Genie, Bonnie, and Pam shared a cab back to the hotel after the location was broken down and packed up, and the various contractors, extras, and rentals accounted for. Bonnie's briefcase was jammed with invoices and detailed manifests of what and who had been used for the day, all of which she'd sort out with the rest of the week's paperwork and pass on to accounting once they returned home. Genie catalogued all of the costumes, sorting out which belonged to Raybert/Colgems and which to the local wardrobe houses. She personally packed two special wardrobe bags and put them in a cab for delivery to her room at the hotel, noted "personal and private".
With Pam's assistance Genie and Bonnie had passed out dozens of invitations to the wrap party to be held at nine pm at the hotel. As soon as Bob called "cut, that's a wrap!" the guys had returned to the hotel to crash, and the models had made their own way to wherever they wanted to go. Bob and Chip were busy with the camera crew, overseeing the packing and shipping of the film. Every day's shooting had been shipped, day-by-day, back to L.A. to be edited and mixed with the soundtrack at the studio.
They were done, finis, complete. Genie and Bonnie slumped in the cab, weak with a combination of relief and exhaustion. Weakness would rapidly be replaced by a second wind born of the realization that they had survived the week with two days to spare. Pam had her tape machine balanced in her lap, headphones on, replaying that day's interview segments. If her two companions were pleased by what they had accomplished, Pam herself was mind-blown to realize she'd soon have something she never imagined she could get… an intelligent, interesting article about the Monkees series and the people that made it happen.
When the three women emerged from the cab, the doorman tipped his cap and swept a bow in greeting.
"Mes damoiselles, felicitations et bienvenue!"
They put on elegant airs as they passed, then burst out laughing.
"I'm going to get a shower and catch a nap before the party tonight," Pam announced.
Genie followed close on Pam's heels. "Right behind you, see you tonight Bonnie. No work, just fun!"
"Deal." Bonnie noticed they seemed to be in a rush to get to the elevator, but shrugged it off and went to the desk. "Bonjour Philippe… messages?"
"Un télégramme." He handed her the envelope and added with a straight face, "Voudriez vous avoir des café? Pour la sécurité de Monsieur Nesmith?"
Bonnie leaned across the desk and intoned, "Le ha, le ha, le ha, Philippe," then she asked, "Avez vous lui vu? Savez-vous où il est allé?"
"Non, je n'sais pas," came the quick reply, and Philippe hustled to the other end of the desk to do some imaginary paperwork.
"Bien, merci." Not ready to go to her room, she sat in a chair by the lobby window to watch the world go by. What a week… an idea that nobody – not even Bob – was completely sure would work had come together pretty well. Now it was all over but the editing… and the ratings. They'd all managed to get through it without killing one another. Even Kirshner had managed to keep out of the way of the work, though who knew whether it was out of a sense of self-preservation or the belief he was above it all. Chip had confided to her more than once that Bob was, for now, happy to let him and not Kirshner have the lion's share of the influence in sketching out which songs would be used. That could change to a free-for-all once they got home, but for now it all seemed to be in balance.
"So, it look okay?" Mike asked as he came out of Genie and Pam's bathroom.
All business, Genie directed, "Turn around… okay, profile. Nice." She bent to make a last minute inspection of an inseam.
"Lady if you do that just one more time, you're gonna have to propose," he warned.
No response as Genie stood back, walked around him in a slow circle, then pronounced with more than a hint of pride, "Smashing." She stepped back and asked Pam, "And what is the opinion of the press?"
Pam looked absolutely dream-struck. "I don't think the vocabulary has been invented yet."
Mike walked around the room, stretched this way and that. "Damn, it even feels good. Can you do this in denim?"
"Very funny. Back in the box with it until tomorrow," Genie ordered.
"Yes ma'am." He saluted and retreated again to the bathroom.
"What about Bonnie?" Pam wanted to know. "How are you gonna check that without ruining everything?"
Genie laughed. "No worries there, she tried it on once in my studio." She held out her hand for Pam to shake. "I think this will be a rousing success."
"Yeah, well I sure hope so," Mike said as he came back in the room, and handed the large flat box to Genie. "This is turning out to be a lot more than I was thinking of... she might think I'm putting her on."
"Tell you what, boyo," she responded, "if she says no, I'll be happy to stand in for her."
"No offense, but you're not my type," Mike laughed, "I like 'em contrary. Birds of a feather and all that."
Pam checked the hallway outside. "Coast is clear. "
"See you ladies tonight." He checked the hallway himself, and before scooting off told them, "Thanks. This is gonna be the wildest thing I've done with my clothes on in a long time."
After he was gone, Pam turned to Genie with a smile. "I know, I know, off the record!"
After twenty minutes or so of mind-wandering and idle contemplation, Bonnie remembered the telegram in her hand. It was from Colgems main office. "Oh crap," she muttered under her breath, thinking something had to be wrong for the Powers That Be to be contacting them just days before their return to the States. Both hers and Bob's names were on it, which was unusual but not unheard of, so she opened it. She read it, leapt up from her chair, read it again, then let out a whoop so loud that half the lobby staff rushed out to see what was wrong.
She waved off the bewildered bellhops and doormen, "Non, non, c'est rien, pardon, je suis désolé…" Then she tore off for the elevator, which didn't come fast enough for her, so instead she took the stairs two at a time. All four flights to the second floor, and by the time she got to the door of the guys' suite all she could do was slap it once weakly, then lean against it to struggle for breath. She could tell someone was inside: Micky was laughing; someone (probably Peter) was tuning a banjo. Still unable to speak, she threw the door open and stumbled in, waving the telegram in the air like a flag.
"Don't they knock where you come from?" Micky asked. He'd been slouched on the sofa half asleep. Davy and Mike were looking over some music charts at the table. Peter was sitting in one of the elegant armchairs stringing his new Gibson banjo, stark naked. He strategically repositioned the banjo head.
