I’m a Believer
By Reesie Whitman
Part One-Take a Giant Step
I looked up at my new apartment and sighed. It wasn’t much, just a tiny little one-bedroom house, but it was right on the beach, which was definitely a plus.
Moving to California was the best thing I’d ever done, in my opinion. Living in Massachusetts was the bane of my existence, with the cold weather and snotty New Englanders. I needed to get away from that whole scene-far away. So I ended up in sunny southern California without even an inkling of whom I was to meet or where I was to work. I was scared, but I felt liberated at the same time. A brand new Katie Jacobson, a me that was spontaneous instead of cautious, free and not trapped, happy and not sad. A good feeling.
What was not a good feeling was knowing that I had to move all the boxes the movers had dumped precariously all over my front lawn into my house. So I sighed again and began tugging at one of the bigger boxes.
“You need any help?” A cheerful voice called out from behind me. I jumped about two feet and let out a gasp, spinning around at the same time (It sounds amazing, but trust me, it wasn’t).
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Helen Green, I live next door.” She was a thin woman around my age (nineteen) with the most beautiful black hair I’d ever seen.
“Katie Jacobson at your service.” I gave a mock serious bow and grinned at my new neighbor. Being away from my old reputation brought out the reckless side of my personality, the side I had always kept inside my shell back home. She laughed and headed over to aid me in my tug-of-war with the huge box.
“So where’d you come from, Katie?” She asked between grunts.
“Massachusetts, although sometimes I feel like I’m from another planet.” We succeeded in dragging the box inside, and we both plopped down on the floor wiping sweat off our foreheads from the effort.
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” She looked out the door to all of my other scattered boxes on the lawn. “This could get done a lot sooner if I had my boyfriend come over and help us. He lives a few houses down.”
“That sounds great.” I looked up gratefully at the tall girl. She laughed and waved goodbye.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I got up and dug out my mirror from the cardboard box labeled “cosmetics.” I swept my long auburn hair in a ponytail and groaned at my awful appearance. Okay Katie, she’s bringing over her boyfriend, which means that the guy is already hitched.
“We’re here!” That cheerful voice returned and in she walked, followed not by just one guy, but four. I inwardly groaned but grinned at the strangers. “Katie, this is Mike, my boyfriend.”
“Hey, how’s it goin’?” The tallest man said with a southern accent. On his head of wavy black hair was perched a green winter hat, complete with a bubble thingy on top.
“It’s going good so far, but I moved here to get away from the cold weather…suppose I was wrong in assuming southern California is a warm place?” I couldn’t resist the crack. The other guys grinned and chuckled, but Mike didn’t find the joke too funny.
“Hmmm.” He just grumbled and shoved his hands in his pockets. I shrugged and turned to Helen again.
“Uh, this is Micky.” She pointed to a slightly less tall man with curly brown hair. He grinned and tipped his imaginary hat.
“Tut-tut and all that rot.” He said in a fake English accent. I giggled and curtseyed.
“That was terrible, Mick, really.” The smallest guy commented with an authentic English accent. He glanced my way and smiled politely. “I’m Davy Jones.” He held out his hand and I shook it.
“This last guy is Peter.” Helen rested her hand on the blonde boy’s shoulder. He grinned shyly and also shook my hand.
“It’s really nice of you guys to come over and help me move my boxes inside.”
“Aw shucks, it’s the neighborly thing to do.” Peter said with genuine kindness. I made a “shall we?” gesture and we all went outside to continue getting my boxes moved into the proper place. I spent a lot of the time chatting with Davy. I found we shared the same sort of wry humor, and I got really excited when I learned he was from Manchester England. I broke into song; complete with a little dance my friends back in Massachusetts called “the Katie Jig.” (It looks a bit like the Snoopy dance from those Charlie Brown Christmas shows.)
“Manchester England, England, across the Atlantic sea! And I’m a genius, genius. I believe in God! And I believe that God believes in Claude, that’s me, that’s me.” I sang off-key. Peter looked at me strangely.
“I thought your name was Katie.” He said, confusion written all over his face.
“Oh Petah, it’s a song.” Davy sighed and gave me a beautiful grin. Yep, he was very cute, but not my type, I could tell. I even overheard Mike say to Helen that he “never saw Davy get along so well with a girl he wasn’t falling for.” That made me kinda happy.
Now that Mike was something else, in my opinion. He just bugged the hell out of me, the way he bossed the others around and acted like he knew everything. I mean, I could certainly see why Helen liked him, he was incredibly sexy and some girls find the overbearing type attractive, but that’s just not me. I think.
