Peter was sweeping the floor in the kitchen, muttering under his breath about crumbs, when the front door closed behind Mike. He looked up sharply, feeling an irrational sense of dread.
He was home alone. Well, not entirely alone.
One of Micky’s shirts came flying out of the upstairs bedroom, followed closely by a sharp, distinctly English curse. “Bollocks!”
A figure emerged, obscured by an armload of laundry. More mild curses followed as the clothing was dumped over the railing, landing with a soft whomp on the floor.
Andi grinned. “Sorry. Laundry always makes me curse.”
“It’s all right,” Peter said quietly. “It must not be easy having Micky as a roommate.”
She snorted. “Statement of the obvious. Mike’s no holiday, either. And I think they use my bed as a trampoline when I’m not around.” She disappeared back into the room, emerging a few minutes later with a large cast-off canvas army bag. She slid down the railing with grace that Micky could only dream of and quickly stuffed the dirty clothes into the bag.
“Why don’t you just use the laundry basket?” Peter asked.
“What, and walk to the laundromat looking like some Monkee housewife? No thank you. I have a sense of style to maintain, you know.” She tossed the bag into the corner, where it would remain until she felt like picking it up.
At least, Peter thought, she doesn’t leave it in the middle of the floor.
“Did Mike leave?” she asked, plopping down into one of the kitchen chairs.
Peter nodded silently, returning his gaze to the floor and its crumbs.
Davy and Micky had left that morning, each making a vague mention about having some important things to do. That alone didn’t bother Peter, but when Mike had announced his departure for the afternoon, Peter’s alarm has suddenly risen.
He and Andi. Together. Alone.
A month before, when she had rescued them from the clutches of a madman, Peter had been too bewildered to think. After the shock had worn off, he had been intimidated by her—her height, her obvious strength, and . . .
He had never really figured out why she made him so uncomfortable, but he strongly suspected that her warlike tendencies had a lot to do with it. Whenever he closed his eyes he could still see her on her horse, looking as she did when she had come to rescue them a second time—armed, armored, and angry.
But was that the only reason?
“Dining on ashes?” she asked, a slight hint of laughter in her voice. He reluctantly glanced up. Her dark eyes held no anger now, but they still pierced their way into his soul, making him drop his gaze once more.
“Well, I’m glad they’re gone. Gives us a chance to talk.”
“About what?” he ventured nervously.
She drummed her fingers on the table. “Since I got here three days ago you have barely looked at me and you have said exactly twenty-two words to me—well, now it’s twenty-four.”
Peter could do nothing except nod in a slightly guilty manner.
“Trust me to be so blunt,” she muttered. “Look, Peter, we’re not in the forest any more. You can talk to me. I’m not going to get angry and I won’t hurt you.”
“I know.”
She suppressed the urge to sigh. “So what’s wrong?”
Peter breathed heavily. “You make me nervous, and I didn’t realize how much . . . until now.”
Andi nodded knowingly. “Because this is the first time you and I have been alone since . . . ”
“Since the night you told me about your parents.”
It was something that she hadn’t been able to tell Mike, something that made her run from him . . . to Peter, who was the shoulder she had finally cried upon.
“Yeah. I don’t think I made it clear then, but . . . telling you really helped. I think it was just . . . admitting how much . . . their deaths . . . haunted me.”
Peter smiled, his cheeks flushing.
“There now, you see? I’m not so bad, am I?” she teased.
“I never said you were bad.”
She stood slowly, picking up the dustpan from the counter. As Peter finished sweeping she said, “You didn’t need to. But you’ve been so silent and distant that I’ve been wondering what I did wrong.” She emptied the dustpan into the trash.
“Look, let’s start over. My name is Andi.” She held out her hand and Peter shook it, grinning.
“Peter.”
“There. We’ve started over, and you don’t have to be scared of me.”
“Okay,” he said gamely.
Andi glanced over her shoulder at the sinkful of dishes. “I think they must dirty up three plates apiece at each meal.”
Peter rolled up his sleeves. “I should get those washed before they come back.”
“No. Let me.”
