The DREAM WORLD Series
DAYDREAM REALITY
<^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^>
----- Part 1 -----
<^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^><^>
It had been a long week. Once the glow of the first few days had
worn off, the heavy, far more intense work began. The long days
of blocking and script revisions became the rule as opposed to
the exception. Early morning calls to the set took their toll on
everyone.
This morning marked a week since the pomp and circumstance of the
first day's filming. Again, Aaron couldn't help but muse how
quickly things could change in the space of a week. They were
still enjoying themselves, but stamina had to come into play at
this point to keep everything on the same high energy level of
the first few days.
All four actors were sitting down on the couch in the middle of
the Monkees TV beach house set. Well, actually a set of a set. It
was break time, but everyone was almost too tired to move. Jeff
was sitting, head cocked back, staring straight up at the
ceiling, eyes closed. George had managed to slide over a second
chair to prop his legs up on and was concentrating on catching a
little rest on this precious little bit of downtime. Aaron and LB
were probably the only two still concious, but even they were
dragging at a snail's pace.
Aaron was finding it increasingly hard to keep his eyes pinned on
the magazine infront of him. The words kept on running together
and slipping neatly in and out of focus. He hadn't been this
tired in, well, ever. Even if it was a late night and they had
been filming for the past 14 hours, he felt like he shouldn't be
THIS tired. Although the others would be loudly snoring by the
time the break was over, Aaron knew it wasn't a mark of one's
professionalism to be asleep on the set when the director
returned.
Following this line of reasoning, he did everything in his power
to remain awake until everyone came back to finish up the few
remaining takes and go home. He just had to keep telling himself
that the lure of a soft bed was far more appealing than nodding
off here in a hardback chair, covered with makeup. He even
started tapping out the beat to "Randy Scouse Git" on
his leg and humming along, but it was no use. This break seemed
to be going on forever.
Eventually, despite his better judgement, Aaron too had fallen
sound asleep.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The first thing that came to his mind was how dry his mouth felt.
Great. I fell asleep with my mouth open once again.
Something was lurking at the edge of conciousness, but for the
life of him he couldn't place a finger on what it was. Slowly,
disjointed images began to return to him. They had been filming
extremely late and he and the other guys had nodded off. This
did, however, beg a question: How long had he been asleep?
Eyes still clamped shut, Aaron moaned. "Guys? Get up."
Eventually, the lump to his left began to stir in response.
"Sorry. Guess I must have dozed off for a second
there." LB's voice penetrated the silence in the room.
Body awkward and sluggish to respond, it took several minutes for
Aaron's eyes to focus. The room was empty. More than that, all
the equiptment had been packed away and instead of the backstage
area, there was a fourth wall in place. Was this someone's idea
of a joke? He had a computer, for god sakes! He read fanfiction!
If the crew was playing some sort of a trick, they needed to do
their homework a little better. The plot line of a set suddenly
becoming reality had been written time and time again, ad
nauseum. "Yeah, real good guys. You can cut it out already.
Look, we're sorry we fell asleep."
LB was fully awake by this point too, and not anymore taken with
the crew's attempt at humor than Aaron was. He strode over to the
newly placed fourth wall and rapped hard on it. "C'mon,
already. I'd really like to catch some quality shut eye tonight,
if it's all the same to you guys. Let's finish that last scene up
and go home." There was a long moment of silence.
"Guys?"
A sound of alarm came from behind LB and he whirled to find Aaron
standing out on the patio of the beach house set. His face was
one of complete shock. So lost was he in his own thoughts that he
didn't even realize when LB had come up beside him and tugged on
his sleeve.
"What is it?" LB asked with concern.
"It's a real beach." Aaron managed to mutter under his
breath as he stared down below.
"Alright, so it's a very GOOD joke?"
"LB, be serious with me for a moment." He turned to
face his new friend. "How do I look?"
"What? You're going all Narcissus on me now? You look
fine." LB tried his best to make light of a situation that
was growing more and more disturbing by the moment. He had a
feeling he knew where Aaron was going with this, but he wished
with all his might that he was wrong.
