A/N: Sorry for making you wait for too long time. But here it is - the next chapter, if anybody's still waiting ^) Enjoy!
Chapter 3. Thursday morning and noon. What Comrade brings in his pockets.
Davy woke up to Mike's heartbeat. It was slow and even. It was calm. Not opening his eyes, Davy moved a little closer to Mike, hiding his face on his man's chest to keep this idyll from the morning that was already knocking at his eyelids.
But the sun had its own plans. Davy felt its long hot kiss on his shoulder and sniffed, covering himself with the still cool thin sheet. But the sun splashed out on him and the usually black screen of his eyelids became red.
Davy smiled, not opening his eyes. His man was breathing deeply and evenly. He was asleep a breath away from Davy. Nothing bothered him. Maybe the sun didn't want to wake him up yet.
Davy opened his eyes and looked up at Mike's face. Anyway he had to wake up, the sun wouldn't let him rest in bed. But he wanted to wake up to love as he fell asleep to love. He slid his hand up his man's chest, covered with fuzzy curly mist, up his naked neck and caressed his cheek. It felt a little scratchy already with what Davy secretly called 'beginning of the hair'. Davy laughed quietly.
Mike's face was beautiful. It looked yet untouched by any kind of worry. It was so gorgeous – and yet so imperfect and alive. He wasn't a marble statue, he was flesh and blood, and oh! such hot blood. Davy stroked Mike's cheek lightly. The man smiled in his sleep.
Davy sat up on the bed and yawned. He didn't want to wake Mike up – the man was sleeping so peacefully and Davy wanted him to feel good at last. So he just got up and jumped into his trousers and headed towards the door, ready to open it, to greet Micky and Peter – who were surely awake – and go wash his face and love the newborn morning.
But he stopped suddenly as he heard Micky's and Peter's voices talking quietly and… Davy couldn't even tell how. One thing he knew for sure was that it wasn't their usual way of talking in the morning.
A sudden worry stung Davy's heart. He pressed the doorknob slowly not to be heard and opened the door just a little, so they don't hear… he froze close to the door and almost stopped breathing, listening carefully…
- Maybe you should just tell them if this bothers you so much?
- And what do you think I should even say, Pete?
Micky sounded annoyed. Peter didn't seem to find a good answer so Micky's voice went on:
- Really, how are you gonna tell them? 'Hey, guys, you know, we are tired of it all, please stop or get out of here?'
- Of course not… - Davy could almost see Peter look down and run his fingers through his own light hair.
- No, saying it straightforwardly is not the way… - Micky said thoughtfully. Davy heard his steps – he was walking up and down the room. – Not a good way to make them understand…
- I'm telling you, maybe the problem is in us? – Peter said with a sigh. He had probably repeated this for a thousand times already. – I think that we – you first of all – have to be calmer about them. What have they actually done to us? Nothing. We should help them, Mick. Not make them worry even more – I bet they aren't easy about this all even now…
Micky sighed – but he sounded more annoyed than understanding.
- I just think that I'm already allergic to it… all. All their… kisses, hugs. Looks… even. I don't know why. In fact, what was wrong? Everything worked so well – Davy with girls, Mike with music… and we with them. No, then we weren't 'we with them'. Then it was just – we. Us. And now we're divided into 'us' and 'them' and… and it's difficult to live with them.
- Maybe it's difficult because you separate us? – Peter said softly. – Divide us into you and me and Davy and Mike… we're all together, Mick, nothing has changed.
- I tried my best to live with… it, - Micky stopped walking at last. – I can't help it. Because it can't be another way. They changed.
- They didn't.
Micky sighed.
- I don't know, Pete. Something is wrong. Not… like before.
- Of course something is! – a smile sounded in Peter's voice. – Because they're together now. But it doesn't mean that they're different than they were. Neither does it mean that they're, like, enough for one another. We all need each other still. As before.
Davy didn't want to listen any more. He straightened, about to open the door – and his bare back touched something warm. He turned back immediately, in surprise – and Mike looked at him. Something painfully green flashed in his eyes.
Davy sniffed. He said nothing – there was nothing to say. He looked Mike in the eye and swallowed – maybe that lump in his throat was the unsaid words, or maybe – that disgusting feeling that rose from the bottom of his heart and which he locked there. He didn't know. He looked down quickly, ready to go, no – run! – away, but Mike caught his arm.
Davy turned to him quickly and whispered through gritted teeth:
- I only beg you, don't say anything to them. If you don't wanna make a catastrophe out of this, for me, just – don't. Everything is as usual, you understand? You haven't heard a thing!
And he turned away, pushed the door and went down the stairs confidently.
