Chapter Two
Morning came and the GTO pulled up outside the community center—a squat, ugly building with all the personality of a granite bulldog. Mike got out, straightening his black shirt and adjusting the cuffs. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so self-conscious, but he suddenly wanted everything to be perfect.
Peter couldn’t resist. Where this impish sense of humor had come from, he didn’t really know. He got out of the car behind Mike and brushed imaginary lint from Mike’s shoulders.
“Thanks, Pete,” Mike said, shooting Micky a confused look when the drummer burst out laughing.
Peter sauntered by, all innocence. That was when Mike knew he’d been had.
Mike nodded, straightened his hat, then pretended to pull a notepad out of his pocket. Touching an imaginary pen to his tongue, he scrawled across his palm.
“What are you writing?” Davy asked.
“A reminder,” Mike said cryptically, sticking the imaginary pad back into his pocket.
Davy frowned. “A reminder?”
“To kick Peter’s ass later,” Mike said with a snarky grin as he led them inside. Davy grinned from ear to ear and Peter just shook his head.
They walked in to a state of controlled pandemonium, with nearly a dozen people engaged in building an elaborate set of cardboard trees, houses, and even a castle.
Gavin was there standing next to a smaller man who was trying hard to blow an old-fashioned trumpet. “Keep trying,” he chuckled. “If you can’t get it, the try’ll sound funny and that’s what we need!”
“Hey, town crier baby!” Mike said, greeting them.
Gavin blinked. “Hey, that’s perfect! I’ll have to remember that one.”
Mike exchanged a look with Micky. “O-Okay,” he said. “We’re here. What do you need us to do?”
“Here’re the tentative scripts. Most of it may be ad-libbed, but that’s the general gist.” He handed them four scripts, checking to make sure their parts were on them.
Mike’s read “Mike Nesmythe—Cobbler.”
Davy’s read “Davy Jones—Tailor, Red Riding Hood, Gretel.”
Peter’s read “Peter Tork—The Unemployed Knight.”
Micky’s said “Mickey D—” Three times his misspelled surname had been scratched out. “Innkeeper, Goldilocks, Hansel.”
“You got a pen?” Mike said, his brow furrowing.
“Sure, why?” Gavin handed it over, trying hard to ignore the ‘Town Crier’s stares.
Mike quickly scribbled out “Nesmthye” and wrote “NESMITH” in all capitals, then handed the pen to Micky, who fixed the misspellings of his names. Both turned their scripts over, and Gavin chuckled. “All right!”
“So . . . what does an unemployed knight get to do?” Peter asked.
“Why, woo the princess of course!” Gavin laughed.
“And who’s the princess?” he asked, getting a mildly dreamy look on his face as he no doubt imagined getting to kiss a pretty girl on stage.
“Me,” Gavin chuckled. “Don’t you remember?”
Micky and Davy howled with laughter, and even Mike doubled over, covering his mouth to stifle himself. Peter smacked his forehead good-naturedly. “Right. I forgot.”
“But don’t worry.” Gavin’s eyes batted coquettishly. “I won’t kiss you.”
“Darn right you won’t,” Peter muttered. He looked at Micky and Davy, who were still howling. “Quit laughing—you guys gotta dress up like girls, too.”
“But I don’t,” Mike said, sticking his thumbs in his ears, waggling his fingers and sticking out his tongue.
Peter growled. “You should.”
“Why?” Mike said, giving Peter an innocent look, complete with a batting of his eyes.
“Because you need to be blown down a peg or two before your head swells more!” Peter shot back.
Mike threw down his script. “That’s it, Tork!” With a roar he leaped on the blond, sending them both to the floor, where they began wrestling.
Gavin’s eyes widened and he lunged toward the pair. “No, guys, stop it!”
“Relax,” Micky said, taking Gavin by the arms. “They’re just playing around.”
“But they . . . it looks so—”
“Real?” Davy said quietly. “Yeah, but that’s just ‘cause they’re good at acting.”
Gavin watched them and couldn’t help but smile when Peter shot at Mike, “Look, we need to stop—I’m supposed to be romancing your princess lookalike here!”
“Peasant!” Mike screeched, releasing Peter’s arms.
Peter scowled at him. “Any more of this,” he rumbled, rubbing his arms and smoothing his shirt down, “and I’m gonna get another princess to worship!”
Gavin laughed. “That’s going in, too!”
Mike laughed. “Finally we get some respect, and it’s from a man who looks like me and wears a dress!”
“Hey!” Gavin roared back at him. “I uphold a time-honored Thespian tradition—men have played women’s roles since the time of the Bard!”
“And have looked utterly ridiculous ever since,” Micky said with a grin.
“Watch it, fuzzy, or I’ll have them make you look extra ridiculous,” Gavin grinned.
“Oh, that won’t be difficult,” Mike said. “It’s just a matter of degree at this point.” He picked up his script and rifled through it. “When and where do we start?”
“With costume fittings and makeup.”
A pretty brunette woman with a definite New Jersey twang looked around the corner. “Y’call for makeup?”
“Yeah, make them beautiful.” He nodded at Micky and Davy. “They’re in drag this play too.”
Mike rested a companionable elbow on Peter’s shoulder. “Have fun, girls,” he teased, winking at Micky and Davy. When they walked out in full costume and makeup thirty minutes later, Peter burst into howls of laughter at Davy’s over-rouged cheeks and Micky’s minimalist makeup.
Mike just shook his head, his full lower lip clamped firmly between his teeth.
Gavin rubbed his hands as he came out. “You look perfect!” He cleared the edge of the nearest set piece and they got their first good look at the ‘princess.’
“Oh my G—” Peter doubled over, his hands on his knees. Mike just stared, his eyes wide, his jaw hanging open.
“Well?” Gavin turned in a circle, having to hold the blonde wig on his head.
“I think you’re lovely,” Micky said, grinning at Mike. “Look at those sideburns and that body.”
Gavin stopped, blinked at him, then howled, doubling over. “We’ve got to put that one in!”
“I can’t believe he’s actually gonna put that in,” Mike said, shaking his head regretfully.
“Why not?” Gavin asked. “It’s a great line!”
“See?” Micky said, sticking his tongue out at Mike. Mike rolled his eyes.
A man came jogging up. “Gavin! They hit again!”
At the word ‘hit,’ all four Monkees tensed, their smiles disappearing.
On to Chapter Three
Back to Chapter One
Back to Secrets and Lies Index