"You know what I mean." The intensity in his eyes was
beginning to unsettle LB. "Who do I look like?"
"Well, Micky Dolenz, duh. We have a really good makeup
department. If it wasn't for the Emmy voting committee's
prejudice against made-for-TV movies I'd swear our guys would be
shoe-ins for the statue this year---" He trailed off as
Aaron dashed for a mirror hanging on the far wall. "Aaron?
Aaron, you're freaking me out." LB's voice now held more
than a hint of alarm in it.
"Not Aaron.... Micky." His voice was laced with
something near panic. "Micky Dolenz."
LB stared in shock as Aaron tugged at what had been his wig and
was now apparently his real hair. Numbly, LB walked over to the
mirror himself for a look. "Oh God." He ran a hand
through his hair and soundlessly let his curious hand drop back
to his side. It was no use. He knew he'd just find what Aaron
himself had just confirmed. "Time for the million dollar
question... how in the world did this happen?!"
"Wish I knew, man."
Silence hung between them for nearly a full minute before another
form stirring on the couch drew their attention. George was
waking up now. Time to go break the news. Maybe the other two
could think of something to do that they hadn't already
considered. Awkwardly, LB returned to the couch and tapped Jeff
on the shoulder to wake him up as well.
"Morning, sleepy head." LB tried to sound as calm as
possible.
Jeff woke with a start. "I'm up! I'm up. Sorry 'bout that.
Guess I must've dozed off for a moment there."
Aaron groaned. "Your voice."
"What? What 'bout it?" He drawled in an unmistakable
Texas accent. Confusion flooded Jeff's mind. He wasn't
intentionally changing his voice. Clearing his throat, he tried
again but was only met with the same result. "What in the
world---"
"We don't know." Aaron said flatly. "But it's safe
to say that Toto, we're not in Toronto anymore."
"I'm not seein' this. I'm dreamin'." He ran a hand
through the black hair that was now apparently his own. It was
unbelievable. Somehow overnight they had all changed into the
real Monkees. Jeff was even more disturbed to discover that he
wasn't just talking or moving around in a Mike-style, he was thinking
like the Texan. Whereas he had looked upon the others before as
one might look upon his co-workers, Jeff now saw them as his
closest buddies. Forcing himself to remember what was real was
tricky. If he didn't forcefully run the names through his head
now, he just knew he would slip up. Aaron, LB, George. Not
Micky, Peter and Davy. He repeated the mantra over and over
in his head.
While Jeff was adrift in his own world, George had slowly come
to. Everyone was staring down at him. He'd fallen asleep! Oh boy,
was he in trouble for this one. Scrambling to his feet he shifted
his gaze from face to face. Staring speachlessly, something
suddenly dawned on him. Whereas he should have been able to see
eye to eye with most of the others at his 5'7" height, he
was now, with some effort, looking up at everyone. "What's
all this about, fellahs?" He said in what he was shocked to
find as his Davy voice. His eyes went wide.
"Calm down. Don't get all riled up. Somethin' weird went
down last night." Jeff tried his best to assure George.
"What 'appened to yer voice?" Shocked, the young man
touched a hesitant hand to his own throat. "Bettah question.
What 'appened tah MINE?"
"Something happened last night, George. We... changed into
The Monkees somehow or other." LB said, long blonde hair
bouncing as he turned his head to face George. Irritated, he
brushed it back out of his eyes.
"No way, man. Ah must be dreamin' or somethin'."
"We're all having the same dream then." Micky... no,
Aaron added dryly.
"You're crazy!"
"Calm down, George. We'll find out what's going on
here." LB tried to help Aaron calm down their friend.
"Calm down? How'm I s'posed to do that?" George stalked
over to the mirror for a long look. "I just lost four bloody
inches off my height, I'm locked in this English accent, an' you
tell me to calm down!"
No one answered him. An uncomfortable silence fell once more over
the room. Each of the guys was staring at the others in
disbelief. It wasn't possible, was it? To wake up and be a guy
you'd only learned enough about to play convincingly in a TV
movie?
