As Rico began to address the crowd about the virtues of art and music, the Monkees frantically began to whisper among themselves.
"He's the sponsor?!" Micky whispered, horrified. "Mr. Charm-and-Insults is the sponsor of this whole deal?!"
"…I think the fat lady is singing the swan song again," Peter groaned.
"Goodbye Paris," Davy sighed, propping his chin on his hand. "And goodbye to seeing home sweet home again, too."
Mike took a look at his three bandmates, a decision forming in his head.
"There's still a chance," he said. "One chance to make this work. You three go on and do the audition without me."
"What?!" the other three hissed, quietly.
"Mike, we can't go on and audition without you!" Peter whispered. "You're our leader! You're our guitarist! You're—"
"Backward," Mike finished. "Without me, you'll be a bit more forward—forward enough to get you guys to Paris." He looked to Davy. "And to Manchester."
"You'd do that for us?" the English boy asked. "And for me?"
"Sure," Mike said. "I'll just head back to Texas for a week—visit Aunt Kate in New Gallifrey…" He trailed off as he saw the disapproving looks on his friends' faces. "You're not buying this, are you?"
"Not at all," Micky said, flatly.
"We're not letting you sit out just because of some creep like Rico," Davy said. "I'd rather not go home than go without you, Mike."
"It's all of us or none of us," Peter agreed.
Mike looked back at them, then to his worn-looking eight-button shirt; he placed his hand on his wool hat as he looked up at the stage at Rico in his three-piece suit.
"Well…" he sighed, his face going slightly red. "Maybe I can still be on stage, but not do any actual singing… A raggedy guitarist might still hurt, but it won't be as bad as having Rico sneer at my singing."
"Oh, Mike…" Davy said, softly. "You should sing—you should show them all what a raggedy guitarist-and-singer can do."
"Rico can't be the only judge," Micky added. "There'll be others—more objective ones than him."
"Yeah, but he's the sponsor," Mike reminded him. "One word from him—one threat that he'll pull the financial plug, and they'll kick us out first."
"Well, it won't hurt to try," Peter said. "What have we got to lose?"
"Potentially, our dignity," Mike said. "But other than that, nothing." He looked to his friends again. "You guys sure about this?"
"Do you even have to ask us?" Davy said, grinning.
The smile made its way back to Mike's face.
"Thanks," he said.
Rico had just finished up his speech; whatever it was, the crowd seemed to have loved it for they clapped wildly. The Monkees didn't join in, however; they were busy trying to figure out of Rico had even noticed them at all.
But when the rich boy strode off the stage to rejoin Cyndia without so much as a sneer in their direction, it became clear that he hadn't seen them.
"Man, is he in for a surprise…" Micky commented, as Rico led her to the judge's table.
The Monkees lapsed into silence as the auditions began; they politely listened to the other acts before them and applauded them. The judges were making notes; they would, at least, be spared a verbal commentary, it seemed.
When it was their turn, and they took the stage, Davy was pleased to see the stony-faced look on Rico as he finally seemed to notice them. This quickly passed, however, as Rico once again glanced at Mike and bit back what clearly was a smirk.
Rico's expression did not change through the performance of "Words," though the other judges were clearly enraptured, as were the other spectators. Cyndia kept trying to catch Davy's eye, but he ignored her; the little percussionist was more concerned with Mike, whose nervous look seemed to increase with every passing moment.
A slight red flush was visible on the Texan's face as they launched into "Nine Times Blue." His fingers were working his twelve-string on a metaphorical autopilot. But as Rico's smirk worked itself into a sneer at the country-sounding opening notes, Mike focused his gaze after exchanging a glance with his bandmates and started to sing.
One by one, the others joined in, harmonizing with Mike as he played. The crowd, not sure what to make of this sound—a sound that they had not expected at all at a rock and roll festival—listened in absolute silence.
They drew the song to a close, and, for one tense moment, silence was all that followed them. The red flush upon Mike's face grew deeper for that instant, but the crowd then burst into applause.
A look of relief crossed all four of their faces; they joined hands and bowed in unison before collecting their instruments and leaving the stage.
"Well, I'll tell you what," Peter said, grinning. "Even if they don't choose us, the crowd liked us. That has to count for something."
"And I'll tell you something else," Micky said. "Did you see Cyndia giving Davy the eye? She's having second thoughts about Rico!"
"Those two deserve each other, as far as I'm concerned," Mike said.
Davy winced, prompting Mike to give him a look.
"You're not still hung up on her, are you?!"
"Well…"
"Davy, snap out of it!" the Texan said, snapping his fingers in front of Davy's face. "She didn't care about you then, and she doesn't care about you now! She's not capable of it, and the sooner you realize that, the better."
Davy looked to Mike.
"Whether she does care about me or not… I'm glad that you do."
"We're all glad that you do," Peter added.
The Monkees soon had to fall silent again as the remaining bands proceeded with their auditions. This time, it was difficult for them to pay any attention to their competition due to the various thoughts in their heads.
After the auditions were all over, the bands were offered snacks and refreshments while they waited for the results. Micky was trying to sneak as much of the food into his pockets as he possibly could; in the all-too-possible event that they would be excluded out of spite, he would, at least, console himself by having secured a day's worth of food rations out of it, if nothing more.