Peter shook his head firmly. “No, really, I’ll do them. But you can dry if you want.”
Andi pouted teasingly. “Oh, all right.” She nudged him playfully and he laughed.
~*~
“So, Peter, why is it that I always see you sweeping and cleaning and doing the dishes?”
Peter rinsed another plate, then handed it to her. “I don’t mind. Micky works on the car, Davy helps out with other stuff, and Mike takes care of gigs and things . . . so they help out, too.”
Andi nodded thoughtfully. “That’s good. I just wanted to make sure they weren’t dumping all the work on you.”
“They wouldn’t do that.”
Andi wasn’t so sure, but she held her tongue and continued to dry dishes.
Suddenly Peter gasped and yanked his hands from the water.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, watching as Peter covered his left hand with his right. Blood was already oozing from between his fingers.
“I . . . cut myself . . . ” he gasped, tears of shock already glittering in his eyes.
Andi moved like a striking snake, wrapping her dishtowel around his hand and tying it tight.
“Ow! That hurts!” he protested.
“I know. But it’s going to keep you from bleeding all over the place.” She spoke quickly and distractedly, as though she wasn’t really paying attention. She sat him down forcefully in one of the chairs.
“I’m going to get my first aid kit. You sit there and keep that arm elevated until I get back.” She ran across the pad, nearly skidding into the door. Managing to yank it open after a frustrating slip on the knob, she dashed over to her truck and fetched the large metal box from under the seat. Barely thirty seconds after her mad dash from the house, she burst through the door and made a beeline for Peter.
“Okay, we’re going to take care of this,” she said breathlessly.
Peter watched her sort through the various bandages and utensils, pulling out sutures, a needle, gauze, gloves, and thick bandages.
She perched herself on the edge of the table and carefully pulled the blood-soaked dishtowel away. There was a deep, ugly cut on the side of his hand between the thumb and his first knuckle.
“This is going to need a few stitches,” she said, her expression unreadable.
“Maybe I should go to the hospital.”
“Can’t. Micky still hasn’t fixed my truck, and we’re sure as hell not going to go on the bus. No, I think I can take care of this myself.”
“What?” Peter asked, fighting the urge to pull away.
“Trust me.”
~*~
“ . . . So after all that, Mike got sucked into a lifetime contract, too? It must have been a woman who did that to him.”
“Well, you never met Miss Buntwell.”
Andi hummed thoughtfully. “It’s probably better that I never do. Jealousy is a well known vice of mine.”
“Ouch!” Peter said, squirming uncomfortably in his chair.
“Sorry, but you have got to hold still.”
Andi was still perched on the edge of the table, cradling Peter’s injured hand in her lap as she carefully stitched up the wound. Peter was sitting in a chair behind her, angled so that he could not see what she was doing. The shot she had given him had numbed his hand; even so, he could feel every move she made.
“Keep talking, Peter. I’m almost done.”
“Where did you learn to do this?”
“Well, my dear,” she mused, “When you live alone like I do you have to know how to take of little things like this. The nearest hospital from my home is about thirty miles. I can’t be running there for every little thing.”
“But what if you broke your leg and couldn’t walk and you needed help?”
Andi tied off another stitch. “Good question. I just have to be careful and make sure it doesn’t happen. It’s the risk that I take.” She sighed. “In any case, I can stitch up cuts, splint broken bones, take care of sprains . . . just . . . practical things like that.”
“Lucky for me.”
Andi looked over her shoulder and smiled. “I suppose you could say that.” She tied off the last stitch. Moving with deft gentleness, she wrapped a long bandage around the cut and fastened it with tape.
“Okay. You’re going to have to keep that hand still for the next few days. If you move too much you might tear the stitches, and then we have trouble. You managed to cut yourself right near one of your hand muscles.” She gathered up the bloody gauze pads and the dishtowel and stuffed them into a plastic bag before tossing them in the trash.
Peter watched her carefully repack her first aid kit. He looked down at his hand, at the fingertips that were still slightly red. Oddly enough, he didn’t feel like crying.
“You’re still in shock,” she said, leaning against the table. “Just take it easy for a while and you’ll be fine.”
