Notes: This story is about how Micky and Peter decided to do an act together, and how they got their name. It's also to explain a slight discrepancy on my part as far as the title. In the story Lone Star and Union Jack, Crystal Rose of Pollux wrote Micky and Peter's act out as "The Connecticut Yankee and California Dreamer." Me, being the way I am, forgot to double check the placement of the names when I went to post the story, and posted them the other way around, "The California Dreamer and the Connecticut Yankee." So I wrote this out the way I did so that both ways would be correct, in a manner of speaking. Whenever Micky and Peter go to a gig, or whenever they introduce themselves by the name of their act, they will do so the way Crystal Rose of Pollux wrote it. But whenever Peter thinks of the act, he will refer to it the way I mistakenly wrote it in the title.
Also, I have made some changes to the timeline of the fic, adding six months to each story, so that my timeline will match the timeline in Lone Star and Union Jack. Sorry for the confusion, I'll try to stop changing things after I posted them. XD
Ventura, CA, three years and two months prior:
Micky had been playing the drums for two months now, and he was getting pretty good. Although Mr. Spiner had told him flatly that he could not play his new instrument in his room, as live drumming sessions would invariably irritate the guests, he had provided an area in the basement where Micky and Peter could play their instruments to their hearts' content.
Since that moment, Micky had played every spare moment he could get. He had absolutely fallen in love with the drums. Sometimes he would get so wrapped up in playing that he would forget to go up and get dinner, and Aunt Franny would send Peter down to remind him what time it was.
Sometimes, however, Peter would be right down there with him, accompanying the drums on his bass, and both boys would play through dinner and late into the night.
"You know, Micky, you're getting pretty good," Peter said one night, as he plucked away on his bass. "Thanks," Micky said, keeping the time with his drums. "You're pretty amazing on that bass. Where'd you learn to play it?"
Peter shrugged. "I picked it up when I was 12," he said. Micky gaped. "You mean, you just, taught yourself how to play the bass!?" He asked. Peter nodded. "It's really pretty easy to learn, especially if you already play the guitar and piano."
Micky stopped drumming and stared at Peter. Peter turned around. "What's the matter?" He asked. "Why'd you stop playing?" Micky stood up. "Peter!" He said. "You know how to play the guitar and the piano!?" Peter nodded. "Yeah," he said. "So?"
"So!?" Micky exclaimed. "That's amazing! Why didn't you say you knew how to play the guitar and the piano?" Peter shrugged. "It never really came up," he said. Micky shook his head. "Do you know how to play any other instruments?" He asked. Peter smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I can also play the banjo." Micky put his hand on his head.
"You've been holding out on me!" He said. "Now we definitely have to make an act!"
Peter frowned, confused. "What?" He asked. Micky sighed. "I've been thinking," he said, walking up and putting his arms around Peter's shoulder. "You play the bass, and, apparently, the piano, guitar, and banjo, and I play the drums. I'm getting pretty good, and I thought that maybe you and I could do an act!"
Peter thought for a second. "You mean, play our instruments in front of other people for money, like at gigs and stuff?" Micky nodded. "Yup!" He said. "What'd'ya think? You said it yourself, I could really make it someday!"
Peter shifted uncomfortably. "Well, yeah," he said. "I do think you could make it someday, I just... well, I never really thought about actually playing onstage before..."
"Come on, Pete, it'll be fun!" Micky said, looking off into the distance. "Just think what it'll be like, you and me, on a stage. Our names up in lights, a spotlight shining on us as millions of people scream our names, having come from miles around just to see us!"
Peter also looked off into the distance, trying to think of it.
He imagined himself walking out onto a stage, in a tuxedo and a top hat, tripping over something as he walked. He caught himself before he fell, and walked the rest of the way to center stage.
Turning towards the audience, he gave a rigid bow, and then turned towards a grand piano sitting on the stage. He threw his coattails out behind him as he sat, and then wriggled and stretched his gloved fingers.