"Mike, can I borrow your hat for a second?" he asked.
"…Why?"
"I'm trying to figure out how many packets of crackers I can fit in there."
"No."
"Aww, come on, Mike!"
"I wear this thing, Man! The last thing I need is to have crumbs in my hair!"
"Yeah, you'll have a bunch of birds going through your hair," Davy said, causing Peter to chuckle at the mental image.
"Well, can I borrow just your pockets, then?" Micky asked. "I've run out of room in mine!"
"We do not need to hoard that much food; we're not completely desperate for nourishment…" the Texan pointed out.
"No, just mildly starving," Micky replied. "I mean, where else are we going to be able to find so much free food at our disposal—?"
He was cut off as the emcee returned to the stage with a sheet of paper.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you all once again for showing us your musical talent here today," she said. "I hope that you're enjoying our little buffet that we've set up for you; feel free to take as much as you'd like with you."
"…Such a generous soul…" Micky said, grabbing some extra paper plates and piling them up with more food.
The other three didn't even try to stop him at this point; Peter was too amused by his antics, while Davy and Mike were too busy staring at the piece of paper in the emcee's hands with baited breath.
"I have here," she said. "The results of the judging. The following acts have been chosen to showcase their talents at the Art of Music Rock Festival in Paris…"
As she started listing the names of some of the other bands, Micky now froze in his tracks nervous.
"…The Dragon Scales… The Four Martians… The Ghost Riders… The Lizard Project… The Monkees…"
Peter's mouth fell open in utter joy. He hugged Micky, who had nearly dropped his plates of food.
"We're in!" Davy whispered, grabbing Mike's arm. "We're in! I told you that your singing would be a good thing! We're going to Paris! We're going to Manchester! And it's going to be all four of us!"
Mike looked back to him. He was trying to keep his expression neutral, but his eyes were practically beaming.
"I'll be honest," he said. "I was hoping we could have it that way."
They didn't stop to wonder how it happened; obviously, the scores from the other judges must have canceled out the low score that Rico must've given them. Whatever the reason, they were grateful for it.
The quartet stayed and listened politely as the other acts that had been accepted had been announced before picking up their information packets.
"You will be receiving your advance in the mail within the next day or two," the emcee announced. "We look forward to seeing you in Paris in two weeks' time."
They were dismissed after that, discussing about their victory as they headed back to the Monkeemobile.
"I say we use one week to practice with Peter's new keyboard," Mike was saying.
"And then we go to Manchester?" Davy asked, eagerly.
"That's the plan," the Texan agreed. "You going to send a telegram to your gramps and let him know we're going?"
"Nah; I want to surprise him."
"I daresay, Jones, you'd be a shock to your grandfather if you turned up with these three in tow," Rico's voice said from behind the Monkeemobile. He stepped out from behind the car, smiling in amusement.
They paused, glaring back at him.
"Do you mind getting out of the way of our car?" Mike asked. "If you've come here to tell us that you didn't recommend us for the gig and that it's only because of the other judges that we're going, then you may as well get going; we figured that out on our own. Now if you'll excuse us, we'll be on our way."
"Jones, you really should be careful as to where you take this fellow; he's liable to say anything. And he may make me inclined to try to convince the other judges not to accept you after all—and you wouldn't want that, now would you?"
"He didn't say anything unwarranted," Davy snapped back. "And, for your information, my grandfather has already met him and the others."
"Ah, well, that explains it, then…"
"Explains what?!"
"Whatever it is, it doesn't matter," Peter said, sensing nothing but trouble. "Let's go, Guys; we need to practice—"
"It's suddenly clear as to why you've been exiled to the Colonies rather than staying with Mother England," Rico said. "Why else would you live in such poverty—with such deplorable company—when you have an uncle who is the Earl of Hagglethorn, a cousin who is a Duke, and a grandfather who was a celebrated and highly rewarded member of British Intelligence during the war, if you were not cut off from the family fame and fortune that they all hold?"
Davy's eyes narrowed, dangerously.
"Will you just clear out and leave him—and us—alone?!" Mike snapped.
"Indeed, I have better things to do than to listen to you," Rico said, turning to go. "Miss Crowforest is waiting for me to take her to dinner. Oh, and Jones? Might I suggest getting a good muzzle for your pet boor here? No one should be forced to hear him talk—or sing."
Davy just barely heard Peter's furious gasp and Micky's reply of a curse, but he wasn't paying attention to them; he clenched his right hand into a fist.
"Battle stations!" Mike ordered.
He seized Davy's right arm as Peter grabbed his left; Micky grabbed both of Davy's ankles to make sure he couldn't kick. Rico laughed, finding it absolutely hilarious as Davy struggled against them.
"He's a better man than you!" Davy yelled at his retreating back. "He's the best! He—"
"Tiny," Mike said, softly. "It's okay."
Davy stopped struggling, and his companions released him. And as they stood there, questioning why a person they had never met until that day harbored so much contempt for them for no apparent reason, Mike, his face redder than ever, took a moment to register one key fact: though Davy had been clearly livid upon Rico's taunt of him being the family outcast, Davy had not acted upon his anger until Rico had insulted Mike again.
Though Mike would never say it aloud, seeing that had made the insult almost worthwhile.
