Downstairs

The Four Horsechicks of the Apocalypse (as they had earlier been dubbed by Micky) had decided that Genie and Pam would offer Lulu some moral support as she joined the rest of the guys for a pre-audition run-through jam at the Colgems studio. It being Sunday they'd have it all to themselves. And, to be honest, they all wanted to leave the "unveiling" for Bonnie to enjoy without a crowd, though they were all dying to see the finished product. Only Peter had seen it nearly finished, and all he'd give up was "Mike's discovered a gift for redefining groovy." Lulu, who didn't mind at all giving up the "guest room" to such a worthy cause, would crash at Genie's place with Pam for the night.

"Okay, we'll catch up tomorrow before the fairy tale taping," Pam was saying as she pulled up in front of Mike's place. Correction... Mike's and Bonnie's place. She'd barely put her rental car in "park" before Bonnie had the door open, dragging her duffel bag after her.

"Yeah, later," she called over her shoulder as she bounded up the front steps and burst through the unlocked door.

"Nesmith!" she hollered, dropping her stuff with a thud. "NES-MITH!"

He came loping downstairs in his stocking feet, looking at Bonnie and then at his watch. "Right on time."

Mike's casual smile belied the nerves jangling within. Even Peter's heartfelt reassurances couldn't quite put out the glimmer of doubt lurking in the back of his mind. It's not as if he had a lot of practice convincing a woman - any woman, let alone a grown, sensible one who had seen every rattling skeleton in his closet - that he was worth the risk of cohabitation. This was a shot in the dark, albeit painstakingly choreographed.

He barely reached the front hall when Bonnie blasted past him and galloped up the steps two at a time. It was killing him to stay put, but he'd sworn to himself he'd let her have her look around first, give her a few minutes to check it out without having to think of what to say or how to react. If he'd blown it, he'd know soon enough. If he'd scored, being there sooner wouldn't change that either.

The galloping stopped short, and he heard the click and tinkle of the beaded curtain he'd hung in the doorway (the door was still there, but he'd left it open and out of the way). He'd planned to count to one hundred, then go upstairs.

The sound of feet started up again, this time circling, pausing, circling, pausing, faster and faster until he thought she must be whirling like a dervish. Then the pogo-stick sound of her jumping up and down, then the thump of someone falling to the floor, on purpose. The silence afterward was abrupt, but it didn't worry him. He knew her well enough to know he hadn't blown it.

Upstairs I

Bonnie screeched to a halt and stared at the light glinting through the beads. Wow. Impressive. They'd hung her bedroom "door", every crystal bead and bell in place. Very impressive. But when she entered the room, her mind was irrevocably blown.

The colors, that was the first thing... a dancing rainbow of transparencies scattered around the room, some almost solid in their intensity, others fluttering like winged fairies. Where is it coming from... and that's when she looked up.

High on the wall, above the window overlooking the canyon, was a perfect replica of the New York Transit System's mosaic "Grand Central" subway sign. It differed, however, in two important respects: The word "Grand" was replaced by "Morris". And instead of the cracked antique cream, black, and brown ceramic tiles, this sign was fashioned of brightly colored squares of glass. Blue, red, green yellow, opalescent, and every combination thereof... all of them painstakingly joined by lead and enamel and mounted in a heavy oak frame that had been installed by Peter's glassmaker friend in the hole cut by a Monkees set crew member who moonlighted as a building contractor. And in the center of the ceiling, suspended by fishing line from a brass hook, was a delicate mobile of prisms cut in various sizes and shapes to catch and cast the window's colors throughout the room.

At this time of day the window caught the sun to its best advantage, and the gently drifting patches of color drew Bonnie to the walls and bookcases and carefully arranged furniture, mirrored fabrics throwing even more light and color into the air like bright confetti. She was completely unaware of how she was running around the edges of the room, staring at the photographs, stunned by the way they wove her past and present together as if it had always meant to fall together that way, removing all divisions and doubts. Old-life, new-life, how had she ever been so ridiculously rigid about it? It was all of a piece, as fluid and easy as the colored light that became more and more watery as the sun moved further west. Finally she stopped in front of the small photo of Benny. There was a time she would have burst into tears, when all it would have reminded her of was his absence. No. Lulu was right. He was here with her and with all the rest of it. Overcome by the whole thing, she backed to the center of the room and sat down with a thump, then lay down on her back as if she were going to make a snow angel.

No... light angels. Color angels. I must have been crazy to have waited this long.

Upstairs II

Mike slipped quietly between the beads and stood there for a moment, watching. Her eyes were wide open but he wasn't at all sure she saw him until she arched her neck a little, looking up at him from upside-down perspective.

