By the time Mike came back from the booth after shutting off the recording equipment Peter still hadn't figured out exactly what he wanted to say, so he just went with his first impulse.
"Wow. Strong stuff, Mike. I don't know how else to describe it." He gestured with the lyric sheet he still held, waving it toward the booth where the rest of the wizardry lay, for the moment, silent. "Strong stuff."
"Yeah, well it was, Pete, wasn't it. I mean, you were there."
"Does she know about it? At all?" Peter knew she hadn't heard the instrumentals yet, and he was sure Mike hadn't shown her the lyrics.
"Not yet. I wanted to wait until it had some shape to it, you know? D'you think anyone'll read it as anything but a new song? I'm really kinda on the fence about, you know, putting it on the record. I mean it's good as a song and all, but..."
"But. Yeah." Peter hesitated for a minute, then decided that as long as he'd been invited in, he might as well make himself at home. So to speak.
"The title... the refrain... that night you left my place, took my car, and went back to..."
Mike cut him off a little abruptly. "Right. After we got back from the Chicago shoot, and Morris found out what a lying shit I was, and I was crazy enough to go back for one night and she was crazy enough to let me. Yeah, you don't have to translate. I was there too, remember?"
Peter handed the lyric sheet back to Mike as if it were something that shouldn't fall into the wrong hands.
"I was just gonna say, only you and me and Bonnie are gonna recognize that."
"And Genie, and Lulu and Ari Lowenstein and probably Micky and David too. No secrets in this little 'family'," Mike reminded him. He stuffed the lyric sheet in his back pocket and was turning to go back to the booth when Peter grabbed his arm to stop him.
"Look, man, you asked and I told you," he insisted. "Because you already knew I get it, or I wouldn't be here, right?" Mike didn't answer but the tight lines around his eyes and mouth loosened some as Peter continued. "You wanna know what I think? I think it might be the best damn song you've written so far. And I think that like all your other songs, the radio reps and the studio reps and the PTB will 'read' it like they read all of our stuff: ratings and record sales. And the fans, take me now Lord, the fans. They won't read it at all. It's just another one of Mike Nesmith's 'dark moody songs', another example of his twisted take on love, they'll love it or hate it depending on whether they love or hate the Mike Nesmith they think they want to know. And the rest of us? Hell, we'll just read it like it is. Another chapter in your mind-bendingly messy life with Bonnie, dressed up as a song you write for nobody. By now none of us believe that 'nobody' bullshit anyway. So the way I see it you got nothing to worry about."
As sometimes happened, Mike was forced to abandon his tortured perspective for something a little more everyday. "Yeah,well when you put it that way... but I'm telling you, it won't make the cut unless Morris says so."
Peter's eyes sprung wide. "You telling me Michael 'Full Artistic Control' Nesmith is passing off a recording decision to someone else?" He mimed rummaging through his pockets. "And me without my camera." He headed off his friend's fierce scowl by shaking him hard by the shoulder.
"Lighten up will you? It's a great song, it's a great new antidote to bubblegum for the new album, and you and Bonnie came out of it in one piece." Then he got quiet and looked Mike hard in the eye. "One piece, man, not two broken ones. What could possibly be groovier?"
Contrary to his first impulse Bob took the time to explain to Bonnie, in a little more detail than "not your problem", how the hotel decisions had been made and why they were not "over the top". After all, he didn't want her to start thinking that money was no object on the set.
"Happy now?" He looked at his watch and started rummaging through his Rolodex. "Now I gotta make some calls. Go home and give Nesmith a headache, it's a cinch he's done something today to deserve it."
Bonnie picked up her stuff and stood to glare down at him.
"Bob. I hate you."
"Yeah, yeah, I hate you too but who else will put up with us." He was already dialing one of his merchandising consultants, but gave himself just enough time to inform Bonnie before she left, "Almost forgot, there'll be a camera crew. Monkees On Tour epi, it'll be great."
She spun to face him again. "WHAT?"
But it was too late, he was waving her out as he clamped the phone to his ear. "Shut the door, babe, will ya."
She complied with a wall-rattling slam.
"Hey Maury, it's Bob. Earthquake? Nah, just my A.P."
Bonnie tore into Recording Studio 3 without even checking to see if the "Recording in Process" sign was lit.
"Bob is a mental case," she raged and hurled her (securely closed) briefcase to the floor. "You don't wanna know what he has planned for this tour. Even if you do, it's better I don't tell you til it's wheels up time on that dumbass Monkees plane." She was mortified to travel in that thing, it looked like one of Bob's silly Monkees lunchboxes, only with wings and without head shots and fake autographs (thank God). Intent on her rant, she didn't notice that Mike and Peter had cut off their conversation as if a kill switch had been thrown.
"I'm gonna give my notice and getta job at McDonald's. I'd rather flip burgers than flip out."
The other two shifted a bit awkwardly.
"Uh, I think it's time to hit the road," Peter announced a little too brightly.
"Or hit the deck," Mike shot back.
"Oh, ba-dum-bum to you too," Bonnie snapped.
Peter headed for the studio exit but stopped to give Bonnie a strong hug as he passed. "Night, Bon." She stood staring after him as he left, then turned to ask Mike, "What's with him?"
"Beats me. Look, there's something I want you to hear..."
"Oh, Nes, no, can't you let it breathe a little first, I wanna go home."
When he didn't answer she went to him and snuggled up as close as she could, arms around his waist and fingers locked into his belt loops, head tilted up until her chin was almost flat against his chest. "Pleeease, baby, take me home and feed me dinner and put me to bed, Mamadillo is fried." He gazed down at her, still silent. She relented when she felt him sigh.
"It's important isn't it," she acknowledged in an earnest voice. "Not like 'now dammit' important, like important important."
"Pretty much." He leaned down to kiss her forehead.
She gave him a squeeze then, and turned him loose. "Okay then. I know how big this new album is for you guys, you know I'll help any way I can."
Bonnie followed Mike into the booth and waited as he put on the engineer's headset and queued up the the vocal and instrumental tapes to feed into the right channels. He didn't fuss with them much, just got the balance right before handing the 'phones to Bonnie.
"It's all set, just hit play. Volume should be fine."
"Okay..." He seemed a little off to her, he was usually all about explaining things when he wanted her to listen to something new, like "this is why this will show up here", and "that's what's gonna come in there". And Peter seemed kinda weird too.
"So really, what's with Pete tonight?"
Mike smiled one of his "mystery" smiles. "I dunno, babe. Guess he just loves you too. You listen, I'll be packing up the equipment downstairs."
"But..." He was gone before she could ask what he meant. Oh well. He's in another one of his cryptic-creative grooves, she thought, recalling that had been the norm for the past couple of weeks. She shrugged, slipped on the headphones and punched 'Play'.