Right before he started playing, he looked out at the audience. Millions of fans, just like Micky had said. All of them wearing tuxedos and dresses and jewelry and furs, staring and peering at him through opera glasses, watching him disinterestedly, eyebrows raised and lips pursed. He froze. He couldn't play the piano with all these aristocrats scrutinizing his every move.
"Oh, I think I'm gonna be sick," he said. "What!?" Micky exclaimed, backing up a little and holding his hands in the air. Peter took a few deep breaths, looked at Micky, and chuckled. "Stage fright," he said, smiling nervously.
"Isn't that dumb?" Micky asked quietly, more to himself than Peter. To Peter, he said "How do you get stage fright from an imaginary audience?" Peter shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I just did."
Micky sighed. "Well, we'll just have to get you over that stage fright, then," he said. "Because I think we could be great! Now, let's keep practicing."
They practiced for a few more moments, and then Peter stopped playing the bass and yawned. "Hey, what time is it?" He asked. Micky paused in his drumming and looked at his watch. "Oh, it's only 2:27," he said. Peter nodded. "Oh, okay."
It took a second to register, and then Peter snapped his head up and looked at Micky, who gave a small yelp and looked at his watch a second time. "2:27!?" They said together. "But it's Thursday, I mean, it's Friday, and you have school in a few hours!" Peter said, dismayed.
"And we missed dinner!" Micky said. Peter sighed. "Well, we'd better get up to bed, then," he said. "Yeah, no kidding!" Micky set down his drumsticks and stood up from his set.
They climbed from the basement up to the fourth floor and got ready for bed. "Think about what I said!" Micky commanded as he climbed under the covers. "I think we should definitely form an act!"
Peter sighed, getting into his own bed. Truth be told, he didn't know what to think about the idea. He supposed it could be fun, if he got over his apparent stage fright. But he honestly hadn't ever thought about performing before.
Micky began to snore, having fallen asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, and Peter rolled over and looked at him.
The only reason he'd stayed at the hotel that first night was Micky, who was one of the only people he'd met on his cross-country road trip who'd actually taken an interest in his well-being. The only reason he'd decided to stay in Ventura indefinitely was Micky, who seemed upset to see him go. The only reason he hadn't left after the first few months was Micky, who'd introduced him to his family and had shared them with him.
And the only reason he could think of for starting an act with Micky was because Micky wanted him to, and because Peter wanted to help his friend get to that stage that he dreamed about.
As talented as Micky was, he wouldn't get very far on his own. Everybody in comedic show business seemed to have a partner. Abbot and Costello, George Burns and Gracie Allen, Laurel and Hardy, there were always two people.
And if Micky chose to drum his way to the top, well, who'd ever heard of a drummer making records without any other instruments?
No, Micky would have to find somebody to do his act with him. And Peter figured he could deliver. It wasn't as if he would be giving anything up anyway. Peter had no idea what he wanted out of life, which was why he'd gone on that insane road trip anyway. He was just trying to find something, what, he didn't know.
So he decided to go ahead and do that act with Micky. Maybe that would take him to where he was supposed to be.
Having made up his mind, Peter rolled over and went to sleep. He would tell Micky his decision tomorrow.
When Micky got home from school, he went down into the basement straight away, to practice drumming. Peter was there, lying on the ground and writing something down on a piece of paper.
"Hi, Pete," Micky said. Peter looked up. "Hi, Micky!" He said, smiling. "I've decided, well, I thought, that if you still want to do that act together, I could give it a try!"
Micky grinned. "Pete, that's great!" He said. "We'll be a hit! Oh, it'll be so much fun, everybody's gonna love us, I can't wait to get started! We can go do shows, and we'll get discovered, and we'll make lots of money, and-"
"Micky, Micky!" Peter said, interrupting his friend's speed talk. "We're gonna have to work hard at this if we want it to work, it's not just gonna be all fun and games!"
"Oh, I know," Micky said. Then he really took notice of the piece of paper. "What'cha writing?" He asked. Peter smiled and looked at the piece of paper. "I was trying to think of names for our act," he said. Micky smiled. "Great, read me what'cha got!" He said.