- Good morning, guys, - Davy almost announced, failing at any pretending that everything was as usual.
They turned their heads and looked at him. Two pairs of eyes.
- Eh… good morning, Davy…
Micky's voice was strange and squeaking. Peter looked down – he couldn't hide his blush of embarrassment. They got caught. They looked like two schoolboys caught doing something forbidden by adults. A disgusting feeling filled Davy's throat. The feeling of a little boy whose company has secrets from him. He knew that feeling from childhood – and he'd hated it since he was a kid. He sniffed and went to the bathroom, straight and proud.
- Now that's not what I wanted, - the man said quietly, opening his eyes.
He was sitting in the comfortable armchair face to the wall. He would call it paper, looking down on it from the height of the power he had. This was now the only thing that separated him from a boy he was thinking about – and whose life he was changing with only a thought. Actually, it wasn't truly and completely separating the man, it was just hiding him from the eyes of others. It was a cover which made people's ephemeral safety that was nothing but another illusion. They thought the rooms were the boxes where they could keep their secrets safely – but they were mistaken. All mistaken…
The man sighed. He needed to concentrate. He needed to control his thoughts.
Where's your professionalism, Mstislav? Oh God… Davy. Concentrate on Davy. Now forget, my boy. No, not everything. Let's make your memories become transparent like the watercolour. Like aquarelle. Now, Micky… Micky, you should calm down… everything should be as usual. Mike, it's not important. It's not important. Peter…
The water was cold and it didn't care for anything. It ran in some fierce joy out of the tap and splashed little drops right into his face. And it managed to calm Davy down a bit. It washed the disgusting feeling off his eyes, off his mouth as he cleaned his teeth and finally he felt clear. The water cleaned him and he went out of the bathroom with a slight smile on his face. He didn't want even to remember all the words the guys had said. In fact, the words felt like they were washed away, they only left an unpleasant aftertaste. Davy didn't want to think about it.
They must have been talking while Davy was in the bathroom. When Davy came out, Mike's eyes smiled at him and his man said:
- Oh, Davy, I was just about to say – now that we have money, we simply have to go celebrate! Man, I don't think we've ever had so much!
- Now that we're rich we have to pay our rent first, - Davy said with a slight smile. – I know we're all so happy we want to jump up to the ceiling, but… we have to get rid of all our problems to feel good.
- Done! - Micky made a little triumphant dance. He was unexpectedly Micky again. – Done, done, done!
- We've already paid, - Peter explained. He was shining brighter than usual. – Mike has taken care of everything. Oh, if you only saw the landlord's face!
- Yeah, I think now he'll do anything to please us! – Mike said with a short delighted laugh. – And – can you imagine – we are still rich!
Davy laughed. The day with an awful beginning suddenly became much better. Was it a gift for them or what? Anyway it was a new colour line of their striped life – or maybe it was closer to plaid or tartan pattern. He skipped to the table and looked at everybody with a shining smile.
- So how are we gonna celebrate?
- Any suggestions? – Micky asked, making a 'pretty face'.
- I'll go wherever you guys lead me, - Mike said with a soft smile. – Just promise me we won't be flat broke by evening.
- I know what to do to avoid this, - Davy put a hand on his shoulder, - so don't worry. Each one of us will have his equal part – just enough to get himself a little gift he wished to be given. What do you think?
- Excellent! – Micky jumped on his feet. – I'm ready. Just give me my part.
Peter laughed childishly.
Davy was the last to leave the pad. He smiled at the bright skies. 'If you love Thursday, she's gonna break your heart' – he suddenly remembered. Well, this Thursday surely wasn't about to break his heart! Davy left the backyard and headed along the street, whistling and smiling at the passersby.
They decided to go each one for his little dream and then meet at the restaurant and have a good dinner – because their breakfast was nothing special, as usual.
Davy knew what he wanted – he had found a shirt quite a while ago, it fit him perfectly and it was still waiting for him – he didn't even know why nobody wanted to buy it as it was so gorgeous.
Davy surely was the one who cared about his looks!
Plus a record of his favourite singer – he found it at old Mr Thompson's shop where nobody went and it was a real gem. He'd probably meet Lettie – Davy adored Lettie. That boy of age about thirteen was really a little man; besides that, he was clever and it was great to talk to him.
The shirt was looking at Davy from behind the glass. Davy looked back at it and smiled at it. Well, baby, you'll be mine! He entered the shop. He didn't need to try the shirt on as he'd done it ten times or more. But he couldn't resist. The girls looked at him curiously – he winked at them in a friendly way and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked excellent and he knew it.
At the pay desk the fair-haired girl smiled at him – and he smiled back. She stood up to fold the shirt neatly as she always did when folks were buying something and asked casually:
- And where's your friend?
