Chapter 2- Cheer Up Sleepy Jean
"Mike?" Peter asked, knocking on the bedroom door. It was five o'clock, and they had a gig to perform in an hour. "Mike, we've got to go." No answer.
Slowly, Peter opened the door, finding Mike sitting on the floor in between he and Micky's beds. Mike had ripped his shirt off, (quite literally, there were shreds of his shirt everywhere on the floor) and was now curled up in a ball on the floor. He held his hands on top of his head, his head resting on his knees. Mike's wool hat was thrown carelessly on the floor with what was left of his shirt. Peter keeled down, taking a good look at Mike. His face was bright red from tears. He stared down at the floor, muttering something unintelligible.
"Mike? Hey, Mike?" Peter asked, setting a hand on his band mate's knee. Mike quickly recoiled backwards into the nightstand, hitting his head.
"Ow," he muttered, rubbing his head. He curled back into his ball.
"Mike, are you okay?" Peter asked. Mike quickly shook his head no, his raven-black hair flopping all over the place.
"What's wrong?" Peter asked as calmly as possible.
"No time," Mike muttered. "No time at all. I've got no time. I'm gonna buy me a dog and she whispers, 'sometimes the four kings of EMI take the last train to Zilch.'"
Peter scooted back a little bit. "Mike?"
"It is of my opinion that the people are intending. It is of my opinion that the people are intending." Mike muttered. Peter stood up and slowly made his way over to the door. He poked his head out and yelled, "Davy! Micky!" When he got a response from his band mates, he continued, "Come up here, you need to see this."
"What's up?" Micky asked as he and Davy entered the room. "Did you find out what's got Mike so mad? I mean, really, I was only playing around. I didn't mean to make him that mad. Did he get something in his eye? Oh dang, if he did and he's going blind, then it's my fault. Man, I'm sorry Mike." Micky rambled.
"Micky," Peter interrupted, pointing at Mike.
"I wanna be free, like this generation, in this lovin' time. Tomorrow's gonna be another day, because she told me that she loved me, but I'm not her steppin' stone," Mike muttered.
"Whoa," Davy noted. "Mike, I realize we're bad, but not that bad."
"Yeah man, are you okay?" Micky asked.
"I don't think so," Peter said.
"And now I feel like, crazy man looking at me, she's him too, she's him too." Mike chanted, completely oblivious to the other three looking at him.
"Mike, man, cut it out." Micky said, getting down next to Mike and reaching for his shoulder. As soon as he touched it however Mike jumped up and started screaming at the top of his voice.
"Whoa! I'm sorry!" Micky blurted out. Peter stepped forward, and Mike quickly calmed down. He stood in his corner, looking wide-eyed at Peter. Peter took another step forward. Mike seemed a little scared to accept the blonde's advancement.
"Michael," Peter said, holding his arms out. "It's me, Peter. Silly, dumb Peter."
"Peter, you're not-" Micky started, but Davy quickly slammed a hand on top of his mouth.
Mike stared at Peter a moment before taking a shaky step forward. Peter gave Mike a small smile. "Michael, I'm your friend." Mike nodded and took another step forward. Peter wrapped the tall Texan in a hug, to let him know that he had a friend to rely on.
"Friend," Mike whispered as Peter let go.
"That's right, I'm your friend," Peter said. Mike nodded. He then sunk back down to the floor, chanting, "Friend, friend, friend,"
Peter got down next to him. "Mike, can you tell me what's wrong?" He asked. Mike looked at him again then looked at Davy and Micky.
Davy, Micky, and Peter could see tears well up in Mike's eyes. He shook his head, "Cheer up sleepy Jean, oh what can it mean, to a daydream believer and a homecoming queen?"
Peter sighed. "Come on, Mike," Peter said, helping Mike up onto his bed. "Hey guys? Go on down stairs, I'll be down there in a minute." Davy and Micky nodded and returned downstairs.