A sharp knock on the door brought everyone crashing down to
reality.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Open up!! Pay day!" The voice that they all recognised
as belonging to the Monkees' landlord, Mr. Babbit hollared from
the hallway.
"Oh great. What do I do?" Aaron asked, being the one
closest to the door.
"Let the guy in?" LB shrugged.
"Gee, thanks man. Really helpful." He muttered and slid
open the peep hole in the door. A very irritated man with red,
bloodshot eyes glared back at him.
"Dolenz! Open this door!"
With a shrug, Aaron unlocked the heavy wooden door and Mr. Babbit
stormed in, neatly squashing the faux-drummer behind it.
"Glad to be of service." Aaron mumbled from his
sandwiched position.
"Cut the shenanigans, boys. You know why I'm here."
Babbit fumed.
"We do?" LB scratched his head thoughtfully.
"Don't play dumb with me, Tork." The Monkees' landlord
held out his hand expectantly.
"Who's playing?" Aaron finally dislodged himself from
his place behind the door and came to stand next to LB. The
blonde turned to Aaron, angrilly. "Play along." He
mumbled. LB showed that he understood with a small, almost
imperceptable nod.
"That's not fair, Micky!" LB crossed his arms and
pouted.
Jeff decided it was his turn jump into the conversation. Mike
usually handled the irate landlord. "Uh, Mr. Babbit..
sir?" A steely cold glare was all that he got in reply.
"W-we just need a little more time to get the cash
together."
"More excuses, eh Nesmith?" The old man let out a long,
measured sigh. "Three more days. And that's it. Any longer
and you're out. Got it?"
"Got it!" All four chimed in together simultaniously,
then turned to stare at each other wondering how the heck they
had just done that. Mr. Babbit seemed not to notice, however, and
walked out, slamming the door behind him.
"Pleasant fellow." George mused, quickly snapping his
mouth shut again in irritation at the voice that came out of it.
"Let it go, George." Jeff sighed. "I'm not exactly
talkin' in the preferred syle but d'ya see me complainin'?"
Throwing his hands up in surrender, the young man decided it was
high time he spoke his mind. "We've gotta find a way outta
here. I'm not sure about you all, but I don't wanna spend the
rest of my life like this." All nodded in agreement, except
for Aaron who, having tuned them out, looked pretty far away.
"Earth ta space cadet." George reached up to wave his
hand infront of Aaron's face.
"Huh? Oh, right, sorry guys. I just thought of a way to pay
off Babbit AND find out just how much has changed
around us." Aaron motioned them all into a huddle.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The tambourine sat heavilly in George's hand. Not that he wasn't
accustomed to it after a week of filming, but something felt
different now. Almost a secret loathing of it. That was all he
was good at, huh? Mike and Peter could play instruments coming
out of their ears, and even Micky had learned the drums, but poor
little Davy was stuck with only the musical knowledge to tap out
the beat on this tambourine or the maracas.
Whoa. Where did that come from? I'm George Stanchev, not Davy
Jones.... right?
Aaron was hesitant to sit down behind the drums. It was a good
plan in theory. Play a gig to find out just how much the world
around them had changed, as well as get Mr. Babbit off their case
for awhile by using the money to pay off the rent. But what did
he know about the drums? He had learned just enough to look
semi-convincing behind them for the movie, but that was far from
being a full-fledged drummer. Some irresistable instinct pulled
him into a sitting position anyway though, and he took up the
sticks before he really knew what he was doing.
Mike's prized Black Beauty sat proped up on the bandstand. Jeff
walked over and picked it up, feeling what was, oddly, a familiar
weight in his hands. Slipping the strap over his shoulder, he ran
his fingers over the strings, rolling out several chords with
ease. It felt so natural... and that's probably what scared him
the most.
"Man." LB stared at Jeff for a long moment before
taking up a spot behind the piano. "That was great."
"I didn't mean for it to be." Jeff felt slightly numb.
"I guess we can do this afterall, huh?" He managed a
weak smile.
"Well, let's put that theory to the test, shall we?"
Aaron's voice came from behind the drum kit.
Jeff played the first few chords of "Take a Giant Step"
and soon everyone had joined in.