Davy was confused.
- What friend? – he asked suspiciously.
- Well, a man came here right before you did, - she explained calmly, putting the shirt into the bag, - and he said that soon a nice-looking young man would come in so we should keep this shirt for him. He described you and told us that if we were curious we would be able to ask you who he was, who you were and all. He said you would most likely be together with a tall-dark haired friend, but I see you're alone, so I'm asking… though I don't think I'd make a mistake with such a description!
She laughed. Davy handed her the money and she opened the till to give him the change.
- That must have been a mistake, - he said in a second, stretching his arm out to stop her. – Maybe you shouldn't give it to me… I don't think that anybody would come and do that for me since I didn't tell anybody that…
- Well, you're short, dark-haired, and you're wearing exactly the same clothes as that man said, - the girl smiled, handing him the change. – You're Davy Jones, aren't you? From the Monkees.
Davy stood slack-jawed. Suddenly a thought flashed in his mind.
- Wait-wait! – he exclaimed. – How did that man look?
- Well, he was middle-aged, grey-haired, in a black suit and with a black suitcase…
Davy didn't need any more. He exhaled and pressed his palm to his forehead.
- And he… told you to keep this shirt for me? – he asked, not believing what he had just heard.
- Yes, - the girl smiled.
- Th… thank you, - Davy managed. – Thank you very much, I… I'm grateful.
- He said that you'll tell us who he was, - the good-looking dark-haired consultant said, coming up to them.
- He's… well, he… I don't actually know who he is, - Davy admitted confusedly. – And I surely have no clue why he would come here and tell you to keep the shirt. Are you sure he was talking about me? I mean… I'm Davy Jones and all, but… that's so strange.
The consultant smiled at him.
- Well, I don't think you should worry. Maybe he just wanted you to get what you wanted.
- Well, I did get, - Davy mumbled. – But, ladies, I don't think you'll actually know anything from me. Sorry!
- Wait-wait, - the consultant caught his wrist when he was about to turn away and leave. – He said we could ask you about you. You know, that man looked like some important person! And won't you really stay here just a little and tell us – we'd like that!
She smiled at him charmingly. Davy smiled back with the corners of his lips.
- Well, I'm Davy Jones, from the Monkees, as that man told you… what else?
- I'm Bette, - the girl at the cash desk held her hand out. Davy shook it gently. About a month before he'd probably have kissed it, but now… Bette smiled and looked down. Davy knew that look perfectly well: the girl couldn't understand why he was so unsure. She liked herself, obviously. And her feelings towards him were quite noticeable, too.
- Violet, - the consultant shook his hand more confidently.
- Nice to meet you, girls, - Davy said with a little smile meaning 'sorry, I'd rather go', - but I have to leave your pleasant company as my friend is waiting and…
- Where? – Violet looked outside quickly through the huge window. – Is he as good-looking as you?
- He's waiting there down the street, he has some business down there so I have to leave as we don't have much time, - Davy lied, not noticing Violet's compliment. – I'll see you later… perhaps.
- This evening? – Violet hurried to ask. – Or perhaps tomorrow?
- I have a lot of things to do! – Davy threw, hurrying out of there. – And I don't think even the weekend will do. Come and see the Monkees play, if you want!
Bette followed his back with her stare.
- He's strange, - she remarked. – Is he crazy or what?
- I think he's queer, - Violet answered casually, looking around. The shop was empty. – Do you remember that smirk on the old fella's face when he was talking about the 'friend'? And I know this manner – shaking the girls' hands, no interest in us, trying to run away… we're good-looking, dear, don't even doubt that. Every boy that sees us falls for us. Even if he's taken. Even if he's not a boy – if he's old. If he doesn't – believe my experience – either he… well, has problems and just doesn't show his affection so we can't laugh at him – or he's a queer. And this one must be a great lover. Do you remember what Lila told us?
- When was that? – Bette frowned.
- Well, quite a while ago, - Violet shrugged. – Remember, we were on Lila's roof and she told us…
- God, I remember! – Bette clapped her hands. – I remember him now – she showed us the pictures of him! The one who spent less than a week with her.
- Right, - Violet nodded. – This one.
- She adored him, - Bette remembered, - and she said that he loved her madly. And then he just said that they'd better stop dating and that they couldn't be together… well, he left her, and actually she wasn't even really angry 'cause he was polite and all so loveable.
- Yep, she just refused to eat for about a week, - Violet threw sarcastically. – And cried herself to sleep every night. Nothing special… oh, no matter. I don't like him anyway. From Lila's words I thought he was better – and now I even know why he left her. And I'd advise you not to care. For queers like he is…
Bette smiled at her.
