Chapter 3- Writing Wrongs
"Mike?" Davy asked, knocking on the door. Without an answer, Davy slowly opened the door and poked his head in, finding Mike lying on his bed, away from the door. "Mike?" Davy asked again, shutting the door quietly behind him.
"What?" Mike asked from the bed, not bothering to turn towards the Englishman.
"I'm sorry, you know I am. I didn't mean to bring it up," Davy apologized. With Mike facing away from him, it made it easier to say, "That was a rough time and I shouldn't have brought it up. Especially with everything that is going on right now."
Davy heard a sigh from the bed. Mike finally sat up, but still did not face Davy. "I don't know why I'm still worryin'," Mike said, his head low so his wet hair hung in front of his face. He now dawned a white button down with a blue tie wrapped loosely around his neck. He wore red pants with white boots as well. Davy quietly moved to the bed and sat next to him as Mike continued. "I know we're gonna make it, I have seen what we're gonna become. I… I don't know why I'm still doubting myself, still wondering why we haven't made it yet."
"It's because the time hasn't come yet, Mike," Davy said heartfully. "We just have to wait. Old Peter showed me this video back in 2016, and it was about us, the Monkees," Davy smiled a bit when he said the name. "It talked about how Honeywell recommended us and that's how we made it."
"Really?" Mike asked.
"Really. So you just need to chill out and do what you do best. Write songs and babysit Micky, Peter, and I."
Mike finally smiled at that. "Thanks Tiny," He took a small pause before continuing. "I don't know why I still let that bother me. That time with Bernie Class, I mean. It was so long ago and we did get back at him in the end."
"It was a stupid move you don't want to admit to, I think," Davy admitted, "It hit so close to home that it almost ruined your music career."
"It didn't, though. I had you three to get me back upon my feet," Mike said.
"True, but do you realize how hard that was? Micky had to pretend to be a high-class movie producer to con that man into giving you your money back."
"And then some," Mike thought back to the memory of Micky pretending to be M.D, the 'famous' movie producer. "I can't thank you guys enough for that."
"It was all Micky's idea," Davy admitted.
Mike sighed again. "Yeah… I don't know where I'd be without you guys. I… I'm sorry I overreacted, Davy."
Davy shook his head. "You have no need to be sorry, Mike. I should have never mentioned it."
"I just hope we never have to deal with con men and being ripped off ever again," Mike mused. Davy turned away, remembering what else the video said. It said that they would be treated poorly by Pachyderm Records, their rights as musicians literally stripped away. He didn't know much about that, or how that was going to happen, but Davy tried to not let it bother him. It was a bridge they would face when they got there. For now, they had these trials to complete. One down, two to go.
"Mike! Davy!" They heard Peter yell from downstairs. "I found some instruments!"
Mike and Davy gave each other a surprised look before jumping off the bed and running downstairs. Once there, they found no Monkees, but rather an open door releasing the sounds of a bass and the beats of drums. They looked into the garage, finding Micky and Peter playing their respective instruments happily. Davy and Mike smiled at each other, hopping in and picking up their own respective instruments.
"Man, this girl's a beauty!" Mike mused, tuning the off-white electric guitar. "She sounds absolutely lovely!"
Micky and Peter both smiled at Davy, happy to see Mike out of his rut. Micky waved at Davy to come over, where he whispered, "What did you do to him?"
"Nothing," Davy whispered back. "Put a guitar in his hands and he is as good as gold."
"Did you even apologize?" Micky teased.
"Yes!" Davy defended. "And he apologized to me too… For reasons he really didn't need to, but he's good now."
Micky rolled his eyes with a grin on his face. "How about we play something on these things?" He announced. Peter and Mike both agreed and came closer to the drum set. "Anyone up for a little bit of 'She?' They all smiled and jumped right into it. They all had to admit, it was a bit sloppy, but with a little bit of rehearsing it would be a smash. However they all also approached this play as a play for fun rather than a gig. So they continued on, playing hits like 'Let's Dance On,' 'Hold On Girl,' '(I'm Not Your) Steppin' Stone,' 'Saturday's Child,' and 'Look Out (Here Comes Tomorrow).'
There was an all too familiar sounding knock on the garage's front door, spooking the four musicians. The rattling of metal was accompanied by an unfamiliar voice saying all too familiar words. "Will you four keep it down in there! I cannot possibly watch my programs with you all screaming and banging on those instruments of yours! Keep it down, you hear?!"
Mike quickly put his guitar across his back and ran over to the garage door, opening it to reveal a small, angry little man. He was quite possibly in his early seventies, but could also have been fifty. Mike couldn't tell. He could, however, see himself in the reflection of the little man's bald scalp. The man was almost shorter than Davy. Almost.
"I'm sorry sir, we didn't mean to disturb you," Mike said to him.
"Sorry? Sorry!" The little man yelled. "Michael Nesmith, you've been living here for two years! You should know by now that I'm in my house watching my programs at exactly noon and four-thirty! I have told you time and time again not to play while my programs are on!"