“Thanks,” he said. “For everything.”
She leaned forward and raised his chin with her finger, forcing him to look into her eyes. He was stunned by the depth of feeling he found there.
“That is what I’m here for,” she said. It was obvious that she was struggling to keep the huskiness from her voice.
“Okay,” she said, clearing her throat. “Here, come with me.” She gently helped him up. Once on his feet he swayed slightly, still lightheaded. Her arm was there to support him as she led him to the couch. She eased him down, careful not to jar his hand, then curled up next to him, pulling her legs up underneath her. Peter forgot about his discomfort as he leaned against her, yielding to the drowsiness that was slowly enveloping him.
“Is it okay for me to fall asleep?” he asked, his words slightly slurred.
“Sure, hon. I just hope Mike doesn’t walk in and see us like this. He might get the wrong idea.”
“No, it’s okay. He knows you like him, and he likes you right back.” Peter’s eyes were closed; he didn’t see the pleased flush that entered her cheeks.
“That’s a relief.” With no small degree of hesitation, she gently brushed a few blonde locks away from his eyes. He smiled and sighed.
“I like that. My mom used to do that.”
“Mine too,” she whispered.
His eyes opened. “Really?” Andi had never really talked about either of her parents—Peter didn’t even know what they had looked like.
“Yeah. My mom used to do that when I was sick, and . . . it always made me feel better.”
“What were they like?” Peter knew perfectly well that Mike had told them—ordered them—not to mention her parents, in fact, not to mention ‘parents’ to her at all. But he could sense Andi’s willingness to talk, and felt it was okay to say something.
She sighed wistfully. “My father was about two inches taller than Davy—blond, brown-eyed, and VERY excitable. He would get so worked up about things sometimes that he would start trembling. He taught me everything I know about the outdoors—how to hunt, fish, shoot a bow, make arrows . . . it’s kind of ironic that had it not been for him, I never would have survived in the forest.” She cleared her throat. “He was also the one who encouraged me to get into the martial arts, and he’s the one that gave that samurai sword to me.”
“So he thought violence was okay?” As soon as the question had been asked Peter regretted it and wished he could take it back.
Andi paused for only a moment. “No. My father never condoned violence. But he did recognize that there are people out there who do, and he believed—as I do—that it is our duty to protect ourselves and those we love. If you think about it, the only time you’ve seen me use violence has been in your defense. Remember that.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Again those gentle fingers stroked his hair. “I know. Don’t apologize. Anyway, that was my father. My mother looked like me—I inherited most of my looks from her, but only a little of her temperament. She was upper-class—unlike my father, who was working-class. It never mattered to her, really, even though she did her best to make sure that my manners were impeccable. She read to me at night, always tucked me into bed, and was just . . . everything a mother should be.”
“I’m sorry they died,” Peter whispered. “I wish I could have known them.”
“Thank you,” she sniffed. “They would have loved you. I think just knowing that I have good friends now would be more than enough for them. And besides, I have a little brother,” she said in a tone that should have been teasing—but wasn’t.
“Who’s your little brother?”
“You are.”
He sat up and turned until he could look her in the eye. “Me?”
“Well, I know you’re older than me and everything, but even though you’ve been unnecessarily shy around me you’re like the little brother I never got to have.”
Peter stopped, his brows drawing together in puzzlement. “Don’t you mean ‘the little brother I never had’?”
She shook her head. “No. I had a brother for a little while. But then I didn’t have one.”
“Now I’m really confused.”
Andi sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “My parents were not the only ones who died in that plane crash.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. The pilot died too, I guess.”
For a moment Andi didn’t know what to say. She stuttered for a couple seconds, doing a rather impressive impression of Mike. “Well, yes, the pilot died, but besides that . . . ” She took a deep breath, and Peter suddenly realized he was about to be on the receiving end of another revelation.
“My mother was pregnant with a son. So technically I had a little brother, but since he was never even born, I didn’t have one.”
~*~
Peter was speechless. Why did Andi tell him that? In fact, why did she tell him anything? It made more sense that she would tell Mike, and yet she was unburdening her soul upon him for the second time.
