When the LAX security man appeared at the end of the jetway Lulu was less than willing to go with him, and more than suspicious.
"Are you Lulu Levine?" he asked.
"Who wants to know?"
"If you're Lulu Levine, please come with me, miss."
"Whaddaya mean 'come with me, miss'? Who the hell are you? My friend is picking me up, but first I gotta get my luggage." She shifted her Dobro case to her other hand and made ready to run.
"Your luggage has already been taken care of. Here, I was told to give you this."
He handed her a business card with "Raybert Productions" emblazoned across the top in bold black letters. Just beneath was the red, guitar-shaped "Monkees" logo. And beneath that, "Bonnie Morris, Associate Producer" and the office number Lulu recognized. There was a little black arrow pointing to the edge of the card, so she turned it over.
Just shut up and go with the man, okay? was written in Bonnie's familiar sharp-edged script.
Lulu shrugged, and gestured with her instrument case. "Why didn't you say so in the first place? Lead on."
The security man led her through an unmarked door and down a corridor that emptied into a cavernous hangar, though it appeared to be too small to hold a whole plane. There were luggage tractors and forklifts everywhere, and beyond a stack of wooden crates marked "Fragile" stood a sweet-faced hippie type with a smooth mop of blond hair, holding a sign that read "Lulu Levine Your Ride is Here." A teenybopper she wasn't, but you had to be blind or over sixty not to recognize a Monkee.
Breaking out in an ear-to-ear grin Peter strode up and shook her hand . "Hey, nice to meetcha. I'm Peter."
"I know." What else was there to say? Feeling stupid, she added, "I'm Lulu."
"I know. Here, let me take that. The rest of your stuff is in the van." She didn't let go of the Dobro case at first. "Uh, relax, I'm gonna give it back, I promise."
"Sorry, force of habit." She handed over the case and followed Peter out the hangar door to where a nondescript VW bus was parked.
"Bonnie's tied up at the studio… costume stuff for the other guys, it's a little more complicated than she expected."
Peter held the door open and Lulu climbed in the passenger seat.
"She didn't tell me anything at all about it, actually…" she confessed, "what's any more complicated than what you guys always wear?"
Peter tapped his nose and leaned forward to whisper, "Top secret," then laughed. "No kidding… Bob and the writers came up with this crazy idea and it's really turning out to be a blast. But we're all sworn to secrecy."
"Or else what? They can't fire you, you're making them too much filthy lucre!"
Peter's eyes widened. "Or else Bonnie'll kill us."
Lulu nodded gravely. "Say no more, friend, I can dig that." Then they both laughed as he drove around the back of the terminal to an employee exit.
"I appreciate the ride, Peter, but what's with the secret agent stuff?" Lulu wanted to know. It was then she saw the medium-sized gathering of girls on the other side of the chain link fence, their screams coming in weird harmony. "Never mind, I'm hip. How the the hell did they know you were coming out here?"
"Anyone who works here who needed five bucks fast, that's how. Looks like a tame scene, the news must've only gotten out." He rolled down the window and waved to the guy on the gate. "It's cool, Fred, thanks man."
There were only a couple of dozen girls but they managed to raise a racket banging on the back of the van as Peter peeled out of the gate. They ran screaming after for a few dozen yards, finally giving up the chase. Lulu, who was kneeling backward in the seat watching them, pivoted and sat with a thud. "Shee-it."
"Welcome to L.A.," Peter announced. "The only thing crazier than the traffic is the fans."
Bonnie's voice could be heard sailing out into the hallway even before the wardrobe department door was opened.
"Listen up!" she was hollering. "For the last time I am telling you NO TITS! Two words, one syllable each! Can you DIG it?"
Peter and Lulu entered on a scene right out of Lewis Carroll.
Micky was modeling a checked dress and white pinafore for one of the wardrobe girls, who was checking the hem. Over the pinafore he was putting on an enormous bra stuffed with cotton batting. A short distance away, Davy stood on a low stool while Genie put finishing touches on the waistband of his dirndl skirt, into which was tucked a white peasant blouse.
"Why not, then?" Davy complained, "Me legs are dreadful, and a lad's gotta have something going for him!" Suddenly he jumped and exclaimed, "Ow! Bloody hell, Genie, your pincushion's on the table, not under my arm!"
Genie didn't respond. When she was at work, she paid attention to nothing but her hands and the fabric between them.