Micky hopped out from behind his drums. "We're really sorry! We had a little too much to drink last night and forgot when your programs were on. It won't happen again, we promise! Right fellas?" All the Monkees quickly agreed.
The little old man squinted his eyes in doubt. However, he turned on his heel and walked away. The Monkees watched as he left their yard and walked right into the house on their right. Micky walked out a little ways into their own yard to try and see the old man's name on the mailbox. When he did, he ran back into the garage, pulling the door closed when he was safely in. "That's Mr. Green. Mrs. Gray mentioned him earlier when I was over there."
"What'd she say?" Mike asked.
"She said something about him moving here with his wife. I don't entirely remember, but he's obviously not a force to be reckoned with," Micky walked over and pulled the sheet back over the drum set. "This garage is really musty, though. Could use with a little cleaning up."
"So could I," Davy mumbled. "I'm going to head up for my turn, if that's alright."
"Go right on ahead," Mike said, motioning towards the door back into the house. Davy disappeared into the house as the others began cleaning up the garage. When Davy came back dawning their classic red eight-button shirt with black pants and white boots, Micky disappeared to finally have his turn in the shower. When the garage was tidied up, the three remaining Monkees ventured back into the living room, where Davy picked up his book and began picking through it, trying to find any clues as to how they were going to "be the change" as the gypsy had put it.
"Do you think she's going to show up during this trial?" Peter asked as he and Mike played Go Fish at coffee table.
"I don't know," Davy said. "But I'm thinking maybe one of our crazy neighbors are the key to getting us out of here."
"What does that mean?" Mike asked, pulling from the draw pile.
"Well, Ghost Me said that someone has to open the portal for us, just like he did. So maybe one of our neighbors knows what's going on and will open the portal for us once we do whatever they want us to do."
"Yeah, but Ghost Davy didn't show up till the very end of the trial when we were basically finished with the trial," Mike pointed out. "What makes you think that the person who is going to open the portal is already here?"
"I don't know," Davy admitted. "I just have a feeling." He turned back to his book, but not before checking his watch. "It's almost one, should we maybe go out and socialize with our neighbors? Figure out who's going to take us to the next trial?"
"We should probably wait for Micky," Peter said, drawing a card from the draw pile.
As if on queue, they all heard something fall down the stairs, followed by a quick, "I'm okay!" They all turned to see Micky at the foot of the stairs, halfway inside a striped turtleneck.
"What's that?!" Davy asked, cringing at the turtleneck.
"A sweater! I just can't seem to get it on all the way," Micky admitted shyly. Mike rolled his eyes, walking over and pulling the shirt the rest of the way down. He then helped Micky stand up, casually dusting the drummer off as he did so.
"That's the ugliest sweater I've ever seen!" Davy pointed out.
"Would you like me to change, Rob Roy Fingerhead?" Micky sneered.
"Hey!" Mike scolded him. "We agreed never to bring him up again."
"Sorry Mike," Micky apologized. Ever since the catastrophe with Chic Magazine, they all agreed to never speak of the notorious 'Rob Roy Fingerhead,' due to their mutual hatred for them and the way he ruined their reputation.
"But he's right, you do need to change, or at least cover that thing up," Mike said, pointing to the turtleneck.
Micky rolled his eyes and began his trek back upstairs. However, before he could reach the top, he felt something snag him, pulling him down. Then there was momentary darkness as something covered his eyes. There was a concerning rip before seeing that he was now wearing a poncho.
"There we go! He doesn't have to try and get out of that monstrosity and it is covered up well by our dining room table cloth."
"A table cloth right out of Davy Jones's house," Peter laughed.
"It does suit you, Mick," Mike chuckled as well.
Micky looked down at the extravagantly hip man-made poncho, playing around with the frayed edges around his neck. He had to admit, it didn't look too bad. "We'll have to find someone to sew up the collar, though."
"It's a work in progress," Davy laughed, helping him take it off. "We can see if any of the neighbors are willing to fix it."
Micky hopped off the stairs and took the table cloth. "Did you really take this off our dining room table?" He played with the hole where he head used to be.
"Yeah… I kind of did it on impulse," Davy confessed. "We'll have that hole sewn up in no time and the cloth returned to its rightful spot on-"
"No, no, I like it. It just needs a collar. See if anyone will put a collar on it and I'll be good to go. However, I'll still need help getting out of this turtleneck." Mike waved for him to come closer. Micky did so and Mike grabbed his sleeves and began to pull. Micky bent down to help slip the shirt off. After a few attempts and pulling and tugging, the shirt came off and Mike handed it back to Micky.
"If you're gonna keep wearing turtlenecks, you may want to get a bigger size," Mike joked as Micky began going back upstairs, shirt in hand.
"Duly noted, Mike," Micky replied, disappearing back upstairs. When they heard the bedroom door shut, a new knock welcomed their ears. This time, it was the front door.