"Though you've played at love and lost, and sorrow's turned
your heart to frost... I will melt your heart again." Aaron
sang, but it wasn't in his own voice, it was Micky's, and this
time he wasn't lipsyncing.
This continued on for over an hour, the guys producing song after
song with amazing accuracy. Everything from "Pleasant Valley
Sunday" to "Mary, Mary" and back again, and still
they had no idea how they were doing it.
".. I wanna be free... I wanna be free... I wanna be
free..." George trailed off on the last few notes of Davy's
famous song.
"Well, I guess there isn't any debate anymore over whether
or not we can do this, huh?" LB piped up. He had loosened up
considerably since earlier and was, he hated to admit it,
enjoying himself immensely by this point. Who cared if they were
currently experiencing the plot of a sci-fi novel? No reason to
let that keep them from having fun while they were here.
Taking the initiative, Jeff headed over to the phone and picked
it up, dialing the number for 'The Cassandra'. If he played his
cards right, this wouldn't be a problem. "Hello? Yeah, this
is Jeff Ged--" he caught himself. "This is Mike Nesmith
of The Monkees." He lowered his voice and started scrawling
down the information for playing a date at the local club.
"Man, look at 'im." George said as he sat down next to
LB and Aaron. "Completely on top of everythin'."
"Comes with the whole Mike Nesmith territory." Aaron
explained. "He probably feels like Mike would... as if he
needs to provide for the rest of us. Like the leader."
"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm more than happy to
let him do it." LB was twirling his hair. He didn't want to
alarm the others, but he had started to see everyone more and
more as their Monkee counterparts and less and less as the actors
he had been introduced to last week. It probably worked the other
way as well, he realized. He had picked up several of Peter's
tendancies which had shocked him when he realized it. The largest
shock of which was the way he'd buckled his belt to the side so
that while they were playing he wouldn't scratch his guitar.
Definately disconcerting, but he couldn't let his problems worry
the others right now.
"Got it!" Jeff jumped up, clutching a piece of paper in
his hand. "Tomorrow night at the Cassandra. Eight
o'clock." He glanced up when he didn't recieve a response.
"What?"
"Tomorrow." LB's mouth hung open.
"You said---" Aaron began.
"Tomorrah." George finished.
"Uh, yeah." Jeff pulled off the wool hat and ran a comb
through his hair.
"And you're okay with this whole set up?" Aaron
followed him to the mirror.
"I have to be. There's nothing else we can do right
now." He turned to Aaron, clearly no more thrilled by the
prospect of spending a whole second day in this predicament.
"Wha' dya expect us tah do in thah meantime?" George
finally asked the question everyone else hadn't wanted to.
"There is no way I'm goin' out in public like this!"
"If everything's changed out there as much as it's changed
in here, I don't really think that should be a problem. I suspect
they'd just see you as Davy Jones." Aaron stood up and
headed back over to the balcony. "I think I'll go for a
swim..."
"I'll go with you if you're so afraid of going
outside." LB grabbed George by the arm and dragged him out
the door.
As the door closed behind the two Faux-Monkees, Aaron bounded
back down the spiral staircase and out to the beach, towel in
hand. Jeff was left alone in the pad now. Being the 'adult'
Monkee did have it's down side. Oh sure, he could have gone out
with the others, but it would have the effect of a parent on a
date-- unwanted. Plus, he figured they needed some apart time
right now to sort everything out. Resigned to this fact, he sat
back and strummed a little on the guitar. He would just have to
wait for them to come around.
Back
to Monkees Page
or
Back
to the Main Page
____________________________________________________________________________________
The VH1 movie "Daydream Believers: The Monkees Story" is copywrite Pebblehut Productions. I am in no way affiliated with the guys who played the Monkees (Aaron Lohr, LB Fisher, George Stanchev, and Jeff Geddis) in this movie. I just wrote this out of admiration for the guys and the incredible job done on the movie. If you don't agree with my interpretation of one of the actors or one of them happens to actually READ this... I'm simply guessing about what they're (you're) really like. No offense is intended! This fanfic is copywrite Random Fandom. If you would like to link Random Fandom on your own website, be my guest!