"Whatcha lyin' there for?"

"I can see everything from here," she explained, as if he were dense, and patted the floor next to her. "C'mere and see."

He stretched out next to her on his back, wishing for just a minute he'd thought of putting stars on the ceiling. Nah. Way too acid-trippy.

"So." It was all he could think of to say that wouldn't sound pushy. He cut a sideways look at her. Was she crying? He didn't know whether that would be a good sign or a bad one, so when she turned her head toward him and he saw her eyes were wide as hubcaps, but dry, it was kind of a relief.

"Is that all you can say? 'So'?"

Mike turned on his side and raised up on an elbow. "Well I was kinda wondering what you had to say about it. How's it look to you?"

She exhaled a soft laugh, shook her head a little in disbelief. "It looks like... me. It's me, Nesmith. It's me, and you, and my life, and everything about me that makes me me." Facing upright and looking toward the window again, where the light was even more watery now, she added, "It's perfect."

It was Mike's turn to laugh. "Ha, then it can't be you, and it sure as hell can't be me."

She rolled to face him. "How? How did you know to do this?"

He shrugged. "Well your friends helped me figure it out..."

"Uh-uh, wrong. You started it, how did you know, that all of this together would be exactly who I am?" When he reached his hand to her face, she pressed her cheek against it.

"I dunno, baby. I just guessed, like when I went to New York to look for that tape. You know we always had that sorta hook into each other, I just ran with that and hoped I was right. I figured if I put enough of you here that wasn't here already, you'd have to come with it and stay."

She inched closer and ran a finger along one long sideburn, then trailed it up to smooth the "swoop", smiling as it sprang back into shape. "Sneaky bastard aren't ya."

"Well, y'know the secret of bagging a wild Mamadillo, is you gotta sneak up on her. Dangerous creature, in fact I think I almost lost a finger or two along the way." He sat up and counted all ten of his fingers. "Nope, still all here."

"Good." Bonnie sprang to her feet and took another look at the colors before the sunlight lost its perfect angle through the window, then looked down at Mike and promised, "And from now on, no more Mamadillo."

He got up and caught her in his arms, surprising her. "Now don't say that. I'd miss her something fierce." He pointed at the Morris Central window. "Y'see, everybody knows Morris pretty much. She's at work, she's at gigs, she's all over the place. But Mamadillo," he murmured, and when he raised her face she was lost in those deep eyes, "she's all mine. Besides, I kinda like that way you unwind and come rollin' over me in the middle of the night when I touch you the least little bit."

"Anyone ever tell you, you're kind of a freak?" she asked, smiling.

"Frequently." He turned a little, keeping one arm slung around her shoulders, and waved his hand around the room. "Okay then, as long as it's got the Mamadillo seal of approval... time to pay up."

"Huh?" Bonnie stepped back, eyes narrowing. "What did you have in mind that you don't get already?"

He held his arms out. "You gotta dance for it."

"No way. You know I hate to dance."

Now he was smiling, sliding closer, reaching for her. "I seem to remember a night in Paris..."

"That was different," she protested. "I wasn't myself. I'd been punched in the head by a French hooker and run ragged by Slave-driver Bob."

Now that he was sure he'd scored, and not blown it, Mike was not to be dissuaded.

"Look, you made me dance long enough just to get you here. Now it's your turn. Unless you'd just rather go back to bein' a cruel, evil minded, contrary-ass wench." He stood there, hands on his hips, glaring the best Dark Glare he could manage without shades.

She stood glaring back at him. "So I guess this is what you Texans call a Mexican standoff?"

"Si."

He was being so obstinate Bonnie actually began to feel a little guilty. "Oh, all right." She looked around for a minute, and saw rescue at hand. "So where's the sound system?"

"Gettin' it wired next week. But I got it covered. You forget I am a professional crooner. If you're lucky, I'll seduce you with my style." He tipped a gigolo's wink and reached for her.

Giving up (and really wanting to snuggle up with this long lean mental case) Bonnie stepped into Mike's arms. "Hit it," she told him, and smiled to herself as he quietly counted-in. He was leading her smoothly in a small circle when she recognized the song, his breathy voice in her ear and torchy phrasing making it sound like one of his own. But it wasn't, most definitely not.

Here... making each day of the year,
Changing my life with a wave of her hand
Nobody can deny that that there's something there

"The Beatles?" she exclaimed. "The most self-promoting Texas songwriter on either coast is gonna seduce me with the Beatles?"

He smiled and looked around the room, considering all that had gone into it and why, before answering in absolute honesty.

"Whatever works, baby, whatever works."