Chapter One
The phone rang at three AM in her plush apartment. “Hello?” her voice, soft and sultry even when muddled by sleep, answered.
“Hello, April.” The voice somehow managed to sound cold even when it was smiling. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, Mistress! Sleep is for the weak!” April said, forcing the sleep from her voice as quickly as possible.
“Good girl. I have an assignment for you. You are the most beautiful of my children, and you are to use that beauty in my service.”
“Yes, Mistress?” April said eagerly, sitting up and turning on the bedside lamp.
“A courier will arrive at your door in three hours. He bears photographs of four men. You are to seduce them—each of them—and drive wedges between them. To do this, I’ve purchased a laundromat for you. My other children have told me they use it frequently.”
“But . . . how will I drive wedges between them?” April wondered if the Mistress’s faith in her abilities was a little misplaced.
“With your beauty and your charm. Just be yourself—only a little more . . . innocent.”
April chewed her lip. “A-All right, Mistress. I will do my best.”
“That’s all I ask, April. That’s all I’ve ever asked of you.” Her voice was maternal now, soothing.
“I won’t fail you, Mistress.” April couldn’t hide her smirk. “My name isn’t Ellen.”
There was a growl from the other end of the phone. “Good. She failed me utterly, and she paid dearly. Didn’t you, my pet?” The voice faded. There was an audible whimper in the background, after which the voice returned. “I have every faith in you, my April. Do not fail me.”
April swallowed. “Consider it done, Mistress.”
“Excellent. The town is Malibu Beach, and your laundromat is on the corner of Fifth and Rosemont.”
“Fifth and Rosemont,” April replied dutifully. “I will go there first thing in the morning.”
“After you study the courier’s packet.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Do not forget that you have your Mistress’s love, my precious Month.”
April smiled at the warmth that surged through her. She would not fail her. “Never, Mistress. Never.”
“Excellent. Then I suggest you get rid of the night’s entertainment and make yourself ready.”
April glanced at the sleeping male form next to her. How did Mistress know . . . ? “Y-Yes, of course. Right away.” Mistress’s chuckle was more amused than cold as the line was severed.
Three hours later there came a smart knock on April’s door. The envelope was thick and cold to the touch; she took it into the now-vacant bedroom and sat on the bed, pulling the photos out and scanning the faces upon them.
The first was of a smiling man with a square jaw and wildly curling hair. He was frozen in mid-air, caught as if dancing. She studied the face carefully, tilted her head to the side. It was an odd set of features, but there was a mischievous charm in the hazel eyes, a sense of wildness and danger mixed in with the good humor. Written on a note attached to the picture was: “Micky Dolenz. Drummer. Thin—the Dragon.”
April memorized the name and set the photo aside, picking up the next. A young, smiling face looked back her, brown from his impeccably combed hair to his healthy tan to his dark brown eyes. “Davy Jones. Singer. Dan—The Tiger.”
Next was a blond man—eyes wide and shining with glee, and a smile that literally made her heart skip a beat. “Peter Tork. Bass player. Than—the Monkey.”
She reluctantly set him aside and regarded the last. Penetrating black eyes stared out at her from a stern, solemn face crowned by thick waves of raven hair, partially hidden under the band of a green wool hat. Her breath caught in her throat despite herself. “Mike Nesmith. Lead guitarist. Ngo—the Horse.”
Also inside the packet were instructions on how to run a laundromat—she knew nothing about Laundry Science, and was delighted to find a textbook on the subject in it too, until she opened it and saw that it was merely a prop. She tossed it aside, stretching out across her bed and carefully scanning the pictures. They were very handsome. Yes . . . this was going to be a wonderful assignment . . .
It was two days before they walked into her laundromat—all of them, laughing and joking with each other.
“And Peter, this time please don’t pull the buttons off your shirt,” the one wearing the hat—Nesmith—said.
“I sew them back on!” the blond—Tork—sniffed, his spine straightening. “And that way I don’t lose any!”
The fuzzy one—Dolenz—chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Who forgot the soap?”
Nesmith looked at him. “You did.”
“Oh. I knew it was one of us . . . ” He moved over to the desk. “Scuse me, miss?”
She looked up at him, immediately registering his face. This must be Dolenz . . . She stood slowly, tilting her curvaceous body as she lowered her glasses, peering at him. “Can I . . . help you?”
His eyes skimmed her body and he began to smile. “Nice,” his lips formed. He licked them and asked relatively calmly, “Yes, do you have any soap?”
Disappointed that he hadn’t been entranced, she handed him a box of soap. “Enjoy,” she purred.
“Thank you.” He smiled and he moved over to his friends. A thumb jerked in her direction as they were speaking.
