Mike was cooling his heels near the sound stage when Bonnie came storming down the corridor from Bob's office. He hadn't been waiting for her, but since she was here and nobody else was around…
"Hey Morris, how about a little sugar?" He rose with a smile and reached for her... and hit the equivalent of a brick wall.
"You sonofabitch!" she snapped, slapping his hand away. "You lying, sleazy piece of shit!"
Mike Nesmith could count the times he'd been totally blindsided on the fingers of one hand. Once was when he got the call that he'd been cast in the Monkees. Another was when his wife announced she was leaving him. More recently, the first reception by screaming fans at JFK airport. But this one was a mind-bender.
"Wha-" he began, but she got right up in his face to cut him off.
"You said 'your secret is safe with me'," she hissed, "but then, you said lots things. I guess I should've listened to some more than others, Mr. High Life Dick. So what else did you shoot your mouth off about, and to who? Did you tell the guys how you almost got laid and didn't have to give up an autograph in the morning?"
Though he was more than just taken aback, Mike managed not to stammer. "Morris, I don't know what the hell you're talking about." He realized as he looked at Bonnie that her face was probably a mirror image of his own when he was out of control, "What happened?"
"My god, you're a better actor than anyone gives you credit for, aren't you?" she mumbled at the ceiling, then turned her anger on Mike again, "Tell you one thing, I know now what didn'thappen, in addition to you not getting bragging rights for screwing the boss's assistant. Correction, you screwed her all right," she faltered and added in a fading voice, "you screwed me… talking about 'why'… holy shit, why was I such a sucker?"
Her face transformed with a look of such pain it staggered Mike even more than her outburst; he was convinced she was about to cry. What the hell did she think he'd done? He reached a hand out to touch her just once, to calm her down, "C'mere, sit down, talk to me…"
He slid his shades up onto his head, and for some reason that burnt the last of her fuse. She snatched the shades from his head and flung them down the hall, and smacked away his other hand so hard the nerves in his shoulder tingled.
"Bob and I just had a little chat," Bonnie explained coldly, "he told me not to sweat the details of my references, because he's real happy with how things have worked out."
"What?" Mike's voice rose at least an octave on the word. "I swear, I didn't say word one…"
Bonnie wasn't having any. "Shut up!" she all-but shouted at him. "There's nothing you can say that I'll waste another stinking minute listening to, and I have nothing to say to you, got it? Nothing. Now get your lying cowboy ass to Costuming, you've got a fitting in twenty."
With that, she tore off down the hall, leaving Mike staring after her.
Twenty feet behind him, Micky stooped to pick up Mike's shades where they'd finally skidded to a stop by his feet. He'd only caught Bonnie's parting words, and now he walked to where Mike was standing, and stuck the shades in the latter's shirt pocket. Both men stared down the hall.
"Jesus Christ, man, what did you do to set her off like that?" Micky asked. This was no joking smack-to-the-head, and he knew it, though he wouldn't have asked more than that one question if his life depended on it.
"Damned if I know, Mick," Mike answered in a vague voice, "and she sure as shit ain't tellin'."
