15 Months Earlier: A Beginning without a definitive birth
The quartet's career is just beginning to heat up. The boys recently turned down a gig because there just wasn't enough time in their schedule. It's a first time luxury for all of them. To be able to pay bills, rent and actually have money in the bank, gave a glimmer of hope into their future.
Mike lost in his thoughts, re-grips the steering wheel trying to focus his unfocused and weary eyes. Releasing a verbal sigh, a smile spreads across his lips as the Monkeemobile cruises past the 'Welcome to Malibu Beach' road sign. This, without a doubt, marks the end of the ROAD TRIP FROM HELL. His eyes widen as he glances into the rear view mirror at the not so innocent sleeping faces of his band mates. Mike loves his friends but being cooped up for three weeks in a car playing back-to-back gigs up and down the California coast? Yup…that is a whole different rodeo. He now understands why most horror films start with a long road trip. Between Micky's wild antics, Davy's insidious whining and Peter…just being Peter, it's enough to turn Mother Teresa into a card-carrying ax murderer.
All of the events of the past three weeks begin to loop in Mike's head, the laughter, the camaraderie, the music, the need to strangle the three of them after they filled his boots with banana pudding. With that memory, he scrunches his face into an evil grimace and subconsciously accelerates towards a series of potholes for one final payback. The last pit impressively sends the car slightly airborne, with a not so gentle landing. Mike quickly snaps out of his dream like state after hearing a series of straining groans from the passengers and instruments bouncing in the back seats.
"UGH…WHAT THE..?" the agitated passengers bellow from behind him.
Mike couldn't stop the satisfying smirk that took over his lips. "Oops! Pot hole!"
"Err, are we there yet?" whines Davy with a yawn and a stretch.
"If you ask that question one more…" he stops mid sentence then continues, "DON'T make me pull this car over. You can walk home." Mike coils out one last threat. Knowing good and well it was an empty threat as the car's occupants realize the vehicle is only about a 2,000 feet from their front door.
The Monkeemobile pulls into the drive of 1334 North Beachwood Blvd. Home at last. The beaten up beach house never looked so inviting after weeks away.
The thought of crashing into a soft bed takes over any other immediate need.
The front door creaks open to darkness. Micky slides his hand up the wall and flips on the lights. The sight makes the quartet jump back with a slight gasp. Mr. Schneider innocently sits in an armchair a few feet from the front door.
"Bloody Hell!" blasts Davy "Which one of you left Mr. Schneider in the middle of the floor to scare us or any nutter that may waltz through the door? This…this…not funny. Not funny at all."
They exchange looks of denial.
"Didn't we all walk out of the pad at the same time?" Peter adding to the confusion.
The three shot Peter a look of death making him slink back a few feet feeling sorry that he even brought it up.
"Well one of you obviously has a warped board sense of humor." Mike accuses with conviction.
"One of us?" Micky defensive, "Humph!" He pushes through the door dumping his bag to the side.
The foursome take another glance at Mr. Schneider perched in the chair with his arms crossed like an angry mother-in-law left behind to stew.
"I'm too tired for this crap. Let's unload the car so we can get to bed." Mike rolls his eyes, "Hey, Pete, can you move Mr. Schneider out of the way so we can bring in the equipment?"
Peter reluctantly grabs the over-sized dummy and plops him back on his designated stool in the corner. He steps away as if Mr. Schneider is possessed and planning their deaths for abandoning him. He leans back in and whispers, "How did you move across the room?"
Suddenly, Peter felt a hand on his shoulder pulling him backwards. "Mate, I don't think he's going to answer you." Davy turns him toward the door, "A little assistance would be nice." Peter flushes red from embarrassment.
"Okay…" as his words quietly fell away, inaudible at best.
The quartet unpacks the final load out of the Monkeemobile a little before 2am. The instruments and equipment sprawl across the living room with little order in mind. None of them have the energy to do more than the bare minimal tonight.
Micky and Davy say their good nights before retiring to their room downstairs. Peter and Mike begin to climb the stairs to the their bedroom. A blood curdling "OH MY GOD!" halts their ascent, making the duo back track their steps.
"WHAT? What happened?" Mike and Peter share the concern.
"Look at the disaster!" Davy blew steam, "Could you be a bigger slob Micky? You couldn't have straightened this mess before you left on tour?"
Peter and Mike exchange amusing glances, raising their eyebrows. They slip slowly backwards away from the pending roommate smack down. It is best to allow them to settle the mess without input from the two.
The climb back up the tornado steps seem to take about two or three days. The boys fell face first into their respective beds, both asleep before the bed stop bouncing from impact.
Exhaustion fills the musician's bodies into a dreamless state
Within thirty minutes of the last sound uttered, a figure slowly steps out of the closet. Each of the weary travelers unaware of the shadowy presence watching over them sleep. An unfamiliar hand reaches out and strokes the hair out of the sleeping face she so adored from afar. 'Some day my love we will be together and no one will stop the love we are destined to share.' Boldly, she bends over and kisses man's temple. He shifts slightly burying his face deeper into the pillow beneath his sleeping head.
She moves to the dresser. Quietly pulling open the third drawer. The figure rummages until she finds a shirt that fulfills her desire. She slips out of her blouse and slides the tee over her head pulling it over her breasts. She could smell his scent on the shirt and it made her wet at with thought of his body touching hers. The girl licks her lips sliding her hands over her breasts and rubs her crotch with excitement. She bites her lip and tip-toes out of the room tossing her blouse into their dirty laundry hamper.
The unknown nuisance stops short before the back door. She leans over to Mr. Schneider placing a peck on his cheek, "Now you take care of my baby for me, okay?" The door closed with a soft click. Mr. Schneider falls off his chair with a loud clunk.
The quartet of musicians continue to slumber without an inkling that life is about to go from zero to shit in record time.