"This isn't good." Davy muttered to the room.
"I didn't mean any harm," Micky said. "But we need this gig. We need the money."
"We do, but we can't very well leave Mike home alone in the state he's in," Davy replied.
"Maybe we can call Millie," Peter suggested from the balcony.
"How is he?" Davy asked, setting Peter's suggestion to the side.
"I put him to bed," Peter said, "But like Micky said, we need the money. Maybe Millie will watch him."
"I'll give her a ring," Davy said, going over to the phone. He dialed Millie's number and waited.
"Hello, Millie?" He asked after a few seconds. "Hi, this is Davy Jones... I'm fine, how are you?" After a few minutes of polite chit-chat and Micky making circles with his finger telling Davy to get to the point, Davy cleared his throat.
"Say Millie, you're not busy tonight, are you?" He asked. "You're not? Great! We have a favor to ask of you. Mike isn't feeling the best tonight and we have a show we need to put on. We were wondering if you could come over and just keep an eye on him until we get back." He waited while Millie said something and Davy nodded then hung up the phone.
"Well?" Micky asked almost before the phone was back on the cradle.
"She'll look after Mike while we perform," Davy answered. Peter let out a sigh of relief that he didn't know he had been holding.
"You don't think we should tell her what has happened, do you?" He asked, looking up stairs.
"I don't know... Maybe we should tell her a half-truth... You know..." Davy let the rest of the sentence hang in the air.
"What? Tell her that Mike's gone nuts?" Micky asked.
"He hasn't gone nuts, Micky!" Peter yelled.
"Okay then, Peter, why is he acting like this, then?" Micky asked, stepping over to the blond.
"I don't know! Maybe he just has temporary insanity? Maybe by tomorrow it'll be gone?" Peter questioned, hope in his blue eyes.
"Yeah, Pete, it might be." Micky said, patting Peter on the shoulder looking at Davy.
"Well, we'd better get ready to go... Millie will be here shortly." Davy said, going and picking up his tambourine and other instruments, putting them into the box. Peter followed his lead and started packing up his bass and banjo.
"Peter why do you need your banjo?" Micky asked taking his drums apart.
"Well we're going to do 'What am I Doin' Hangin Round,' right?" Peter asked, picking up both cases and setting them by the door.
"I don't think we are Peter. I think we should stick with the songs we sing... Not Mike's songs." Micky answered.
"We could do solo spots," Peter said. "You know, we each take a song that we play ourselves."
"That's a pretty good idea Pete." Micky said, nodding his approval. Peter grinned and went to help Micky take his drums down. Right when they got the drums loaded and were just trying to put the last of the amplifiers into the car, Millie showed up.
"Hi fellas!" She said loudly, waving goodbye to Larry.
"Hello Millie," Peter said. "Thank you so much for coming over. We really appreciate it."
"Yeah, you have no idea how much this means to us." Micky said from where he was pushing an amp into the trunk of the car.
"Well, I care about you boys and if I can help out in any way, I will." Millie said, "Now, does Mike just have a cold or the flu?" She asked. All three Monkees looked at each other.
"Well…" Davy said, not quite sure how to put it lightly.
"You see, Millie, Mike just isn't acting like himself right now," Micky said. "We're thinking it's just stress so it's not that he's sick with a cold, more like…"
"Lost grips with reality?" Davy said under his breath.
"Davy shut up," Micky snapped quietly.
"He's just not himself." Peter finished Micky's sentence for him.
"We took the phone out of the table and put it on the table," Davy said.
"The number where we'll be playing is next to the phone," Micky added on.
"Mike is sleeping upstairs, if he wakes up just let him know where we're at," Peter continued.
"We should be home in an hour and a half or two hours," Micky finished up as they got into the car.
"Don't worry about Mike, you three, we'll be fine," Millie smiled.
"I sure hope so..." Micky said as he backed the car out of the driveway and headed into town.