- I won't. And how's your guy?
Davy was walking down the street. He felt a tad wrong because of those two girls whom he had to get rid of. But Comrade Hatred's sudden appearance made him worry much, much more. Of course, the man told them that he was an expert on secrets – but Davy wouldn't expect that he would actually know everything that was on his – Davy's – mind. And why in fact would he come and tell the girls in the shop to keep the shirt for Davy? That was ridiculous. That was pleasant, but that was obviously quite idiotic. That was not like Comrade Hatred.
As he thought of it more and more, it grew funnier and funnier. Davy coming there with his friend… Comrade Hatred helping him – well, kind of…
Just – what for? That bothered Davy.
Is he damn in love with me or what? – he smiled sarcastically to himself.
Everything was ridiculous and stupid. And not at all understandable.
He tried to calm down. All in all, maybe Comrade Hatred was just so kind… and they didn't notice it…
He shook his head. He was standing at the door of old Mr. Thompson's record shop. He should forget about everything and just enjoy this day, shouldn't he? He walked in the shop and breathed in – he adored that strange smell the shop had.
Lettie was sorting the records. He was doing it a little more fiercely than he usually did. Davy noticed that his mouth was closed a bit too tight. His light eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. Davy came closer and smiled. The boy surely was too concerned to notice him.
- Hey Lettie? – Davy called softly.
Lettie didn't answer. He just sniffed and didn't even look at Davy.
- Lettie…
The guy swallowed hard and sniffed again. He wouldn't greet Davy. Davy tilted his head and put his both hands on the desk right near the pile.
- Okay. If you're not in the mood for talking – don't talk. Give me that record you were keeping for me, okay, Goldilocks? I'll go away, I promise.
He called Lettie Goldilocks sometimes because the boy's curly hair was goldish ginger. That nickname was especially tender. Only Davy could call Lettie Goldilocks – not even the boy's mom and dad. Lettie's eyes sparkled wetly and he turned away quickly to throw over his shoulder:
- I sold it!
He said it darkly and almost painfully. Davy felt that something was wrong. He didn't care for the records now. He passed round the desk and came up to Lettie.
- He-ey, - he said softly, putting an arm on the boy's shoulder. – If something is wrong, you just tell me.
- Nothing's wrong! – Lettie stomped his foot. – Nothing! I sold it! There's nothing more for you here, so get off!
He sniffed proudly, but Davy heard his voice tremble. This rudeness was to cover up Lettie's tears, which were in his eyes. Davy squeezed the boy's shoulder.
- What happened, man? – he asked softly. – Did I do something wrong?
Lettie wiped his nose with his hand.
- I did! – he said. He was ready to cry, but held it in.
Davy put his other hand on Lettie's other shoulder and turned the boy face to him.
- Now tell me what this all is about, - he said softly, but firmly. – You don't talk like this usually.
Lettie sniffed and shrugged Davy's hands off.
- Okay, - he said, - I'll tell you. I will! And you'll then say that I'm mad and blame me for everything.
- I promise I won't, - Davy smiled. – Why would I?
- Because it's idiotic, - Lettie managed. – An old fella came here today and started looking through the records. I asked what he wanted. He said… well, I don't remember the name – 'twas the name of your favourite. I said we didn't have any. And he looked at me and said: 'Ah but you do, young man. You do have a record, but you're keeping it for your friend!' You know, it felt odd. But I said: 'But he will come for it and he'll be upset if he doesn't find it'. And then…
Lettie swallowed hard and looked away.
- And here all the… stuff began. He looked at me like this, - he showed Davy a stare, - and said: 'Well, it's such a pity. But I love this singer and I think your friend won't mind'… and I… I don't know! I swear I didn't want to say that! – Lettie looked at Davy, eyes wide and scared. – But I said: 'Yes, sir, just a moment'! He made me say it, I didn't want to! And then he made me go and take the record, and bring it to him, and take the money and give him the change! Davy, - Lettie's eyes filled with tears. – I swear he made me do it all. Though he stood there just looking at me – he didn't even move.
- Oh God, - Davy said quietly. – How did that man look?
- Grey, in a black suit, - Lettie said, turning his face away. – White shirt, like shining. And… a black suitcase… I… I know how you wanted to have that record… you won't find another copy…
- Don't worry, - Davy said, putting an arm around Lettie's shoulders. – The record doesn't matter, Goldilocks. Don't worry. You just tell me – so, that man looked at you and forced you to sell it?
Lettie nodded, biting his lips. He was still trying not to cry. He betrayed his best friend – that's how he was feeling. Davy squeezed his shoulders and smiled at him.