“I’m sorry,” she said, noticing his discomfort. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be dumping all this on you.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m just curious . . . why haven’t you told Mike? I thought you’d go to him first.”
She turned her head and stared at the far wall. “Well, um . . . Mike and I are keeping our relationship casual right now. Neither one of us want to push it, so . . . I never mentioned this. I figure the less discomfort I cause him, the better. I told you because you’re the one to whom I was able to talk about my . . . parents, and I just felt so much better after that . . . ” She buried her face in her hands. “This isn’t fair to you.”
Peter smiled and shook his head. “Now I’m the one reassuring you. What a switch.” This time it was his turn to reach out and gently touch her under the chin, turning her head until she was facing him. “It’s okay, really. Besides, it’ll be kind of groovy to have another sister—especially one who’s so close.”
Andi released a relieved giggle and nudged him playfully on the shoulder. They sat together and talked for nearly an hour before Peter suddenly sat bolt upright, his eyes wide.
“The gig tomorrow!” he shouted.
Andi reached out a hand as if to calm him. “Whoa . . . what about it?”
Peter looked down at his hand. “I can’t play. We’ll lose the gig!”
“Well, look. I can take care of things money-wise. I’ve got more than enough money to take care of any expenses you guys have.”
Peter shook his head. “It’s not just that.” He recalled the look of joy on Mike’s face after Mike had gotten off the phone with the manager, who had called to book them for the grand opening of the club—an offshoot of the Vincent Van that was rather appropriately named the Go-Gauguin. Andi had looked less than impressed with the name, but had smiled at Micky and Davy’s antics as they joined hands and danced around Mike. “If we lose that gig,” Peter said, his voice already quavering, “Mike’ll really be disappointed—they’ll all be disappointed.”
Andi just shook her head. “I wish I could help.”
A slow smile crept onto Peter’s face. “Maybe you can.”
“Uh oh. I don’t like the sound of that.”
“You can play for me!” he said excitedly.
“Oh, I know I don’t like the sound of that. I hope you’re not getting any weird ideas.”
Peter was so excited he was shaking. “You play guitar, so you can stand in for me on bass!”
She stood up, moving about nervously like a skittish mare. “Yeah, I play guitar. Badly. I’ve never played bass before, and I have no idea how Mike will handle a cockamamie scheme like this. Couldn’t you just find someone else?”
He shook his head. “There’s not enough time, and we can’t delay the gig. You’re our only hope. Please?” He focused his eyes intently upon her, giving her the puppy-dog look that everyone—even Mike—seemed susceptible to.
Andi gazed back impassively for a few moments before closing her eyes. “I am going to regret this. I know it.”
“Does that mean yes?”
“Yeah, I guess it does.”
~*~
“Okay, now, see, you did fine!”
Peter beamed at Andi, who had the fingers of her left hand in her mouth, nursing their sore tips. Peter had been a hard taskmaster, running her through nearly every song in their repertoire.
She removed her fingers. “Thanks, but if you make me play ‘You Just May Be The One’ once more I’ll have to kill you.”
He held up his uninjured hand. “Okay, okay! I won’t! I promise!”
She snorted good-naturedly. “Good.” She ran her fingers across the strings. “You know, this might actually work.”
“See? I told you!”
She held up a cautionary finger. “But we haven’t asked Mike yet.”
“Haven’t asked Mike what?” a familiar drawling voice asked. Peter and Andi turned to see the other three Monkees straggling through the door. Micky was giggling incomprehensibly about something—Peter was sure he’d hear all about it later. Davy and Mike looked tired and just happy to be home.
Peter looked at Andi, who stared right back as if to say, This is your deal. You ask him.
“Hey, Pete! What happened to your hand?” asked Micky, who had stopped giggling long enough to notice Peter’s bandaged hand.
“I cut it on a kitchen knife while I was doing dishes. Andi stitched me up.”
Mike, who had crossed the pad in a few strides to examine the hand, looked up, his mouth slightly open. “She what?”
Andi pantomimed sewing. “I stitched him up. The cut wasn’t that serious but it was bleeding pretty badly.”
