The first night had gone well. The club's owner knew them well, and had booked them as soon as the other gig had been finished. The customers seemed happy, and had been sorely disappointed when they had to finally go home.
With the gigs signed for the next six weeks, things were looking up, and everyone headed back to the Pad in good spirits. They unloaded the instruments, talking eagerly about the night and the six weeks ahead.
As soon as the bandstand had been set up again, Micky and Peter departed, heading back to their wives, and leaving Davy and Mike alone.
Davy was in the downstairs bathroom, dressed in his pajamas, and brushing his teeth in preparation for the night, when he heard the loud banging coming from the front door.
He finished rinsing and headed back to the front door, glancing at his clock as he went. It was nearly midnight. Who could be knocking at this time of night?
Mike was standing at the foot of the stairs when he came into the living room, having come downstairs to investigate. He and Davy glanced at each other, both wondering the same thing. But before either could answer, the pounding came again.
"Who on earth?" Mike muttered to himself. Davy crossed the room and unlocked the door, opening it to reveal the identity of their midnight visitor.
Micky stood on the other side of the door, his unkempt curls even messier than usual, a frown on his tear-stained face.
Davy opened the door and stared at him in disbelief. "What 'appened?"
Micky stood at the doorway of the pad, a mess. His hair had dirt in it, tears staining his face. The red shirt that they'd worn for the gig was covered in mud, and his gray pants were torn slightly at the knees.
Davy opened the door, and Micky collapsed into the Pad. Davy took a step forward and caught him.
"Micky, what on earth?" Mike asked, crossing the room to help Davy.
Micky didn't say anything as Mike helped Davy to drag him across the room on to the couch. Micky moaned, and placed a hand to his forehead.
"That shirt's gonna get the couch all muddy," Davy noticed. "And it's all wet." Micky didn't seem to notice or care as Davy and Mike helped him out of the shirt. It had been red, but now it looked liked dark brown because of the mud. Davy, carrying it with two fingers, took it too the laundry pile.
"Micky what's goin' on here?" Mike asked when Davy had left. "Where's Maggie?"
Micky looked at Mike and just moaned. His eyes were sad, but he didn't cry. He just moaned aloud. Davy re-entered the room, and Mike looked at him.
"I can't get nothin' outa him," he informed him solemnly.
"I'll see what I can do," Davy replied, reading the unspoken question Mike was asking.
"No!" Micky yelled.
"No what?" Mike asked.
"No," Micky repeated. "No no no no."
"No what?" Davy asked.
"Don't."
"Don't what?" Mike and Davy exchanged glances.
"Lemme alone," Micky moaned and rolled over.
Davy knelt down in front of him, looking into his eyes. "Micky, tell me what 'appened, please," he begged. "Is Maggie alright?"
Micky stood up, nearly knocking over Davy and Mike in the process. He began to pace.
"'E's upset," Davy whispered to Mike. "Somethin' about Maggie, but I don't know what."
"Don't say that name ever again!" Micky snapped, turning around and jabbing a finger at Davy. "I don't wanna hear it."
"Why not?" Mike asked.
"Just don't, okay? It's over. Over and done."
"Micky-" Davy began in a whisper. "Did she leave you?"
"Just stay out of it, okay?" Micky snapped. He turned and faced the door, as if pondering what to do next. Mike and Davy exchanged glances.
"We're here to help, Mick," Mike tried. "Talk to us."
"I don't want to talk about it right now, okay?" Micky snapped, whirling around again to face them.
Mike and Davy exchanged glances again and shrugged.
"Well, listen, Mick, you can stay here for the night, okay? But I want an explanation in the mornin'," Mike informed him. Then he headed back to his bedroom to go to sleep.
Micky and Davy stayed silent until they heard Mike's bedroom door slam overhead. Davy looked at Micky for a moment, but he seemed as reluctant to explain as he had been. Davy sighed, shrugged and headed to his bedroom.
"Davy," Micky called after him. Davy turned around. "Stay outta my head." Davy nodded and headed for bed.
The next morning when Micky awoke, his head was hurting him. He looked down at himself, stretched out across the couch in the living room of the Pad. He was still dressed in the torn gray pants from the gig the night before, though the muddy shirt had been removed.
The front door opened and Peter entered, walking with a deliberate motion as if he were looking for Davy or Mike. Which he probably was. Peter walked through the living room without noticing Micky and headed into the kitchen.
"What's the huge truck doing in your driveway?" he heard Peter asked as he entered the kitchen. Micky got up. He couldn't hear Mike's response, though, because he was already halfway across the living room.
There was indeed a big truck in the driveway. Two burly men were unloading a few things in to the driveway. Micky recognized a few of the things and went outside.
"What's the big idea?" he asked one of the men. The tall man turned around and looked down at Micky, making him feel incredibly small.
"Are...you Micky Dolenz?" he asked with a half chuckle.
"That's me."
"Sign this." The man shoved a clipboard at Micky.
"What is it?"
"Just to let us know everything was shipped and arrived without damage."
Micky looked at the list on the clipboard and read it aloud.
"One suitcase full of clothes," he began, noting the suitcase on the ground.
"One locked footlocker with various stickers," he continued, glancing at his footlocker.
"One spare drumstick," one of the men held up the item.
"And two pairs of shoes," he finished, signing the paper.
"And this," the tall man added, handing him an envelope. Micky looked at it.
"What is it?" he asked. The man shrugged.
"Read it," he replied. "Then you'll know." Micky nodded and picked up the suitcase, the shoes, and the drumstick and placed them on the footlocker. Then he dragged the heavy box into the Pad.
When Peter, Mike, and Davy came out of the kitchen, they found Micky rummaging in the footlocker for a shirt.
"Micky?" Mike asked.
Micky stood up, taking out the shirt and pulling it over his head.
"What's going on?" Peter asked.
Micky reached into his back pocket and produced a letter, which he handed to Mike.
"Read this," he said to the confused look on his face. "It'll explain everything."
Mike looked at Micky and then at Davy and Peter. "I'm gonna go take a shower," Micky added, grabbing a pair of pants. "Then we better get to work."
"Work?" Davy asked.
"Yeah," Micky replied. "Movin' me back in." Then he headed upstairs to the shower.
Davy and Peter looked at Mike.
"Well?" Davy asked. "What does it say?" Mike opened the letter and began to read aloud.
Dear Micky,
I'm sorry things didn't work out between us. Turns out you're not my kind of guy after all. Just too wild and disobedient. I need a man who listens.
If it helps, you're pretty good in bed. But I need something more.
Don't feel too bad. At least I let you have your stuff back.
Good-bye,
Maggie Blackwood