- It's okay, - he said. – Forget about the record at all. I'm not blaming you.
- He was scary, that fella, - Lettie said suddenly, quietly. – I don't know why but I hated him immediately.
- It's even more ironic that his surname is Hatred, - Davy said thoughtfully.
- You know him? – Lettie jerked his head.
- He's our new neighbour, - Davy smiled bitterly. – You know, Mike feels weird about him, too. And I… I honestly don't know. Do you know what he did today?
- What? – Lettie asked absolutely childishly. His giant green eyes opened wide and he grew so pale that all his orange freckles stood out even more against his skin.
- Nothing really special, but he told the girls from the shop to keep a shirt for me – you know, I wanted to buy it right today. He's a strange man. And I'm beginning to be afraid of him, too.
- Why would he be so kind to you? – Lettie squinted slightly.
- I've been wondering, - Davy smiled at him. – You don't worry. It seems to me you had one record... – he said the singer's name.
Lettie nodded.
- This one is great, too. Do you still have it?
Lettie's face lit up.
- Yes. Yes, we do!
- Can you give it to me, I don't remember where it is. Okay? And cheer up.
Lettie smiled brightly and disappeared in the little room with a sign on the door – Davy never bothered reading it. He came back in a moment or two, shining like the sun. Davy took the record, handed Lettie the money, which he counted seriously and concernedly, and gave him a long mysterious look.
- Listen, - he said. – I'll tell you a secret.
Lettie's eyes widened in amazement. He looked around and moved closer to Davy. Davy put an arm around his shoulders and looked at him, squinting.
- Listen, - he said quietly. – Today we are rich. I mean we the Monkees. And we decided to make a little gift each one for himself. Listen, Goldilocks, I gave myself a gift already, but it will be a much greater gift if I can make you happy. What do you think? No, not that – what do you want?
Lettie looked at him with his mouth half-opened.
- You… serious? – he asked, tilting his head and freeing himself from Davy's arm.
Davy nodded:
- Absolutely! Come on – let's go!
A smile of happiness and disbelief lit little Lettie's face. He hugged Davy and Davy lifted him from the ground and whirled quickly. And then he put Lettie on his feet and smiled at him.
- I'll tell your dad so he doesn't worry.
He rumpled his goldish ginger hair and almost ran to another little room where Lettie's dad Mr. Thompson was busy with more serious things.
- Mr. Thompson? – he called, coming in.
The man raised his head and smiled at the little one.
- David! Hello, my boy. Is everything okay? Did Let give you the records you wanted?
- Yes, Mr. Thompson, don't worry, - Davy came a little closer to the man's desk. – You know, I wanted to ask you… if you don't mind – can I take Lettie with me for an hour or two?
Mr Thompson tilted his head a little and looked at Davy over his old glasses. Davy smiled shyly and looked down.
- You know, - he said, - I just wanted to make him a little gift. Because I myself was given one just yesterday.
The kind wrinkles around the corners of Mr Thompson's eyes became a little deeper and even kinder. The Thompsons were anything but rich. Mr Thompson owned that little shop, but not many people came there. And sometimes – but only sometimes – Lettie's life lacked some happiness.
- You're too kind to Let. He's a man!
- But such yet a little one, - Davy said softly. – And, you know, it's even better that he has me as a too kind one, not you or Mrs Thompson. You can't blame him for being a pampered child!
Old Mr Thompson's smile grew wider.
- We can't afford a pampered child, - he said. – But we can raise a happy one. Thank you, David. A little happiness is never a bad thing, is it? Take him wherever you wish, just return him. Okay?
- Thank you!
Davy flew out of the room, lifted Lettie up in the air lightly – he was so skinny he was feather weight. Lettie laughed. They ran out of the little record shop holding hands, like brothers or like two backyard mates – mates forever. Old Mr Thompson looked at them as they ran away and smiled to himself. For him Davy was Lettie's older brother and his own son.
- And don't forget to give this to dad. Tell him it's from us, okay? And if he doesn't take it, he'll make me very, very sad. And offend you. Right?
Lettie nodded, making a serious face. But he wasn't quite successful now. He was shining like a little sun, his cheeks were rosy, his goldish ginger fringe stuck to his wet forehead and his enormous clear green eyes were filled with happiness. Davy lifted him from the ground and Lettie embraced his neck.
- Davy, you're the best! – he managed joyously.
- I'm trying, - Davy answered, putting the boy back on the ground and smiling at him.
- You're my best friend, - Lettie said suddenly seriously, - and you should know it.
Davy laughed.
- I know. And you are my brother!
He stroked Lettie's ginger curls. The boy sniffed and shook his head.
