"Let me see if I got this straight… we're going to Paris to do the same shit we do on the set… run around in circles. Except with no story, and no lines." Mike was not pleased, but that was no surprise. The others weren't exactly wild about the idea, either.
Bonnie looked at her outlines and schedules, trying to figure out how to put a better face on it. It was hard, considering she agreed with the guys. At least she did when she had to face them, whereas the day before she'd been almost in agreement with Bob... almost. What sounded potentially not so bad in the production meeting suddenly seemed nine kinds of lame when she had to sell it to the four who'd have to be doing all the running in circles for a fake vacation running from fake fan mobs, and fake sightseeing with fake dates.
"Look," she appealed, "you're gonna get paid to sightsee. You're flying first class, staying at a first class hotel, and you're getting paid to do it. The people who chase you will be paid extras, so you don't have to run any faster than you want to because if you get caught we'll just yell 'cut'. And no lines to run or rehearse. The writers are gonna work up a scenario, but it'll be all improv once we hit the locations."
"Sightsee?" Davy griped, "Nice try, but we know what sights we'll bloody see… cameras and Bob. Like bloody always."
"Guys, please…"
"Well maybe we can politely 'opt out', you can do some location filming and then come back and work us in," Peter suggested. "Y'know, treat it like one of those separate deals, like a network special." The others nodded.
She knew what he meant. "Peter, this isn't a movie, or a special, it's a regularly scheduled episode, just a different location. Part of your basic contract. You can't opt out, it's written in stone, regular season." Looking at the four unsmiling faces she became impatient. "Jesus, guys, you'd think you were being dragged to work in the salt mines in India! It's ten days in Paris, and you know you won't be shooting round the clock! When Chip and Bob and tech and Genie and me are working on locations and scheduling and costume plans day by day, you can do what you like. For fucksake…" she trailed off, looking down at her papers again.
Silent until now, Micky spoke up. "Wow, Bonnie's getting a nasty mouth. She must mean business."
She stared at him and her voice took on an edge.
"Y'know, Mick, any time you want out it'll only cost you the balance of the contract you stood in line to sign. Same goes for all of you."
Having spent the past three days working nonstop on transatlantic contracts, hotel and flight bookings, and disentangling them all from Bob's stupid arrangements with Madame Duvalier, Bonnie was sleep deprived and had no patience left to placate any whining. She continued testily, "Bob wanted to keep all this on paper, just give you the memos, but I said 'nah, that's pretty lame. They deserve a face-to-face description of what's gonna happen.' Maybe I was wrong. You're obviously not getting anything out of this and you can bet your offended-artist asses neither am I. Have your passports on my desk by tomorrow morning at ten. If you need a new one or they're up for renewal, tell me by the end of the day today. We leave Thursday morning, so make whatever arrangements you need to for your houses and pets and various female companions. Oh, and I forgot to add, that part of this shoot will be pairing you off with girls for what Bob's calling 'social stuff'. The general chase is going to narrow down to four girls."
Now Davy perked up. "Where you going to find them?"
"I've set up a meeting with a modeling agency the day we arrive."
"Do we get to pick 'em?" Micky asked with more enthusiasm than he'd shown for anything in the past week.
"You must think I'm high," Bonnie responded in a flat voice. Mike, who had been sitting silent as a tomb and just as stony, barked a short laugh.
"Well I am not high," she continued, "though God knows you have me wishing I were. Genie and I are gonna interview and pick the models, to match with you looks-and-style-wise." When she paused and ran a weary hand over her eyes, Davy, Micky and Peter exchanged (almost) guilty looks. "Look. I'm trying really hard to make this as easy as possible for everyone. Seriously, if you will just lighten up it might even be a little fun. I'm gonna try really hard to make that happen, too."
"Better not tell Bob about that," Peter cracked.
"Yeah, well… good point." She looked all of them in the eye, one by one. "Like the song says, I ain't too proud to beg… and I'm begging you not to make this any harder than it has to be, okay? You know I always do whatever I can for you, and like Nesmith said, you'll be doing pretty much the same shit you do on the set. But you'll be staying at a high class hotel and not being mauled, not memorizing nonsensical lines, and not pretending to play gigs for the camera."
"Which begs the question… no dialogue, then what's the sound track?" Mike asked.
Oh crap.She was hoping to avoid the topic until later. "What else… Monkees music. Stuff that hasn't hit the singles charts yet."
"Lemme guess," Mike faux-mused, turning up the drawl like he always did when he was about to be sarcastic, "while you're here dodging our slings and arrows, Bob and Donnie boy are meeting to pick out the songs, and if we're lucky we'll find out what they are in time to lay down the vocal tracks before the show hits the air."
