Chapter 1-The Success Story

Author's Notes: This chapter references The Success Story, Find the Monkees, Monkees on the Line, as well as Case of the Missing Monkee. I don't own the Monkees, nor any of the characters mentioned in this story. I only own the original characters that make cameos in this story. Welcome my friends to the alternate universe where the Airport Charade fails!

October 18, 1966

The rain was coming down hard now. Peter could only think about how appropriate the weather was. He sat on the couch that lined the windows in the alcove, watching it fall harder and harder. In his ears he could hear the shuffle of Mike's footsteps and the constant tapping Micky's fingers had on the table. None of them dared speak. No one had spoken since the three of them had gotten up that morning. Suddenly, Mike broke the silence.

"How appropriate…" He grumbled allowed.

"What?" Micky asked. The other two were now watching Mike, wondering why he broke the silence.

"This rain," he responded, grabbing the green wool hat from his head. "I bet England's getting this same darn weather too, but it's very stereotypical of them to always have rain."

"Mike," Peter said, standing.

"Don't 'Mike' me Peter. Aren't you upset too?" Mike threw his hat at the floor, enraged. "What are we going to do? His grandfather took one of our bandmates, our friend, our brother away from us. You're going on like it's no big deal."

"Mike," Peter tried again. "Of course I'm upset." Peter tried to hold back tears from Mike's statement as he continued. "But," He couldn't think of words to help. They were on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't seem to get them any farther.

"I think what Peter's trying to say is that we can't mourn the rest of our lives. We'll be alright." Micky intervened. Peter gave Micky a shy smile in appreciation.

"Well, then," Mike took in a deep breath. "I guess it's time to discuss the band, huh?" The three stared at one another for a minute, each of them trying to decide whether or not they should appear in a business-like meeting room in suits and ties or just go sit at the table. With the absence of their fourth member, they all went to go sit at the table. For a moment they all stared at the empty chair, as though staring at it would bring Davy Jones back. After a minute of no prevail, Micky got up and stuffed the chair into the closet. Returning, Mike took in another deep breath before proceeding.

"Right, let's get down to business. The band."

No one responded for a moment. After the awkward silence overwhelmed them all. Peter was the first to speak. "Mike, are we really the Monkees anymore?"

The Micky looked at Peter quizzically. "What does that mean?"

Mike's face remained somber, fully understanding Peter's question. "He means, are we the Monkees without Davy?" That was the first time anyone had uttered the name since the unsuccessful airport charade.

Micky straighten up. "Well, I would assume so."

"Would the Beatles still be the Beatles without John Lennon?" Mike asked. Peter shook his head, whereas Micky sighed.

"Your point?" Micky crossed his arms, not willing to accept what his roommates were suggesting. "Because, what's in a name?"

Mike leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Don't go quoting Shakespeare now, Mick."

"Micky," Peter said. "You make a good point, but will our music be the same without him? Yes, he did play the maracas and tambourine, but his voice, his voice is glued to the band. Ask someone about the Monkees, what will be the first song that comes out of their mouth?"

"Never heard of 'em." Micky deadpanned, now leaning back in his chair, arms crossed.

"Which song is that?" Peter asked.

"It's not." Mike said. "He's stating that people don't know who we are, so does it matter?" Micky nodded in agreement. Peter didn't respond, and Micky didn't add anything, so Mike continued. "The way I see it, we have two choices. Continue pursuing music without him, or, in memory of him, give up the band." They made eye contact with each other, then they nodded. They knew the answer.

January 9, 1967

"Again, let me thank you for this banquet. As a humble man of science, all I can say is, war is war, and peace is peace, and science is, uh, science." Professor Schnitzler proclaimed as he finished his speech. Everyone, employees included, applauded his speech. As soon as people began to get up in order to greet the scientist, Mike began refilling the buffet table.

Wearing his white uniform, Mike could only daydream about the possibility of him performing another role at his banquet, primarily the role of a musician. He glanced up at the stage, where four Swedish violinists stood, preparing to play again. One of the violinists hopped off the bandstand to greet the scientist. When another man guided Professor Schnitzler away, the violinist stared at the paper in his hand. He walked up to the bandstand and showed it to the members of his quartet. They all shook their heads and the violinist tossed the paper onto the floor, grabbing his instrument and warming up.

A sudden anger built up inside Mike as he quickly dashed out from behind the table and grabbing the paper. I'll deliver this to the police station. He thought, stuffing it in his shirt. Mike continued to clear dishes, refill the buffet table, and do all the other mediocre jobs a waiter does.

"Nice work Peter." Drehdal extolled, patting the young man on the telephone.

"Uh huh, uh huh, yep. Goodbye." Peter said, jotting down the last bits of the message before sticking it on a nail. "Thanks Drehdal."

"Do you think you can handle yourself while I go out on vacation?" She asked sincerely.

"I don't know. What time will your replacement come in?" Peter asked. He was tired. Usually he and Drehdal traded shifts, but with her going to Jamaica for vacation, he didn't know he could work the answering service for twenty-four hours.

"Aw, he should be coming by at the usual time Peter, but don't you worry! This will all go swimmingly!" She emphasized 'don't,' 'you,' and 'worry' by poking Peter. She flopped a gigantic hat upon her head, grabbed her beach bag and surfboard and left the answering service building.

Peter sighed as another phone rang. "Urgent answering service." he said.

"I had to speak to someone! I just can't go on, I'm so terribly alone."

"Oh, hey Ellen." Peter said. "Practicing your lines again?"

"Peter, you can't get me out of character! Now what are you so down about?" The girl on the other end demanded.

"Just down, as all. Drehdal's going to vacation and you know how trusting her replacements are."

"Oh, I'm sorry Peter."

"You want to keep practicing your lines?"

"Please?"

"Go ahead."

"I had to speak to someone!" Ellen proclaimed. Peter sat the phone on the table, letting her ramble on. For some reason Peter felt terrible today, as if he was missing out on something. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the feeling, but his mind suddenly ran towards one thought. What would I be doing right now if Davy was still here?

January 23, 1967

"Micky!" Hubbell Benson yelled from his office. In a second the lanky employee rushed in, slightly out of breath. "Where's that wretched tape recorder Irene rented?"

"I'll go get it Mr. Benson." Micky panted, running out again, returning with a tape recorder.

"Right, now go get the first band."

"Yes, Mr. Benson." Micky said, running out again.

Soon the Jolly Green Giants entered Mr. Benson's office, all smiling, hoping to nail the invited audition. As they did so, Micky sat in the lobby, listening to the mindless clamor of the other bands practicing. He sat on the corner of Irene's desk, watching the other bands enviously.

"That could be us." Micky muttered to himself, his chest suddenly swelling with emotion.

"What was that?" Irene asked, looking up from her magazine.

"I was in a band." Micky said a little louder. "That could be us."

"Well why aren't you in the band now?" Irene asked, closing the magazine.

"Because one of our members had to go back home to England. We didn't see the value of continuing if he wasn't there."

"Oh." Irene said, opening her magazine again. She didn't ask any more questions. She wasn't a great fan of Micky, but their only mutual feature was that they both genuinely hated how Benson treated them. She could only sympathize the poor boy, for he was in such a terrible position now, he might have been better off with his band.