- Enough of this. Have fun! Dad has more important things to do than sitting there doing my job. Bye!
- See you, - and Davy pushed Lettie on the back as he turned to run away.
- Wap! – somebody's hands squeezed Davy's shoulders and he gasped, turning quickly.
Mike's squinted tea-coloured eyes laughed at him.
- Hi baby!
- You idiot!
Davy tried to tap his cheek as a joking slap in a laughing anger, but Mike was quicker.
- I'm glad to see you too, - he said, holding Davy's wrists firmly in his hands and smiling at him. - I see you've found yourself a mate to have fun with, m?
Davy smiled.
- You can let me go, - he said playfully, - if you don't want anybody to think anything wrong.
And he winked at Mike. Mike looked down and released his hands quickly.
- Can't two just friends behave like two idiots once in a while? – he asked almost seriously. – And I was careful, unlike some people!
Davy put an arm around him and tapped his back.
- Let's go, just friend! – he said quietly, trying to hide his chuckle, but his eyes were laughing anyway.
They went down the street together.
- How is little Lettie? – Mike asked. He still wasn't smiling and Davy regretted reminding him of his habit. Perhaps he wanted to be a little more open at last?
- You've seen him, - he said.
- He was shining, - Mike said warmly. – I just don't know who you have found in him – a little brother you never had or a son… either way he adores you too.
- I know, - Davy smiled at the skies and squinted his eyes. – You know, he's like a brother and a son in one person. I don't know… 't would be great to have a son like him.
They walked in silence for a while. Mike was looking away. Davy sighed inaudibly. He could feel the vibrations of tension. As usual… he put an arm around Mike's shoulders – that looked more 'just-friendly', he hoped. He knew he was too short and it looked awkward. Mike turned to him and looked in his eyes.
- Hey sunny?
- What? – Davy smiled at him. – A new moralizing speech?
- You hungry?
Davy's smile grew wider.
- Glad you asked. Because I am. You know, running together with Lettie and going on every ride he wants is an exhausting thing to do!
- You have to learn to do this, father! – Mike laughed, tapping Davy's back. – Or how do you think you'll treat your son – imagine, this little curly sun comes up to you, looks at you with these enormous green eyes and says: 'Daddy, let's go…' Anywhere, actually, no matter! And what will you say? Because you'll have to agree, or he'll be looking at you with his sad eyes and you'll feel like a swine. And the same stare from your curly ginger wife – do you think you can stand it?
- What curly ginger wife? – Davy laughed.
- The one you'll have to have to get your own little Lettie, - Mike explained with a slight smile. – Because I'd say you don't seem to have a curly ginger gene! Though you indeed are a little sun…
- Don't worry about curly ginger wives, - Davy said softly, looking up at him and tilting his head a little. – You're the greatest anyway. Always remember that.
Mike smiled and closed his eyes for a moment. He always did when he didn't want anybody to see what was going on in his eyes.
- So what were you saying about hungry? – Davy said to draw Mike away from the topic that bothered him.
- Ah, you know, what if we have lunch together in some café? I know one perfect place, not far from the library, and not far from here. I'll tell you the stories from our terrible past… what do you think?
Davy smiled, unable to hide his blush.
- Inviting me?
- 'Course! – Mike winked at him.
- Rendezvous?
- Think what you wish, - Mike said softly. – I myself will find comfort in the hope that it is.
- Then let it be, - Davy smiled.
- This will be like your gift to Lettie, except it will be mine to you, - Mike explained, leading him to the café. – To make you happy, because your smile makes me feel like smiling. Connection, my friend. So much supernatural doesn't just stay there!
- How do you know that I feel happy when Lettie is? – Davy had to almost run.
- It's easy to know, if I look at you. And easy to know that you adore him. If I didn't know you, I'd think he's your son or nephew… or maybe brother.
- And about the supernatural – I agree.
- Here it is, look.
And Davy looked where Mike was pointing at, still thinking of fights with dark forces they'd been through – and saw a quiet little café. It was sunny enough to be cosy, but somehow placed so well the sun wasn't shining right in your eyes when you sat. Plus the awning was pretty and striped and it reminded him of some nice old European city – choose any!
All Davy could say was a quiet 'ahhh…' Mike pushed him on the back slightly and smiled at the waitress he bumped into accidentally.
- I'm sorry.
She smiled back at him.
- It's okay, Mr Nesmith.
- Hey, they – they know you? – Davy asked, turning to Mike and smiling.
- Well yes, - Mike said, narrowing his eyes in pleasure. – Tara!
The thin waitress, who reminded Davy of a willow, came up to them quickly.
- Is my favourite table free? – Mike asked softly.