Peter cleared his throat and looked at the piece of paper. "Well, first, I've got Micky and Pete." Micky frowned. "It doesn't flow," he said. "How about Pete and Micky?" Peter tilted his head. "I don't know," he said. "I don't really like the sound of that."
"Well, what else have you got?" Micky asked. Peter read the next name off the list. "Dolenz and Tork," he said. Micky shook his head. "No, that doesn't flow either," he said. "How about Tork and Dolenz?" "Micky, are you going to do this with every one of these?" Peter asked. "Sorry," Micky responded. "Read on!"
"Room 113," Said Peter. That was the number of their room. "Sounds groovy, but not as a band name," Micky said.
"Street Corners," Peter read. Micky sighed. "again, not really a band name." He looked over Peter's shoulder and read the next name.
"For the Love of Meatloaf." Micky laughed. "I like it," he said. "But nobody would get it. They might even dismiss our act 'cause of the name."
"The Purple Flower Gang." Micky looked at Peter for a second. "Where did you get a name like that!?" He asked. Peter shifted his weight nervously. "I don't know," he said. "It just sounded neat."
Micky thought for a moment. "It does sound pretty neat," he said. "But not for just a two man act. That sounds like a name for a whole group of guys, y'know?"
Peter nodded. "Alright," he said. "The next name on the list is The California Dreamer and the Connecticut Yankee."
"That seems a little bit wordy, don't you think?" Micky asked. Peter shrugged. "I like it," he said. Micky looked at the piece of paper for a minute. "Y'know, it does have a nice ring to it," he said. "But it just doesn't flow right. How about The Connecticut Yankee and the California Dreamer?"
"Micky!" Peter said, exasperated. "Sorry!" Micky said, jumping up. "But it really does sound better the other way! Come on, please, let's make it The Connecticut Yankee and the California Dreamer!" Peter pursed his lips. He was suddenly feeling very resolved. California Dreamer should come first.
"Micky," he said. "Can't you just accept it the way it is?" Micky was jumping up and down like a kangaroo. "No," he said. "Not when it would sound so much better the other way! Come on, Peter, really, I know what I'm talking about!"
"Well, I still think California Dreamer should come first," Peter said. "Especially as starting the act was your idea!"
"Yeah, but you came up with the name," Micky said. "So your part should come first!"
"But, if I came up with the name, than we should use my original idea!" Peter said. Micky shook his head.
"But Peter, I know more about show business than you do!" He said. "I mean, I've only been dreaming about it forever, and you said that you hadn't ever thought about it before. So we should go with my name!"
Peter suddenly laughed. Here he was, arguing about something that didn't really matter. The act was Micky's idea, and he was only doing it for Micky anyway. He might as well let him have his own way as far as the name went.
"Okay, Micky," he said, smiling. "We'll call it the Connecticut Yankee and the California Dreamer."
"YES!" Micky yelled, jumping up into the air before turning and running to his drums. "Now, let's get to work!" He said. "If we're gonna be an act, we've gotta know some real songs."
He looked up at Peter. "We'll start off just playing covers," he said. "Just to get the hang of it. Then we can start writing our own songs as we get inspiration, and integrate them into our set."
Peter smiled and nodded. He'd understood most of what Micky had said, but as Micky had pointed out, he really didn't know much about show business, and was a bit confused as to some of the lingo. So he just agreed blindly. He'd figure it out eventually.
They rehearsed for a half an hour, and then went upstairs to do their shifts at the concierge desk. After work, they grabbed a bit of dinner and told Aunt Franny about their new act, then they went down and rehearsed the whole night through, because the next day was Saturday and Micky wouldn't have school.
When they finally went up to bed at dawn, Peter lay awake a little while longer, thinking about their new act. The Connecticut Yankee and the California Dreamer. He sighed. Micky could call it what he wanted, but to Peter it would always be the way he'd written it down, The California Dreamer and the Connecticut Yankee. After all, it was all for Micky anyway. He should come first in the name.