Pete overcame Ethereal Pete, and he asked, "So you really didn't get it on that night?"
"Yeah, can you believe it? " Mike told him in a tone bordering on astonishment, "Mike Nesmith, the groupie-groper deluxe. We even slept in the same bed. Well, on the same bed. And nothing happened."
Sensing he was on safe ground, now Peter's eyes narrowed mischievously. "Nothing? I mean besides the real stuff you've been talking about. How could all that deep talk start from 'nothing'and lead to 'nothing'. I know you both man, and I know whatever 'nothing' it started, it came from you, not her."
Mike shifted a little and the smile he barely suppressed made him look like a kid caught in a fib. "Well, okay, yeah… I admit there was a little mouth-to-mouth goin' on, and I guess there would've been more if either one of us had been, ah, prepared, if you know what I mean. And yeah, I started it, back at the dressing room. But I still don't know why I started it, then and there, and man, from there all bets were off. But I swear, what did and didn't happen… just seemed like the right thing."
Peter was grinning and nodding. "Fair enough. But after you gave her that speech about getting it on with teenagers, you're lucky she didn't kick your ass out the door."
"Nah, man, it wasn't like that." Serious again, Mike was shaking his head, "You just don't get it."
"I get it," Peter reached out and patted Mike's shoulder. "Sounds like you got a lot more important stuff done than the rest of us did that night."
"Yeah well thanks for listenin'. And thanks for telling Chip to keep his 'news' to himself!"
Mike had told him everything, beginning to end, hoping saying it out loud would help him figure it out himself. It worked, kind of, up to a point. It never occurred to him to tell Peter how important it was to keep a key part of Bonnie's back-story to himself. Peter wasn't the gossiping kind, and really it wasn't that big a deal that he even remembered it himself.
"Nice you could show up," Mike called out when he saw Davy and Micky approach. Looking at his watch, he added, "And on time! Call the devil, Pete, and tell him to sharpen his ice skates."
Just then the office door opened and Bob emerged, like a combination grand poobah/father to the multitudes.
"Okay boys, off to the conference room! Peter, let's discuss some character stuff on the way, the rest of you go on and we'll catch up. Bonnie, run on ahead and fire up the coffee, will ya? Thanks babe."
Bonnie rolled her eyes and muttered, "Yahz massah…"
"Black, two sugars… and make it snappy!" Micky cracked.
As she trotted ahead of the guys, Bonnie reached out to smack Micky neatly on the back of the head as she passed, cracking up the other three. It was her non-verbal comeback of choice when Micky was being a wise ass, which was most of the time.
"Ow! Hey, Bob," Micky called out in an exaggerated whine, "make her quit hitting me!"
Absorbed in talking with Peter as they brought up the rear, Bob looked ahead briefly and responded, "Can't, it's in her contract," then returned to his attention to the conversation.
The script meeting in many ways was like any other: suggestions led to justification triggering bitching, garnished with a little table-pounding from various parties. In this case, though, the spasms of disagreement were relieved, surprisingly, by Bob's increased willingness to listen. Increased, no doubt (though he'd never admit it in so many words) by the roaring success of the tour. The guys' insistence to be allowed to behave like real musicians, i.e. actually playing music, had worked out so well that Bob was listening with new ears… to a point. One of those points was that the focus would be shifted, "gently", he told them, from the All Davy All the Time strategy to giving the others a little more exposure. Peter's character, for a start, was going to move from "hardcore dummy" to that of a loveable space case with a functioning brain.
"So you mean I'm not retarded any more, I'm just a little slow," Peter observed in a rare show of cynicism. He'd held the comment back until they actually were in the meeting, though it had been in his head since their "talk" on the way to the conference room.
"That's overstating it a little, Pete," Bob corrected. "Just do the read through, okay?"
They did, and it wasn't quite as bad as everyone expected.
"Damn, Bob, I don't wanna besmirch Darwin but it looks like you just may be evolving," Mike noted drily.
"That was gonna be a title for a song, but the lyrics didn't scan right," Micky added.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Bob responded, very deliberately. As always it triggered a sharp response, but he slapped both hands on the table and stood before the shooting could commence.
"Okay, costume meeting. Don't go too far guys, you have fittings in an hour and a half. Bonnie, Genie should be waiting outside, get her in here and we can get this done."
