Clock in the Sky
Chapter Two
The Pad
Author's Note: Just to give you some sort of time frame, Audrey wakes up at about noon, an hour after she blacks out. I don't have anything else to say, so...read on!
Author's Note Part II (02/13/09): Fixed it up, blah, blah, blah. See the Author's Note Part II for chapter one.
I slowly faded into consciousness and opened my eyes blearily. Slowly, I realized I was in a bed that wasn't mine. It wasn't even my bed at the hotel in Malibu. I sat up and grabbed my head when it throbbed painfully. I tried to remember how I had gotten there. I had seen Davy Jones, of all people, and then I tripped...The rest was a blank. I sighed. It was probably just a dream, I thought. I mean, what are the odds? Coming face-to-face with Davy Jones, looking just as he had nearly forty –
My thoughts came to an abrupt halt as I finally got a good look at the room I was in. There were four beds, and two of them were against two of the three windows in the room. The windows were covered in colored beads. There was a record player on the dresser by the door, trapeze rings hung from the ceiling, and there was a figurehead of mermaid on the wall near my bed.
I was in the Monkees' bedroom.
"Oh my God," I muttered. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!" I scrambled out of what was, if I remembered correctly, Micky Dolenz's bed. The room spun, and I sat down on the floor abruptly. My heart was hammering and my head was pounding. This was impossible, wasn't it? I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Ow, I thought. Right, so I'm not dreaming. I stood up slowly and began pacing in the empty room, trying to figure out my situation, and trying to ignore my pounding headache. I'm either really here, or I'm on the set. It's not too likely that they kept the sets after the show ended, so I'm probably really here. Or I've gone insane. But, man! What a great way to go insane! I could meet the Monkees! Now convinced that I had gone insane (and taking it strangely well), I left the room.
I found myself on a balcony overlooking the lower level. I stared in awe at the Monkees' pad. On the bandstand were a bass guitar, a twelve-string, a six-string, a keyboard, and a drum set, complete with the Monkees logo. The large bay windows behind the drum set showed the real sun high in the sky, not a painted backdrop. A clock on the wall said it was nearly noon, and I wondered how long I'd been out. There was a jukebox standing against a wall, and a totem pole was sitting in a corner. In the middle of the room, there was a couch facing an old-fashioned TV set.
And, reading part of the newspaper at the kitchen table, was a man with dirty-blonde hair that covered his ears and was parted neatly on the left side. He wore a blue-and-white striped shirt and dark blue slacks. It was Peter Tork. I stared at him for a moment, and then started down the spiral staircase.
Peter looked up and put the newspaper down on the table when he saw me. "You're awake!"
"Yeah." I stopped at the bottom of the stairs for a moment and stared at the sign that read, 'In case of fire – run!' Then I slowly started for the table. "Listen," I said, putting a hand to my still-throbbing head, "do you have any uh, painkillers, or something?"
"Oh! Yes, we do." He pushed his chair back, smiling nervously. "You can, uh, have a seat, and – and I'll go get it."
Peter disappeared into what had been his and Davy's bedroom in the first season, and I sat next to the monkey at the table. I began to wonder how I was going to explain my behavior towards Davy. I decided it would be best to just play dumb. That, or play the amnesia card.
I looked around. On a long table sat the rubber gavel, and sitting behind the same table, was Mr. Schneider, the wooden dummy. I resisted the urge to go over there and pull his string. On the wall hung the embroidered sign, "Money is the root of all evil." The icebox wasn't multicolored, telling me that this was either during or after the first season. Out of curiosity, I pulled the comics, which Peter had been reading, toward me and looked at the date.
Tuesday, December 21, 1965. Damn. I had travelled back in time forty years, to some dimension where the Monkees really were an out-of-work rock band living in a Malibu beach house.
Peter returned with the painkillers and filled a glass with water from the sink. Then he returned to his seat and gave me the pills and water. "Thanks...uh..." I stared at him for a moment before he figured out that he hadn't yet introduced himself.
"Oh, I'm Peter," he said shyly, smiling. "What's your name?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it and sighed. Time to do some acting. "I don't know."
Peter looked very confused. "You don't know your name?"
"I...don't remember it. I can't remember much of anything. Why does my head hurt so much?"
Peter looked concerned. "Davy said you tried to run away from him, but you tripped and hit your head on a rock."
I winced. Smooth, Audrey, I thought, then asked, "Davy? Was he that short guy with the English accent?"
He nodded. "Yeah, that's Davy. What do you remember?"
I sat back in my chair. "Well, the first thing I remember is sitting on the beach. Then I started freaking out, 'cause I couldn't remember anything. And then Davy asked me if something was wrong, and I guess I just panicked."
"So you don't know where you live?" I shook my head. Peter seemed to contemplate something. "You could stay with us, I'm sure Mike won't mind."
I was taken aback. "Oh, no, I couldn't – "
"We have a spare bedroom. Besides, we can't just throw you out on the streets with nowhere to go! It's almost Christmas, after all."
I bit my lip nervously. "If you're sure it's no trouble..."
"Well, Mr. Babbit, our landlord, might try to raise our rent or something, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him." Peter smiled happily, his dimples showing. "When the guys get back from the store, you can meet them. And you'll need a name so I can introduce you right."
I thought for a moment. Deciding it would be best to go with my real name, I said, "What d'ya think of Audrey?"
He nodded. "It fits you."
Mike Nesmith, Micky Dolenz, and Davy Jones returned half an hour later, Micky carrying a grocery bag. Mike was the tallest, of course, and he wore his green wool hat. When Peter introduced me, he gave me a friendly nod and went to help Micky put away the groceries. Micky's hair was straight, and he shook my hand as enthusiastically as he could without dropping the grocery bag. Davy gave me a small wave, and I apologized for trying to run away from him earlier. After everyone had been introduced and the groceries had been put away, Peter and I explained my situation to the others.
"Can she stay, Mike?" Peter begged.
"I could get a job to help with the rent," I offered.
"Yeah, Mike," said Micky. "Rudy said the record shop was looking for help."
"It is Christmas, Mike," Davy reminded him.
"All right," Mike said finally. I sighed in relief. At least I wouldn't be spending Christmas on a park bench.
"Great!" Micky exclaimed. "I can take you down to the record shop later."
I suddenly realized that all I had to wear capris and the t-shirt I was wearing. It could pass, but it wasn't real sixties style. "Do you know any girls who could loan me some clothes?" I gestured at my outfit. "This is all I have."
"Melanie could," offered Davy.
"Melanie?" Micky smirked. "Is she your latest girl?"
Davy ignored him and went to call Melanie.
Author's Note: Hooray! How did it go? How did it go? How did it go? Hehehe. I'm a bit of an odd duck, aren't I? Seriously, though, let me know what you think!