"Madam, have you no sense of decency?" he gasped, eyes wide.
Having recovered her breath and her voice, Bonnie shot back, "Relax, you got nothin' I haven't seen before. Wow, nice instrument, Pete."
Three mouths began to open for comment, but she headed them off. "I mean the banjo you perverts." But she turned her back as Peter went to his room to grab a pair of sweatpants.
"So, did you finally win the sweeps?" Davy asked, standing and gesturing at the telegram. "Givin' your notice, are ya?"
She shook her head wildly. "Not a chance. PETE!" she yelled, "Get out here, I need to tell all of you!"
"Yup," Mike drawled, deadpan, "had it up to here with Bob and found a gig with some French filmmaker."
"Okay, okay, here I am," Peter announced. "Don't know why I bothered, since I got nothing to hide anymore. So what's this about?"
Bonnie held up the telegram as if they could all read the tiny print from where they were standing. "Emmy."
"Emmy? Who the hell is Emmy?" Mike demanded. "Jesus Morris, you bust in here with your pants on fire with a fan letter?"
Shooting Nesmith an evil look, she turned the telegram in her hands and read:
"From Colgems Productions- To Bob Rafelson and location crew - Congrats – stop – Monkees Emmy nominated for best comedy series – stop – ceremony on June 4 – stop - will contact you on return-stop."
Silence from all four listeners.
"I am speaking English, right?" Bonnie asked, incredulous at the lack of reaction. "We, that is to say, you, I mean the MONKEES, the show, it's nominated for an EMMY for best comedy series! Cram that up your tailpipe, Variety!" Variety Magazine had been none too impressed at the show's premiere a year ago, calling it "good natured pap for the teen market."
Now the four others were exchanging looks of disbelief that segued into smiles, that slid into gales of laughter, jumping shouting, and variations on "holy shit!"
"Gentlemen," Bonnie intoned and made a large sign of the cross in the air, "you are hereby declared legit!" Then she let out a howl that would have done a rabid wolf proud, and the guys busted loose again.
When the backslapping subsided Micky laid a hand over his heart told Bonnie in a Little Orphan Annie voice, "Finally, you can be proud of working with us."
Bonnie took a step toward him, hand raised, and he ducked as usual. But instead of smacking him she buried one hand in his thick hair and pulled forward, and planted a kiss on his forehead. Then she let him go and stepped back and looked at all of them.
"I have always been proud of working with you," she told them, her voice suddenly quavering. "Don't you ever dare say that again."
"We know, luv," Davy told her. "And likewise. May not always seem that way, but it is. We all fell in this together."
"So… what'd King Bob have to say?" Mike wanted to know.
"Oh shit… Bob…" Bonnie ran to the phone and called his room. "Bob? Hey, got a telegram here from Colgems, the show's nominated for an Emmy for best comedy. Yeah, I just got it down at the desk. I'm in the suite with the guys, they're pretty wild about it." Silence for a moment, then, "Because they deserved to hear it first, that's why! Because it doesn't matter how brilliant your ideas are if there's nobody to play them out, and that's what they do! Don't raise your voice to me, dammit, those were your words, that little lecture on keeping on top of things, the day you hired me, remember? When you told me if I thought I was gonna be a secretary I could leave right then and there? Yeah. I'm glad I didn't too. You're right, I am goddamn good at juggling your shit and herding crazy actors. Thanks. I'll give you the telegram before the party so you can read it as if you got it first. Yeah, why not, we'll turn it into a combo wrap and Emmy nomination celebration tonight, I'll talk to the manager." A pause, and Bonnie looked at the guys with raised eyebrows. "You'll talk to the manager? What, am I fired? Oh. Okay. But please don't screw it up, okay? And don't take advice from your valet. Kiss your what? Same to you! Later."
"Well that sounded like it went well," Peter observed.
"We've developed a style, I guess. He gets pissed off, I get pissed off, we both get pissed off… then we just get on with it." She shrugged. "It seems to work okay."
"I guess so," Micky pointed at the telegram. "You're letting him make the announcement?"
"Sure, why not. You will keep your collective mouths shut before tonight, outside-of-these-four-walls wise, right?"
Peter smiled slyly. "Well that all depends what you offer in return."
She looked thoughtful for a minute, then said, "How about I don't tell the press you tune your banjo naked because it makes the resonance more pure?"
"That's bullshit," he laughed.
She shrugged, smiled, and advised, "Well you know it, and I know it, but the fans…?"
"Deal."
Peter followed her out the door as she left. "Hang on a minute… what you said about telling us first. Thanks. It means a lot."
"I know… means a lot to me, too. Good times, right? See you at the party." She was surprised when he smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips.
"Good friends," he told her, "they mean even more. See ya later. We have some surprises planned."
When she asked "Do they involve naked banjo playing?" he made a face and slammed the door.
"Hey, just asking'!" she shouted through the door, and then strolled to Bob's suite to give him the telegram. Before knocking on Bob's door, she kissed the yellow piece of paper.
"Legit," she whispered fiercely. "Nobody can take this one away."
The bonus French lesson for this chapter:
"Mes damoiselles, felicitations et bienvenue!" – "Ladies, congratulations and welcome!"
"Un télégramme." - "A telegram."
"Voudriez vous avoir des café? Pour la sécurité de Monsieur Nesmith?" – "Would you like some coffee? For Mr. Nesmith's safety?"
"…Avez vous lui vu? Savez-vous où il est allé?" – "Have you seen him? Do you know where he's gone?"
"Non, je n'sais pas," - "No, I don't know."
"Non, non, c'est rien, pardon, je suis désolé…" – "No, no, it's nothing, I'm sorry…"