Bonnie stood by the door as the guys filed out. Mike winked slyly as he passed, but she managed not to respond. After that night in her hotel room there had been no other similar nights between them on the tour. True, Mike had been grabbing an occasional kiss when the opportunity presented. "Stealing" didn't seem like the right word, because she gave them up willingly. Other than that, it was just the usual here-and-there talk, maybe standing a little more closely, maybe a casual touch now and then where there hadn't been any before. But anything more was being left for later. Even that lack of physical urgency seemed to add a dimension to things, though they were no more able to figure it out than before. "It is what it is," Mike whispered in her ear before they took the stage on the last night of the tour, "and whatever it is, it's working just fine." She wasn't inclined to disagree.
After the guys were gone, Bonnie leaned out the door. "Hi Genie, c'mon in and let's do it."
Genie was a petite Englishwoman with a riot of long curly light red hair, and she dressed the part of a designer to the hilt. Scarves, beads, fringe, the whole works, but Bonnie couldn't help notice that on her, it worked. As for her own fashion sense, left to her own devices Bonnie would have lived in sandals and blue jeans and t-shirts, or low-key Indian cotton blouses, but for work she stuck to the tailored Carnaby Street stuff: moderately-short mini skirts with wide belts, tailored shirts with contrasting collars and cuffs. Bob encouraged it, in fact, because it echoed the Monkees signature fashion line at JC Penney, which was bringing them in a fat chunk of filthy lucre. But the contract had been altered so the guys weren't required to wear the clothes in every scene, just every show.
"So, show me your magic," Bob invited, and Genie spread her drawings out on the table.
"I came up with a 'theme' for each of the boys, each their own type of 'hip',"she explained.
Both Bob and Bonnie were impressed. For Peter there was a collection of Russian-type shirts with flowing cuffed sleeves and stand-up collars, buttoned along one shoulder or another. The fabrics were paisleys, wild primary color patterns, borderline-psychedelic and suiting the hippie look, paired with tighter-fitting trousers in neutral colors, tucked into high, fringed rawhide boots. Davy's look was a variation on this one, except the shirts were Nehru-style, solid colors with border embroidery, bell bottomed-trousers, no blue jeans, and the usual stack-heeled boots. Mickey's were a bit plainer, "Because he's more outgoing to begin with," Genie explained. There were rich velour shirts for everyone in various colors. The only one whose "new look" didn't entirely favor the hip young hippie-inspired fashions was Mike.
"I just don't think the soft fabrics and wild color would work," she explained. "I think we should keep it casual," and she displayed a series of sketches of jeans, denim and other types of typical open-collared shirts in deep pastel and primary colors, a few fringed rawhide pullovers and fleece-lined rawhide jackets. "He's a big chap, too much pattern would be overwhelming." The shoes she chose were the standard boots the others had, along with some knee-high rawhide boots similar to those designed for Peter, but without the fringe.
"I have to say, Genie, you've already given me my money's worth," Bob told her. "The samples are done up, right?"
"Yeah, Bob," Bonnie assured him. She hadn't seen the sketches or swatches before now, but the costume team already had the measurements. "We'll see to the details at the fitting, and see how they actually look on the guys."
"Agreed," Genie nodded, "it may seem brilliant on paper, but…"
"The human body can be so uncooperative," Bonnie acknowledged.
"For christsake don't say 'uncooperative'," Bob admonished, "they don't need any encouragement!"
Genie gathered up her sketches and swatches. "Bonnie, I'll meet you and your powers of observation and note-taking in the costume shop in half an hour."
Bonnie rose to leave as well, but Bob stopped her.
"Hang with me a minute, will you? There's something I need to talk to you about."
Puzzled but not concerned, Bonnie sat down again as Bob closed the door behind Genie and joined her again at the table.
"Look, babe, I'm not one to get involved in the personal stuff, but I just wanted to clear something up… word is that you 'fluffed up' your music cred when you applied for the job. I just want you to know that it's not a problem. You do your job just fine by me, and I'm not one of those by-the-book guys anyway. Get it?"
Bonnie gulped. "Yeah, sure Bob, thanks. That all? I gotta get to the costume shop."
"That's all, take off."
Bonnie tried not to race from the room, tried not to slam the door behind her, and tried hardest not to cry. She was on the verge of making only two out of three, but then she saw him, slouched in the hallway, lazing behind those fucking shades, and rage burned every tear out of her.