April sat back down, folding her hands in her lap. And so it begins . . .
A few moments later, the small one—Jones—sauntered over. “Hello there, luv.”
“Hello,” she replied in a tone that could only be described as “sex kitten.” This one was the cute one, she sensed.
“Thank you for the soap.” He grinned. “Now if we could figure out something to keep Peter from ripping off his buttons . . . ”
“I heard that!” the blond called, making him laugh.
“What’re you reading?” He motioned to her textbook.
“It’s laundry science,” she replied. “Do you realize that all over the world there’s a great resevoir of untapped dirt?”
He frowned. “You go to school to learn how to do laundry?”
“It’s a fascinating subject,” she said. “Perhaps sometime I could . . . explain it in depth.”
“Sometime.” He smiled and moved back over to his friends, nodding and getting a visible, ‘told you!’ from Dolenz. April quietly gritted her teeth. Why weren’t they falling for her?
Tork walked over then. “Hi. You’re in school?”
“Yes, I am,” she replied, staring into his light brown eyes and feeling her heart speed up involuntarily. “I’m an alumnus at the Laundromatic Institute of Sandra Doo.”
“I’ve never heard of that . . . is it near UCLA?” His eyes never wavered from hers, and his voice was a silky baritone.
April paused. The dossier hadn’t included where the university was. “Somewhat,” she said at length, hoping he wouldn’t question her further.
And That Smile bloomed. “I’m Peter Tork.”
“Yes, I know you are,” she almost blurted out. “I’m April,” she said instead.
“April what?”
“April Conquest,” she whispered.
“Conquest. Very martial name.” He smiled and tilted his head as the washer buzzed. “Excuse me, that’s my cue.”
“Of course,” she replied. Damn. He didn’t even ignore his laundry for me.
Nesmith began to fill the washer with the second load; as he did Dolenz pulled the hat from his head and threw it in, slamming the door of the machine closed and sitting on it. April could hear the “Hey!” from where she was sitting. Temperamental, she thought. I like that . . .
With a growl, he walked over. “Got a change machine here?”
“How much?” she asked, batting her eyes at him.
“Enough for two dryers.” He handed her a dollar. “You got somethin’ in your eye?”
“No,” she said, handing him four quarters.
He nodded, smiling. “Sorry I’m gruff.”
“Perfectly all right,” she said, staring into his intense gaze. Something inside her started to beat a little faster.
He smiled slightly. “Sorry. Name’s Mike.”
“I’m April,” she said. “Pleasure to meet you.”
He took her hand and shook it gently. “You’re quite a handsome woman.”
“Why thank you,” she said, registering the honesty in his eyes. Finally! “Perhaps we could . . . get together sometime.”
“I’d like that.” He smiled. His smile was just as devastating as Peter’s, in its own way.
She wasn’t aware until he moved away that there was another customer standing in front of her; her gaze lingered on the Four Winds for a few moments, until the man cleared his throat. The four were in a huddle, debating something. She quickly helped her customer, then sat down, appearing to study her book while surreptitiously watching the Monkees.
They loaded their clothes, then Nesmith and Tork returned to her side. “April . . . ” Nesmith began. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Doing what?” she replied automatically.
“Running a laundromat,” Tork said gently.
April swallowed. Another thing the dossier had left out. Might as well make it up. “Two years,” she said.
“Two years . . . and you transferred to this one?”
Transferred? “Yes. Before that I was . . . an apprentice in Long Island.”
Tork grinned. “Told you I heard an accent.”
“Oh, shut up.” But Nesmith was smiling.
“And what about you?” she asked.
“Texas/Connecticut,” they said in unison.
She laughed. “You’re both from Texas and Connecticut?”
“He’s from Texas.”
“He’s from Connecticut.”
Dolenz walked over. “And I’m from LA and Kitten here is from England.” Jones swatted at him.
“How fascinating,” she said. And they’re all much cuter than their pictures . . .
“So you’re from New York,” Dolenz smiled. “That’s a nice place.”
April had never been to New York. “Yes, it’s lovely.”
He nodded and moved to the dryers. Jones shook his head. “Don’t mind him. He’s all hot air.”
“It’s quite all right,” April said.
Jones kissed the back of her hand. “You’re a charmer, you are,” he said, moving to help Dolenz.
April fought the flush of heat that rose into her cheeks as they gathered their laundry and left, each of them waving and/or smiling at her. Tork’s grin contained two lovely dimples, and Nesmith winked as he departed.
“Yes,” April murmured, leaning back in her chair. “It’s going quite nicely.”
On to Chapter Two
Back to Secrets and Lies Index