- Yes, Mr Nesmith, - Tara smiled genuinely.
- It's Davy Jones, by the way, - Mike pointed his chin at Davy. – My friend and fellow Monkee.
- Always wanted so to meet you! – Tara held her hand out, shining especially brightly. – I'm Tara, well, you heard, - she laughed. – Your voice is adorable, Mr Jones. Especially when you sing. Love all your songs. Listen to them all the time…
- Oh, call me Davy, - Davy laughed, shaking her hand. – Nice to meet you, Tara. So you're the one who buys our albums?
- Well, I do, - Tara shrugged. Her smile was still wide and genuine. – Why?
- Nothing. You're just the only one! – Davy said with a chuckle.
- She's not, - Mike said, putting an arm around Davy's shoulders and pushing him slightly towards the table. – Her taste is contagious, all her friends now listen to us.
- Then I have to thank you, Tara, - Davy said, looking up at her. The girl stood at their table like a regular waitress already. Just her eyes were sparkling a little brighter than the other waitresses' were.
- Oh leave it, Mr Jones, it's thanks enough for me that you're here, - she said with a soft smile. – But let's return to our work – I work here as a waitress and you – well, if I can say work here as customers. Well, what work – but you do get something.
She giggled a little embarrassedly.
- What I'd like to get is… well, the usual, - Mike smiled. – And the young man will have… what will the young man have?.. – he turned to Davy and looked at him with that serious face which brought the most chuckles.
- The young man will have the same, - Davy said with the most charming smile.
- Very well, - Tara nodded and quietly disappeared.
Mike gazed at Davy's face and Davy felt his cheeks blush slightly. He couldn't help but look down. When in big company, Mike didn't usually go further than those looks, but even they were the most perceptible signs of that enormous love.
- Such a great day, - Davy said quietly. – Unimaginably wonderful. It seems to be filled with love, made of love. I… don't know… even that thing that happened to little Lettie seemed to work out for the best.
- And what was that? – Mike asked, keeping admiring Davy.
- Well, you know, I'd better tell you everything from the start, from the morning, - Davy said, looking at him at last. – You see, I'd chosen the gifts I wanted quite a while ago. The 'Quarter' shop was on the way first – well, you must remember 'Quarter'!
- Well, I do, - Mike said with a smile. – And, let me guess, your gift was that great shirt which I saw in the window every time I walked past it?
- You guessed, - Davy's smile grew wide and delighted.
- Bet you look wonderful in it, - Mike said, returning that smile and adding a note of his own adoration in his happy gaze.
- I'll show you as soon as we come home, - Davy answered softly. – But do you know the funniest thing about it all?
- Eager to know, - Mike made a girlish face.
- Now just for a minute – be serious, - Davy said seriously. – Do you know who had come to the shop and told the girls working there to keep it for me?
Mike looked at him strangely. Davy noticed a little wrinkle of worry between his eyebrows – as if he already knew who.
- Who? – Mike asked. His voice was absolutely not his.
- Comrade Hatred, - Davy said quietly.
Mike closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed hard. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Davy – and again something especially green flashed in his stare.
- Listen, - Davy said, putting a hand on the table close to Mike's, almost touching his skin. – I'm not telling you this to worry you or spoil your day. I mean, maybe Comrade Hatred is really an expert on secrets, but he wants to do us good?
- Would be nice, - Mike said quite darkly. – Well, let's pretend it's okay. But you were about to tell me something that happened to little Lettie, no?
- Gentlemen?
It was Tara. Davy looked at her, quickly moving his hand a little away from Mike's, and smiled. She put the plates and the cups on the table in front of them and rushed away, all so in a hurry. Mike looked at Davy. He was waiting. Davy smiled.
- Let's better eat. I'm starving, and nothing terrible has happened, has it?
Mike had to nod.
- You eat, but tell me anyway, okay? Because I'm worried now. You're not the only one here who loves our Lettie.
- I'm tellinja, nofing tewwible, - Davy said, chewing. – Ich was Comwade again.
- And what did he do this time? – Mike asked sarcastically.
- Took the record I asked Lettie to keep for me and wanted to buy as a gift to myself, - Davy explained more clearly, as he swallowed the food. – Listen, this is great, I need to remember this café!
- Want another date? – Mike couldn't help but ask and Davy made a face at him.
Oh Mike! But how he always knew…
- And what if I say yes? – he said in the most joking voice. – This doesn't remind me of one, you see.
- Because of Comrade.
- Nobody forces you to be so bothered over him!
- Nobody forces you to mention him either.
- Oh come on! – Davy sniffed. Mike was quite right, he couldn't deny it, but he still wanted to. – I haven't told you the funniest thing – well, not really the funniest. But it did make me suspicious.
