Micky, for his part, went three shades of pale. Davy stumbled backwards, landing heavily on the couch. She looked at each of them in turn, and there was no recognition in her eyes at all. “Hello there.”
Mike was the first to recover. “H-Hello. Are you the new tenant?”
She smiled. “That’s right, sonny. Name’s Millie Rudnick. And you four are—?”
“Oh, we’re the Monkees. Hello . . . ” Mike began in song.
“Hello . . . ” Micky responded automatically, in song.
“Hello . . . ” Davy chimed in.
“Hello . . . ” Peter’s low voice finished the harmony, then Micky broke off and did “Hello!” in a crazy squeak.
Millie didn’t look impressed. “Monkees, huh? Don’t you have names?”
Mike’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Mike Nesmith.”
“Peter Tork.”
“Micky Dolenz.”
“Davy Jones.”
She looked at him. “Davy Jones? You’re kiddin’ me.”
Davy shook his head. “No ma’am. David Armstrong Jones, at your service.” He bowed slightly.
She pointed a finger at him. “You tell me you got a locker somewhere, and I’ll send you packin’.”
Davy shook his head, hiding his grin behind his hand.
She smiled at Peter and Mike. “So. You know me, I know you. I think I’m gonna like it here.”
Mike nodded, not sure what to say.
Micky nudged him. “She’s the new tenant?” he whispered in disbelief. “Isn’t that—?”
“I know,” Mike whispered as Millie went around, looking at everything and handling more than she looked. “But I don’t think it’s really her.”
“Who else can it be, man?” Davy whispered. “There can’t be two people that look that much alike!”
“Oh no?” Mike said. “Remember Prince Ludlow?”
Millie ran her finger over a table. “Who put all this dust here?” she groused.
Mike quickly turned his attention to Millie. “What day is it?”
“Monday,” Micky said.
“It’s Peter,” Mike replied smoothly. “Peter always puts the filth down on Monday.”
Millie’s eyes met Peter’s. “You’re fired.” Peter hesitated a few moments before putting on his best ‘dumb’ look.
Davy tugged on Mike’s sleeve. “Tell her she can’t stay!” he hissed.
“I can’t, Davy,” Mike murmured.
“Then I will,” he snarled, taking a step forward. “Millie—I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding here—” Mike started to take a step forward, then paused. No . . . Davy’s got a hot head—let it embarrass him. Might do him some good.
“Oh?” Millie asked smoothly.
“Yeah, see, this is our house and—” Davy began, but was quickly cut off.
She waved a hand. “So it’s your house. It’s a free country—you wanna stay, you stay!”
Mike exchanged bewildered looks with Peter.
Millie put her birdcage on the table. “After all, I’ve had boarders before!”
“Boarders!?!?” they howled simultaneously. Her reply was a cheeky smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Micky swallowed a surge of intense anger and stomped out the back door, running back down to the beach. Peter looked after him, then back at Mike, his eyes holding a question.
“Millie, would you excuse us for a minute?” Mike said, indicating with a nod for Peter to follow him to the veranda. Peter did, and Davy followed them both, his hands flexing and relaxing. “Go walk it off,” Mike ordered Davy. He nodded and headed out. Mike turned to Peter. “What is it?”
“She worries me.”
“Why?”
“If she is The Big Man . . . ” He trailed off, spreading his hands.
“She’s not,” Mike said. “Not unless she has amnesia.”
“But then how do you explain it?”
Mike shrugged. “I can’t.”
Peter’s eyes were drawn to the water and he chuckled. “I think we’ll be having fish tonight.” Mike followed his gaze. Micky was standing up to mid-calf in the waves, alert, his hands and eyes following the movement of something beneath the waves.
“Now there’s something you don’t see every day.” Mike commented. “Water katas.”
Peter smiled as Micky lunged and came up with a struggling fish. “Told you. Fish dinner.”
Mike whistled. “He’s good. I’ll have to try that sometime . . . don’t ever want to admit that there’s something he can do that I can’t.” He winked.
“I’m surprised you two room together without killing each other.”
“I’ve been tempted,” Mike said. “Especially that night I bumped into the bed on the way from the bathroom and he jumped on me.”
Peter’s chuckles turned into a sigh as he sat down lotus-style and looked back at their house. “Boarders.” He shook his head.
Mike sat on the railing, drawing his legs up in a Burmese position. “In our own house.”
“Well, at least we’re not on the street.”
Mike nodded. “True.”
A splash and a hiss drew Peter’s attention. “Another fish.” He raised his voice. “You need three more!”
Micky’s reply was a one-fingered salute as he threw the fish onto the beach. Mike frowned a little. “He’s gettin’ more temperamental every day.”
“I know. I’m worried about him too. Davy’s hot head’s getting more manageable . . . ”
“And now Micky’s the crazy one.” Mike sighed.
“And you’re suddenly the voice of reason.”
“Well, you and me both, Peter.”
Peter shuddered. “Now that is a scary thought.” Mike chuckled. “Five fish,” Peter reported. “And he looks calmer.”
“Good.” Mike hopped off the railing. “I sure hope Millie didn’t see him. We’d have a tough time explainin’.”
When Davy joined them and the four walked inside, Millie smiled. “Oh, good, there you are! I need help with my bags!” Micky looked at Mike and rolled his eyes. “I saw that!” Millie wagged her finger. “Now move it!”
Micky stuck out his chin, the words “Make me!” dancing on his lips as Mike grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him outside.
The massive pile of baggage and furniture made Peter and Davy, who’d followed them, take pause. “Holy . . . ” Davy breathed.
“C’mon, guys,” Mike said, suppressing his dismay. “It’s good practice.”
“Practice for what?” Micky demanded.
“Buildin’ up our arms,” Mike deadpanned.
“And face it, man, yours need building up!” Davy shot.
Mike picked up a heavy suitcase and tossed it at the shorter man. “Smart mouth.”
Davy rolled under the weight. “I think so!”
Micky picked up two more large suitcases, wedging a third under his arm as if to challenge his bandmates to better him.
“You’re gonna hurt yourself!” Mike said.
Micky snorted and stalked back into the house, erasing most of his glare as he faced Millie. “Where you want these?”
“Oh, just put them there,” she said as she busied herself uncovering the birdcage to reveal a very dead stuffed bird. “You know, if we’re going to be sharing this house, there are certain rules to follow.”
Micky’s eyes narrowed. “Rules like what?”
“No feet on the couch. No loud parties. And food should not be eaten with the fingers.”
Micky started to shout that he’d put his feet wherever he pleased and eat in whatever manner he chose, but was interrupted by Mike, who entered with “The fingers should be eaten separately!”
Millie glared at him, looking so much like The Big Man that Mike had an uncomfortable feeling of deja vu. “Don’t be a Mister Mouth.”
“It was just a joke,” Mike said, pouting to cover the suspicion that shot tingling snakes down his spine.
“Still. My Herman, God rest his soul, would die if he thought I was being taken advantage of. You boys wouldn’t do that, would you?”
“No ma’am,” Peter said firmly, even as the same thoughts shot through the minds of his bandmates. “Never.”
Her eyes softened. “Good. I don’t have anywhere to go right now, so this is it for me.” Mike quietly went back outside and continued working on getting her luggage inside.
On to Three
Back to One
Back to Secrets and Lies Index