As she took in his challenging expression, Bonnie realized that her newly-intimate relationship with Nesmith came with an unexpected bonus: she was no longer the least bit intimidated by his attitude.
"Right, and wrong. Yeah they're meeting. But Chip's there too, and he knows who's had more input on which songs that haven't charted yet, and so do I. So I also know what to push and what to lean back from, and Chip and I have already agreed to work the songs with the scenarios, so the writers are in on it too. And before anybody laughs, let me tell you without going into detail, I helped pull Bob's nuts out of the fire this week. Which means that at the moment anyway he likes me more than he likes Kirshner. If we handle it right, he'll listen."
Micky sat back from the table and smiled. "And who knows better how to handle Bob than the one person that stands between him and hard work?"
"Uh-uh, not like that," Bonnie warned. "He's my boss, too, and if I push too hard he will remind me of it just like he reminds you guys."
Mike smiled knowingly. "But crafty persuasion… that you're pretty good at."
She smiled a little bit smugly. "I have my moments. Okay, now do any of you speak French?" Four matching headshakes negative, though Mike volunteered, "Yo hablo Español."
"Find me a Texan who doesn't speak Spanish," Micky muttered.
"I heard that, Circus Boy."
"Anyway," Bonnie interrupted, "Genie and I will try to find some girls qui parlent Anglais, that is, they'll speak English. Just remember they're models, not fans." She laughed to herself.
"What?" Davy wanted to know.
"Well… Bob would kill me if I told you this, but the first 'agency' he contacted, I mean that his driver contacted, was actually a, well, kind of a take-out whorehouse. 'Madame' meaning madam."
Micky and Peter were aghast.
"You mean you shut down his deal for French hookers so you could hire models?" Micky gaped. "I don't think I like you at all any more."
Bonnie collected her stuff and got up from the table. "You just got another royalty check, hire your own hookers." She shook her head and laughed. "Bright boy, Dolenz. You expect us to pay for what you get for free anytime you want."
"Oh, well, yeah but they're amateurs," he sniffed.
"Maybe yours are," Davy snickered.
"Much as I'd love to hear you compare bullshit - I mean notes - we're done here. Passports, my desk, by tomorrow morning at ten," she reminded them and headed off to her office.
She was just in the office door when Mike caught up with her. "Somebody needs a little sugar."
"Yeah well I got none left, cowboy." They hadn't seen each other off the set for nearly a week, and precious little at work. The truth was she was in desperate need of that strange, magic space that grew around them whenever they were alone together.
He stepped in after her and pulled her back. "I was talkin' about you."
She turned to look at him with a sigh. "There's not enough sugar in the world to help right now."
"Well give a guy a chance, will ya?" He leaned down and kissed her once, then again, and a third time on top of her head, then stood looking down at her with eyebrows raised. She managed a weak smile.
"Guess you're wondering why I didn't lighten up back there?" he asked.
She went to sit at her desk and pulled out the file with the airline tickets and itineraries, then looked up at him and offered a slightly distracted smile.
"Please Nesmith, gimme some credit, will you? We're still the same people we were before we stumbled into each other. I for one intend to do my job exactly the same way as before, which includes expecting a hard time from you, also for the same reasons as before."
He shut the door behind him with a suggestive smile.
"Actually, it's because that look you get when you're ready to blow is a real turn-on." It was a way to apologize without getting bogged down in I-said-but-I-meant on both sides. Rewarded by the thump of her forehead as she dropped it forward onto the desk, he added, "Oh, yeah, and that other thing too."
Bonnie sat up and pointed to the door. "I have so much shit to get done by Thursday. Get out of my office or I'll call security."
Mike spotted the advertising brochure from the French modeling agency peeking out of a pile of papers on Bonnie's desk. He pulled it out and tossed it on top of the pile, then winked as he opened the door to leave.
"Make sure you pick me a tall one, Morris, I'm getting a crick in my neck from having to bend down all the time."
As he went out the door Bonnie advised, "You are absolutely not getting laid this week, Nesmith."
The door opened again, and Mike leaned in. "Not for free, anyway." The door slammed again.
She reached for the phone to call the Paris hotel to give them more details on the rooms and the required service, including a ban on all press unless scheduled by her or Monsieur Rafelson. Something told her that in their off time, the guys were not gonna be sitting in their suite playing bridge.
"Sacre merde," she muttered under her breath and stared toward the ceiling, "Me redonner force... je vais l'en avoir besoin."
"Sacre merde... Me redonner force, je vais l'en avoir besoin." - "Holy shit... give me strength, I'm gonna need it."