Mike returned his attention to Peter. “Does it hurt? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Mike, but I won’t be able to play tomorrow night.”
“That’s okay, man. As long as you’re all right.”
Micky groaned, and Mike shot him a stern look. “Sorry, Pete,” Micky said quickly. “Not to be insensitive or anything, but I was really looking forward to that gig.”
Mike looked down. “Me too.”
Andi cleared her throat loudly and gestured for Peter to release his idea to the others.
“Well, um, we might not have to cancel. I found someone to fill in for me.”
“Who?”
Andi cleared her throat with enough force to shake the floor. She waved at Mike when his eyes focused on her. “Hiya. I’m yer new bass player.”
Micky started to laugh once more—Andi’s imitation of Mike was almost dead-on.
“You’re serious,” Mike said.
“Reluctantly, yes. Peter convinced me of your need and has poked and prodded me through all your songs.”
“All of them?”
Andi looked at Peter, who blushed. “All of them.”
Peter looked hopefully at Mike. “So? Is it okay?”
“Well, you know more about the bass than I do, so if you think she can play it’s okay with me.” As Peter let out a relieved sigh he added, “But I think I’d like to see for myself. A little rehearsal is in order.”
If Andi was nervous she didn’t show it as Mike, Micky, and Davy took up their respective instruments. Peter however, nervously paced the floor, cradling his injured hand through every song. Andi stumbled a few times but always managed to recover, and after about five songs she loosened up, even to the point where she was able to move around a little—though she came nowhere near Peter’s wild gyrations.
Finally Mike put his guitar down. “Not bad. You know, Pete, she might give you a run for your money.”
“Oh, no,” she said, unstrapping the bass. “As soon as that hand heals I’m going back to being a spectator.”
As she came off the bandstand Peter smiled. “You enjoyed playing up there, didn’t you?”
She leaned in conspiratorially. “Every minute of it.”
~*~
The next day Peter waited anxiously as Mike telephoned the manager. Andi sat nearby, looking decidedly less enthusiastic than she had the night before—reality was obviously sinking in.
Mike hung up the phone. “Well, manager said it’s fine, as long as she could play.” He shook his head, smiling slightly. “He actually said ‘I’ll trust your judgment.’”
Peter laughed. Usually they were not on the receiving end of such courtesy. He looked over at Andi, who was trying to put on a brave face. She was plainly terrified.
While Mike went off to tell Micky and Davy to ‘get their behinds in the house for rehearsal’, Peter moved to sit beside her. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. Things looked a whole lot better last night. Now I’m not so sure.”
“You’re going to be great. I promise. Trust me.”
Andi laughed—a nervous, tension-releasing giggle. “You and I are beginning to sound like a broken record.” She sat very still for a few long moments. “I do trust you, and I think you trust me, so together I guess we can pull this off.”
The five spent the rest of the day rehearsing—and laughing. Peter stayed by Andi’s side, coaxing and encouraging her through every song until he was sure she was comfortable. Halfway through rehearsal, though, he became aware of Mike’s steady gaze upon him—a gaze that wasn’t exactly suspicious or accusing, but more than just curious.
As the others went to ready themselves, Peter went over to Mike. “Is something wrong?”
Mike shook his head firmly, keeping his eyes cast downward.
“Is it something I did?”
“No.” After a few moments Mike looked up. “Yes.”
“What did I do?”
“You and Andi are gettin’ awful close. There somethin’ you want to tell me?”
Peter’s face registered shock and alarm simultaneously. “No! We’re just friends. She . . . she told me something else about her parents yesterday.” Having already obtained Andi’s permission, he told Mike about her brother, watching his friend’s eyes grow ever rounder.
“Man, why wouldn’t she tell me?”
Now it was Peter’s turn to stare at the floor. “She doesn’t want to scare you away. She said that you two are keeping things casual, and I guess she didn’t want things to get too heavy.”
“So she told you.”
Peter nodded. “You don’t have to worry. She thinks of me as her little brother,” he smiled at the words, “but nothing more. The one she really digs is you.”