“Well, it’s done.” Peter said as he and Mike brought in the last huge box and set it in my bedroom.
“Thanks a lot, guys. I appreciate it.” I stood by Davy. He put his arm around my shoulders and gave them a tight squeeze.
“No problem, Kate. Who are we to ignore the callings of a damsel in distress?” He winked as I returned the small hug.
“Yeah, really Katie, if you ever need anything I’m sure all of us will be willing to help you out.” Peter gave me a dimpled grin. I smiled back but at the same time stole a quick glance at Mike, who was rolling his eyes and looking like he just wanted to get out of my house as soon as he possibly could. I gathered during the afternoon that Mike didn’t like me much either. He’ll just have to deal with you, Katie. I thought to myself, but you know how it is. It’s okay if you yourself don’t like someone, but when they don’t like you it hurts. Such is the way of life, I guess.
“Well, the least I could do is invite you over for dinner tonight.” I wasn’t much of a cook, but I can make a mean dish of kugal (noodle pudding for people that don’t know what I’m talking about; kugal is just the Jewish name for it. Well, technically it’s “luxon” kugal, but please don’t ask if that’s the right way to spell it. I have no idea).
“Well, we-“ Mike started in, but Helen gave him a nudge and smiled at me brightly.
“That is so nice! We’d love to come!”
“Yeah!” Micky said as Davy and Peter nodded in enthusiastic agreement. Mike sighed and opened the door for Helen as they walked out.
“We’ll be here at eight, then.” He ambled out after his girlfriend, followed by Micky and Peter, who were waving good-bye. Davy stayed behind.
“You need any help setting the table up and getting all the utensils out?” He motioned to all the unopened boxes. I slapped my forehead and groaned.
“God, I wasn’t even thinking of that! Yeah, it would be just wonderful if you helped me out.”
“You have a habit of being dramatic, don’t you? Instead of saying ‘groovy’ it’s ‘just wonderful’.” He chuckled. I smiled sheepishly.
“I know, I know. It’s the curse of living in a rich neighborhood in New England all my life.”
“I know exactly what you mean, being the product of a rich neighborhood in Old England myself.” My eyes lit up. I positioned my self for the Katie Jig. “Oh no…here it comes…”
“Manchester England, England, across the Atlantic sea! And-“
“-And I’m a genius, genius, yeah I know.” He sat down on the floor and sighed dramatically. I stopped jigging and put my hands on my hips, giving him an evil stare. He threw himself back and groaned loudly, with loud protests of “no more Manchester song! Please!” I stood there for a few seconds glaring at him, but the sight was just too funny and I ended cracked up hysterically. He started in too, and we just sat laughing for about ten minutes, I swear.
We calmed down a bit, but I stayed plopped on the floor beside him.
“So…why’d you leave jolly old England, anyway?” I asked him. I’d been curious for a while, but didn’t feel up to asking him about it with all his friends around.
He sighed, not loudly or anything like before-it was just a tiny sincere one. “I was sick of living with my grandfather, and not going anywhere. Frankly, life was dull.” He shrugged. “I’m sure you have a better reason for leaving your home.”
“Not really. I was sick of my home life too, the fakeness of my mother and her friends, the fakeness of most of my friends. I had a couple friends that were real, you know, not rich and just…real. But that couldn’t keep me there.”
“Yeah, you know that’s the same with me. And I’ve got lots of ‘real’ friends, as you call it, here in California. My grandfather wants me to come back, but I can’t leave the guys and the band behind.”
“You have a band?” I jumped up excitedly. “What kind of band?”
“Well, it’s sort of a mixture of pop, folk, rock, and country rock. I write most of the pop songs, Micky’s into the bluesy-rock music, Petah’s into folk and Mike writes most of the country rock and rock stuff.”
“That’s really groovy! Do you play guitar? Sing? What?”
“I sing some songs and play the tambourine. Maracas too.” He looked a little embarrassed to be the maraca and tambourine player, but I looked at him in admiration anyway. Just being in a band was enough to put me in awe.
“Wow. So watcha’ called?”
“The Monkees, spelt m-o-n-k-e-e-s.”
“Oooh I see, the Beatles approach. Cool, cool.”
“You should come hear us play tomorrow night. We have a gig at the Vincent Van Go-Go club-“ I burst out laughing at the name. He grinned and continued “-yeah, great sense of humor the owner has, though Petah still hasn’t gotten the joke yet.”