- Something else this moron did? – Mike asked, sipping his coffee. His eyes looked at Davy from beneath his eyebrows in expectation.
- You know, as Lettie told me, - Davy said, biting his lower lip slightly, - Comrade asked him if he had the record by… well, no matter by who, you don't know anyway! The thing is that Lettie told him he didn't and then Comrade Hatred said that Lettie did and that I – his friend – wouldn't mind if he took it. And then he just looked at Lettie and forced him to bring the record, to take the money and give the change to Comrade. But 'forced' while not touching him with a fingertip! You see now?
- Well, I can imagine that, - Mike agreed. – But I can't see how it proves that Comrade wants to do anything good to us. After the story with the shirt it seemed to me that he likes you in some way, that you're his favourite, but after the record story I'm ready to change my mind. How does talking your record show his care for his 'beloved' Davy? Explain that to me, sunny.
- You don't understand! – Davy almost exclaimed. – Listen, if I didn't see Lettie so miserable… look. Comrade almost reminded me of my love to Lettie! And that's why I took him for that walk – gave him that gift he would never be able to have with the poor Thompsons' money – and I made him happy! And that made me happy!
- This way I'd almost think that he cares for Lettie, - Mike said with a slight smile. – Come on, baby, I don't think he will…
Mike stopped with his mouth half-opened, so Davy had to encourage:
- Will what?
Mike didn't answer. Davy turned a little to follow his stare – and he saw the familiar black broad back. No doubt – Comrade Hatred was there.
- Talk of the devil! – Davy remarked, turning to Mike.
- Literally, - Mike replied, looking concernedly at his plate.
Davy sniffed.
- Oh come on! Mikey, he's not the thing you should worry about!
- Oh isn't he? – Mike asked mockingly. – Then why is he staring at us?
Davy cast a brief glance at where the broad back was – and had to concentrate on his plate, too. Comrade Hatred was eating them with his stare. And though nothing could be read in it, he was surely examining them.
He moved his shoulders uneasily.
- See? – Mike said quietly. – We'd better go.
The next moment something hit his temple and he winced and turned. Davy followed his look. Two boys – a taller and a smaller – looked back at them and giggled. The taller looked to be about thirteen years. They were eating cherries and that surely was one of the stones which hit Mike.
- Hey young men? – Mike called calmly. – Will you please stop?
The smaller boy just giggled again, and the taller one made a step forward and spat another stone at Mike. Davy stood up.
- Stop now or – I promise – you'll regret it! – he said menacingly.
The taller boy squinted his sparkly black eye at Davy and another stone flew at him – thankfully Davy avoided being hit in the eye. Davy went out of the table, keeping his stare at the boy. He stood there, glaring. When he saw that Davy was ready to go out of the café he shouted:
- Look, Ben, a bugger is coming to beat us!
Davy was taken aback. He stopped for a moment – and another stone hit his forehead. The taller boy was a darned master in spitting!
- He's coming to protect his guy! – the little one's voice was high and squeaking – incredibly disgusting. – Oh, I'm so afraid, so afraid!
- Better run, Ben, if you don't want him to touch you! I bet being a bugger is infectious!
Davy was running out of the café, ready to give both guys a good punch so they would behave when a woman ran quickly towards them and raised her hand against them. The boys shut up immediately and shrank. She didn't hit them. She grabbed their hands, leaned towards them and said something angrily. The taller boy looked at Davy from behind her and shouted:
- We're sorry, queer!
His mother raised her hand again, but he freed his wrist from her other hand and ran away. He turned back as he ran and called:
- Peace, queer!
And disappeared behind the corner. The woman turned to Davy, biting her lips.
- I'm so sorry, young man! – she exclaimed. And she ran after her child, dragging the younger one by the hand.
Mike put his arm around Davy's shoulder. Davy knew it was Mike. He didn't even look at his man.
- I've already paid, - Mike said quietly into his ear. – We'd better get out of here quickly. Don't you know those guttersnipes… if anybody of them heard, they will be here in a minute.
They went quickly away, leaving behind the café, the boys and Comrade Hatred. In the backyards and even on the streets they were attacked – it seemed like all the boys from all the streets somehow knew that the two were in love – though they were just walking by down the streets – just like thousands of other young men. The passers looked at them suspiciously and they had to hurry. Finally they had to run – though Mike tried to stop Davy from trying to 'just run away'. But there was no other way to reach the pad clean, at least.
When they rushed into the pad, Micky and Peter's surprised stares were so relieving.
- What's wrong, guys? – Peter asked softly, coming up to them.
- Let us… regain our breath… and then we'll tell you, - Davy managed.