The Monkees, plus the roadies and tech crew and electricians and instrument care specialists and everyone else necessary for the tour were assembled in the empty soundstage. Bob had told Bonnie she was in charge of introducing the new tour manager, partly because many of the tour staff had known her first, but mostly because he hated the first "pep rally", as he referred to every initial pre-tour mass meeting. Most people in Bonnie's position might be grumbling because they were not themselves the new tour manager... but Bonnie was almost hysterically grateful.

There had been a brief period a few weeks before when Mike had had his hands full some nights, calming her freaked-out nightmares of having the top job thrust upon her. Being the supreme authority had never been her ambition. Besides, who wanted a target that big painted on your forehead?


"Okay guys," she called out over those assembled. "This here is Barry Stowell. He is the tour manager and he's the big boss for the whole happening for the next month."

"Month!" wailed Micky. "You said two weeks!" Naturally he had known about the extension for at least a week. But, well, Micky was Micky and there was no shutting him up when he had an audience, even one comprised of comrades-in-tour.

"Sadly, I am not in charge of the whole thing," Bonnie told him (not for the first time). "Some gigs have been extended because of advance ticket sales and some down-time added to avoid nervous breakdowns, mostly mine. Hey, you wanted to get rich and famous, so here it is. Careful what you wish for, and all that jive."

Now the man who had been standing beside Bonnie stepped forward. Tall, semi-dark, and generically good-looking, he presented himself with a decent combination of humility, authority, and good humor.

"Hi. I'm not new to concert tours but we all know I am new to the Monkees." He nodded toward Bonnie. "I'll be leaning on your familiar friend for some guidance. I'll be the front man for the press calls, the venue logistics radio interviews, merchandising, all that stuff. Bonnie will do what she always does, from what Bob tells me. She'll make the day-to-day run like clockwork and crack the whip over the rank and file.

"In other words... same old, same old," Davy cracked.

"Besides... how many new ways are there to haul music from town to town?" Rico, one of the senior security observed, then followed with, "Unless you plan to fly us all first class... that we'll like just fine!"

Hoots and applause from those assembled.

"I'll also wrangle the film crew," Barry nodded to indicate the group of about a dozen men and women gathered in the back corner, their equipment stashed elsewhere. "If here's any problems that come up or anything new you need to ask about feel free to grab me if I'm around but pass it to Bonnie if I'm not."

"As always," Bonnie announced, "complaints are submitted in writing... in triplicate. To be filed."

Only one person was foolish enough to ask, "Filed where?" He flinched under the chorus of groans and Mike's lazy drawl, "You must be new in town, kid." In fact Bill was the newest roadie, recently turned twenty-one and beside himself to have his first road job.

"What?" he protested as the groans turned to laughter.

"I'm so glad you asked," Bonnie answered with a huge smile as she reached behind her and flourished a rubbish can with a large sign taped to it that read "Complaints."

"Hey... don't feel bad," she told the kid whose name she'd pound into her head, along with everyone else's, in the next few days. "There's always one in the crowd who has to ask. Your initiation is hereby concluded. Anyone gives you a hard time over it, just let me know and I'll straighten 'em out."

"BOOOOOO!" hollered the rest, including Davy, Peter, Micky and even Mike.

"Why does it always feel like the first day of camp when we do this? Okay, Barry, you're head counselor. Let me know if you need me to do anything, you know... " she glared at the motley group in front of her, "special."

Micky, still in his Class Clown groove, turned to face everyone with a sly wink.

"You know... special. Like sewing name tags in your underwear. But that'll cost ya extra." He punctuated with a Groucho leer and mimed cigar waggle, and didn't even see it coming when Bonnie marched up behind him to smack the back of his head.

"DAMMIT!" Micky rubbed his head as everyone else cracked up. "Why won't anyone make you stop that?"

The roughly sixty roadies, techies, security and costuming staff roared as one as Peter waved his arms, conductor-like.

"BECAUSE IT'S IN HER CONTRACT!"

Then Genie stepped up, flanked by her costume crew.

"Oi! Micky, Peter, David, Michael, to the costume shop on the double! Final fittings in five minutes!"

The rest gathered with their respective crew bosses to get oriented as Bonnie shook Barry's hand and told him with a laugh, "Welcome to the Monkee house. It's a great life, if you don't weaken."