“Well, I’m so there. I can’t wait! The others won’t mind, will they?”
“Nah.”
“Okay, cool.” I looked around at the boxes and began rummaging through to see if my utensils were anywhere. “Well, c’mon Mr. Tambourine Man, I don’t have all day, we gotta go to the grocery store for some supplies, then I haveta cook the thing, set the table…”
“Maybe you should just order pizza and pretend you made it.” I looked at him aghast.
“No way! I’m going to make a good, honest impression on you guys! Besides, you’ll love kugal!”
“Kugal?”
The others came at eight o’clock, right on the dot. I noticed that Peter, Helen and Micky had all changed they’re clothes, so I was relieved because I had changed myself. Davy hadn’t changed; he was at my house all day, and neither had Mike. Who cares? This is Mike.
“Hey Katie! So you’ve been here all day, Davy?” Micky bounced in, handing me a small bouquet of daisies on the way.
“You guys didn’t have to get me these!” I smelled the flowers happily.
“Yeah, well we figured the apartment could use a little cheering up.” Peter leaned over to smell them himself.
“Thank you. Make yourself at home.” I headed to the kitchen to find the box with my vase in it. Helen followed me as the boys chattered amongst themselves.
“I think you guys are really great, you know.” I told her as I rummaged through each box.
“Thanks, those guys really are. But, uh-“ She fidgeted with her shirt. “Um, I’m sure you noticed that Mike hasn’t been the most, ah, friendly guy-“ I gave up on finding the vase and settled on a coffee mug for the time being.
“Helen, it’s alright. Mike and I aren’t getting You’ve got a great guy. Well, he’s good-looking enough, anyway.” I smiled and she looked relieved.
“Really, he is. A good guy, I mean. And good-looking. I’m glad you aren’t taking offense.”
“Of course not. Come on.” I tugged her into the room where the table was. I wasn’t sure if I should call it the dining room or not, after all it just had a table and chairs. I decided that it really didn’t matter, it was my house and I could name each room after pet food brands if I wanted.
“So what are we having?” Mike asked bluntly.
“Kugal!” Davy exclaimed, giving me a wink. We waited for the reaction.
“Kugal?” Every one asked in a confused tone. I looked over at Davy and we burst out laughing.
“It’s the Jewish name for noodle pudding. It’s basically noodles cooked with cinnamon and stuff. It sounds gross, but it’s really good.”
“It is, trust me.” Davy patted Mike on the shoulder.
“Cheer up Mike. You’ll like it. If you like anything.” I had whispered that last part to Davy, but Mike heard it and shot me a look.
“Ha ha.” He folded his arms and sat down at a chair. “Well? Where is this magnificent dinner?”
“Sit down guys, I’ll bring it in.” I rushed into the kitchen again and brought out the kugal. I served it to everyone (Mike last) and sat down myself. I waited anxiously as everyone dove in.
“This is really groovy!” Micky wolfed his down in about three seconds flat.
“I knew he’d love it.” Davy whispered to me. Peter nodded in agreement to Micky, and Helen told me how much she liked it.
“So, does King Mike enjoy his food?” I said sarcastically.
“Actually, yes. It is better than, oh let’s see, Peter’s cream of root beer soup.”
“Cream of root beer soup?” I raised my eyebrows at Peter. “Couldn’t you have at least made it cream of coca-cola soup?” He grinned at me gratefully. God, I’d never met a more good-natured guy in my life.
So the night went on like that, the six of us just hanging out and getting to know each other. By the end of the night I learned that: A) Mike was the eldest at twenty-one, he came from Texas and was the lead guitarist of the band; B) Helen was the second oldest at twenty, was from San Francisco and had a job working as a photographer for the local newspaper; C) Peter was the third in line at age twenty (a few months younger than Helen), was from the Village in New York City and played bass guitar and sometimes keyboard in the band; D) Micky was fourth at nineteen, co-lead singer and drummer of the band and spent lots of time on his chemistry set; and E) that Davy was the youngest, having just turned nineteen two months ago, was a definite “ladies man” and fell in love every week with a different girl.
Even Mike had loosened up by the time they left, which was at about one in the morning. When we parted I couldn’t help feeling that we were all good friends now-and when Davy, Micky and Peter (with Mike nodding his head reluctantly behind them) said that I was welcome to their house at anytime, and I said the same was alright here, that cinched it for me. Helen and I were good friends too, she had whispered to me while they were leaving that “it’s nice having another girl in the group.” I just smiled and thought it’s nice to be in a group.