Mike smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Thanks, shotgun. I just needed to hear it from you.”
~*~
Peter found Andi in the upstairs bedroom, whacking Micky with a pillow. The drummer was squealing wildly for mercy, but as soon as she turned her back he struck her with his own pillow, then scampered from the room, fearing her wrath.
“Well, Peter, you showed up just in time. I was about to kill him.”
Peter handed her his royal blue eight-button shirt. “You’ll need this.”
She took it, holding it carefully, reverently. “Thanks.” As Peter turned to leave she reached out with a staying hand. “No. Stay here. You have to tell me if I look all right.”
As she disappeared into the bathroom Peter ran his fingers over her faded patchwork quilt; it covered the bed that had arrived at their door a week before Andi, the result of her adamant refusal to put any of them out of their beds. Mike thought it was silly for just a week-long visit, but Peter suspected they would be seeing much more of her than that.
After a few minutes she emerged, pulling her long hair into a ponytail. Even though the shirt didn’t quite fit her as well as it did him, it was still rather flattering.
“How do I look?” she asked, pirouetting.
“Fine,” he replied with naked admiration. “You’re going to be great.”
“You know, every time you say that I get more nervous.”
“Well, that, unfortunately, is natural.”
She followed him to the door. “Just keep telling me that, okay?”
~*~
“Don’t worry. It’s natural for you to be nervous. Just go out and play. I know you can do it.”
Andi looked over her shoulder as she timidly followed Mike onto the stage, giving Peter a faint, ghostly smile. She gripped his bass as if it were a life preserver, and squinted into the bright stage lights. Peter stood at the edge of the stage, clinging to the curtain with his good hand. He was quite sure that he was just as nervous as Andi, who seemed to want to hide behind Mike.
Once the music began, however, her nervousness faded, and Peter watched as she completely lost herself in the music. If she made any mistakes he couldn’t hear them, and though her dancing still couldn’t compare to Peter’s, she moved with a frame that was much looser than it had been the previous night. His grin became wider and wider, and when they finally left the stage an hour and a half later, it threatened to split his face in two. As soon as she put down his guitar he swept her up in a giant hug.
“You were fantastic!” he cried, releasing her. Micky pulled her into a bear hug that swept her off her feet, swinging her around with so much force that the two almost toppled over. Even Mike swung her around before pulling his hat off and placing it firmly on her head. They all shouted their congratulations at once until Andi finally held up her hands and shouted for quiet.
“Thank you all,” she said breathlessly. “It was fun.”
“See? I told you!” Peter said, laughing.
“Just don’t ask me to do it again,” she said, wiping her brow. “I think I prefer sitting in the audience.”
As they packed up their instruments Peter once again cornered her. “You’re still not serious about that. I can tell.”
She shrugged, winking enigmatically. “Maybe.”
~*~
That night she and Mike stood wrapped in a blanket on the verandah, enjoying a rare moment of quiet and privacy.
Andi pulled the blanket a little tighter around their shoulders. “I did have a good time tonight. Thank you for letting me play with you.”
Mike pulled her closer, resting his chin on top of her head. “You can play with me any time you want.”
“Oh, you tease,” she murmured, poking him.
“Seriously, it was great having you play with us. I don’t think we’ll need a permanent replacement for Peter, but if anything like this ever happens again, I know who to call.”
“Deal. Listen, thanks for getting out of the house today. I didn’t think it’d be that easy to get rid of you guys.”
“Well, I thought it was pretty nuts at first, but you were right about needing to be alone with him. It was the only way to really get him to focus on you.” Mike put his other arm around her, holding her close. “I actually got jealous for a little bit when I saw you guys all close and everything.”
“Well, he is kind of cute,” she said, dissolving into fits of giggles as Mike pounced, tickling her.
~*~
Meanwhile, inside the house, Peter was on his way to bed when he heard the pair laughing. He watched them for a few moments, then made his way to the bedroom. He stopped in the doorway and cast one more look at them.
“My big sister,” he murmured, smiling radiantly.
THE END
Back to Infinite Rider main page
Back to Mich’s Universe