"Well I don't get it, either," Mike griped. "We're supposed to be playing chicks, and nobody's trying all that hard to make it look real." He sat in the corner on a stool as the hairdresser worked on the long blonde wig he was wearing, styling it so it showed just enough of his legendary sideburns while giving a firm enough base for the cone shaped princess hat balanced on top. Later the wig would be fastened to the finished hat draped with chiffon and sequins, but at present it was the muslin-covered prototype. Unlike the other two guys, from the neck down Mike's attire was a Triumph t-shirt, blue jeans, and boots, making the visual contrast was even more jarring than the dresses worn by Davy and Micky.
Bonnie was pacing furiously between the impatient men, waving a dog-eared spiral notebook.
"Oh good God someone please shoot me!" Still pacing she continued, "For the thousandth time, you're not playing chicks, you're playing GUYS dressed as chicks! If it looks real, you just look like ugly chicks! So no tits!"
Micky snickered as the wardrobe assistant carefully helped him out of the one-piece dress and pinafore. "She's just afraid they'll be bigger than hers." Distracted by escaping from his costume, he failed to notice that Bonnie was right behind him.
"Back at ya, Dolenz," she snapped, slapping him neatly on the back of the head.
"Yeah, well Milton Berle had tits," he grumbled, rubbing his head.
"When NBC offers you a thirty-year contract, then you can have tits. Not a minute sooner."
Suddenly the guys all turned toward Pam Saunders, sitting safely out of the action with tape recorder by her side. She was shaking with laughter.
"Off the record!" they shouted as one.
Not batting an eye, Peter led his disoriented guest into the room.
"So, Lulu," he said brightly and waved a hand to indicate the mayhem, "this is what I was telling you about."
"Why bother to swear you to secrecy," she muttered, "who the hell would believe this?" She pulled Bonnie's business card from her pocket and waved it in the air. "Jesus Christ, Siobhan, you sure this shouldn't say 'Ringmaster'?"
The chaos stopped as if by magic. "LUULUUU!" Bonnie shrieked and spun around, throwing her notebook in the air (narrowly missing Davy, who ducked just in time).
They danced a mad jig of reunion until they ran out of breath. "Okay, guys, this is Lulu."
"No kiddin'," Micky deadpanned as he pulled his Indian print shirt over his head. "How ya doin'. Like snake pits? You're gonna love it here."
"That's Micky. I really don't beat on him all the time," Bonnie promised.
He patted her shoulder as he walked by. "Only on days with a Y in them. Nice to meet you Lulu, Mike's told us you're a real badass on any kind of strings. We're lookin' forward to some jam time in the studio. Catch ya later, I think we're going out somewhere where there's tequila. Bring your spare liver." He waved over his shoulder as he left.
"David," Davy introduced himself, back to charming normal. "Welcome to our little magic shop. It's not much but we like to call it… Bedlam." He looked Lulu up and down for a moment. "And might I add what a pleasure it is to meet a girl who is shorter than me."
"Don't let the smile and the costume fool you, Lu," Bonnie cracked, "he's more wolf than Riding Hood."
Freed of his wig and cone-hat, Mike loped over and picked Lulu up off her feet exactly as he'd done when saying goodbye in New York a few weeks earlier. "Hey Pixie From Hell, what's happenin'."
"Hey Rock Star," she greeted in return, and drew back one dangling foot. "Put me down now, because I'm just in the right place to make you a soprano."
"Yes, Ma'am." He set her on her feet and went to gather his stuff as Genie and Pam approached, both beaming smiles of welcome.
"Genie Adams, I'm so glad to meet you. This is Pam Saunders…" before she could continue Lulu interrupted.
"You wrote that article about Paris. Good stuff, so much better than the usual fan-fawning crap."
Bonnie stood back in exaggerated astonishment. "Why Lulu Levine, I never suspected you were into the fan mags!"
"Hey, how else was I supposed to keep track of what you were up to?" Lulu protested.
"Trust me, the juiciest stuff is off the record," Pam assured her. "But now you can see it first hand for yourself."
"And then we'll have to kill you," Mike intoned as he headed for the door, shades in place and buckskin jacket on. "Hope you like Mexican," he told Lulu, "we're goin' to an outtasight little place for dinner tonight."
"Works for me," she told all of them.
"Great. Later, Morris." He leaned down to give her a kiss, then told the others, "Later, ladies. Try not to scare Bob too much if you run into him. On second thought... scare the crap out of him." He winked and left with Peter.
"Wow. And I thought the Village was a trip!" Lulu declared. The other three women laughed, already comfortable in her company. "Okay, then, Siobhan, I could use a shower and a beer. Why don't you take me home?"
"Oh dear me," Genie sighed and eyed Bonnie, not without sympathy. "This is where it gets a bit muddled…"