"I'm sorry I'm late."

"Huh?"

"Play along," Micky whispered to the stranger sitting across from him.

Micky had been with Mike scoping out the musical competition (in disguise) at the club The Prickly Artichoke. The band had lost out to another band for this gig and they needed to see what they were up against. So far, Micky and Mike were unimpressed, which caused Micky's attention to wander. He noticed in a corner booth an attractive, young girl had been alone for quite some time and was seemingly becoming more and more distraught by the minute. Micky could tell her head had been slowly making its way into a downcast position and her eyes did look a little misty. Micky couldn't bear to see someone in such distress, so he took the opportunity to try and cheer her up.

"Yeah traffic was brutal and I was hoping you hadn't given up on me," he continued.

"This is very sweet of you…"

"Micky."

"…Micky. I'm Mary Ellen," Micky's companion replied.

Micky lowered his voice so as to keep the conversation more private. "I didn't want to intrude, but I noticed you over here and I couldn't help seeing that as time went on you seemed to be looking more and more upset. I felt like I had to do something."

"What compelled you to do that?" Mary Ellen questioned.

"A beautiful girl like you is too pretty to not be smiling."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. So what's the story here," Micky said after he glanced around and noticed that Mike was occupied with talking to the other band during their break.

"Well, I have been on a few dates with this really great guy. He asked me to meet him here for a date and it's been two hours. I don't think he's coming," Mary Ellen said fighting back the tears that had been threatening to seep out for quite some time.

"That's awful," Micky exclaimed. "I would never have stood up a girl like you, that's for sure."

"You're just being nice."

"No, honestly! And if you don't mind me being so bold as to say that this chump doesn't deserve you if he's going to treat you this way," Micky asserted. "Now since we are both here and the night is still young, why not make the best of it. Tell me about yourself."

Micky and Mary Ellen spent the next hour getting to know each other. Micky learned that she worked as a secretary and was just a year younger than he was. She liked to frequent the beach near the Pad and they both found it interesting that they had never crossed paths. Mary Ellen was intrigued by him and found humor in Micky's stories about the band and his brilliant ideas.

"Oh Micky, you're hilarious. Thanks for cheering me up. I needed this."

"It was my pleasure," Micky said as a thought popped into his head. "I'm getting a brilliant idea."

"Oh no, from what I've heard that can be dangerous," Mary Ellen joked.

"Just hear me out," Micky said with a chuckle. "What if we met up again on purpose?"

"Like a date?"

"Yeah, a date. What do you say?"

Mary Ellen sat for a moment mulling the idea around in her head while Micky waited with anticipation. He put himself out on a limb and was nervously fidgeting for what seemed like eternity.

"Absolutely!" Mary Ellen replied only a minute later.

Micky was beaming as a disgruntled Mike practically drug him out of his chair. "Code Schneider: the disguises didn't work. I repeat the disguises didn't work. We've gotta go!"

Micky was frantically thinking about what to do. He needed to leave and also make plans with Mary Ellen. He wriggled out of Mike's grip and ran back to the table and rambled out plans to meet back at the club in two days at seven and promised not to stand her up. He rushed back out the door to confer with a now mustache-less Mike as to how he was discovered.

"I still don't understand how the other band saw through that disguise Mike," Micky asked as they entered the Pad.

"I guess it may have been the whole persona. How many Russian people do you know with a Southern twang? Also I need to invest in different hats. I feel as though this one is becoming recognizable. Almost like an icon. Now I have to go ice my lip. Getting a fake mustache pulled off sure is smarts."

"So I take it the stake out didn't go quite as planned," Peter stated.

"Mingo!" muffled Mike through a chunk of ice.

"I wouldn't say it was a total loss though," Micky said dreamily. "I met a girl there and have a date with her."

"Why Micky Dolenz, if I didn't know any better I would think you were Davy Jones," Peter said with fake astonishment putting his hand to his chest. "But we are at eye level so you must be Micky."

As if summoned by the mention of his name Davy came slumping through the front door. He was sopping wet despite the lack of any indication of rain. He greeted his counterparts and began wringing out his jacket in the doorway.

"What happened to you?" Mike said after taking the ice off his lip only to wince in pain.

"Me? What happened to you?" Davy countered.

"Mike and I went to check the band playing at that club," Micky explained. "Apparently the disguises didn't work too well. Mike got his mustache ripped right off."

"Yeah," Mike attempted again, "maybe I wouldn't have been found out so easily if I had some assistance. Micky was chatting up some girl and with Peter unavailable due to his singing lessons I thought maybe I could count on you Davy."

"Oh man, I forgot," Davy said irritably. "Must have tripled booked myself then!"

"Triple booked?" Peter questioned.

"So I guess that brings me to why I'm wet," Davy began. "I had a date with a girl I've been seeing Sandra. Everything was going great until I realized that I had planned a date with the other girl I've been seeing. I feigned not feeling well and rushed over to the place I was supposed to meet her at, a good three and a half hours late. She saw me and didn't even wait to hear my made up excuse…and it was a good one. She threw a whole pitcher of water on me and left."

"Davy you really need to start keeping an appointment book for all your dates, with a color coating system and everything. You can call it Sweet Young Things," Micky offered jokingly.

"Very funny," Davy deadpanned as he poured a lake out of his shoe. "Sounds like we've all had an eventful night."

"I'll say," Peter chimed in, "I've finally reached the level of black belt in my singing class."

"That's not how that works, Shotgun," Mike said putting the ice back on his lip.

"You tell that to Senesce Rosenthal," Peter protested. "She has such a lovely voice and an impressive ability to break boards with her head for a 75 year old woman."