Chapter Summary: Peter falls for a girl. Hard. Unfortunately, Davy's so busy wooing her that he can't get a word in edgewise.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was dusk when dinner was finished, and Micky and Peter had wandered onto the balcony for a breath of the crisp air. Micky, because he was genuinely curious. Growing up by the Pacific hadn't given him much experience with other climates, and, odd as it may seem, every so often he found it downright boring that it was absolutely beautiful every day. Meanwhile, Peter simply enjoyed gray sky because it reminded him of home. So both young men were curiously happy as they leaned on the railing and took in the dismal horizon.
"All quiet on the Western Front," Micky murmured, just loudly enough for Peter to hear. A chilly breeze flickered through his curls. The beach was desolate.
"Well, who's going to swim today?" Peter replied, squinting over his head. "I think it's going to rain."
To be perfectly clear, to say the beach was "desolate," would not be entirely true. There were no swimmers, of course--at least not in the patch of ocean the band considered their backyard. There were, however, a handful of individuals and couples taking walks in the sand, oblivious to the two men watching them from a couple hundred feet away.
Out of everyone, there was only one group of three: a trio of girls, still so far to the right that their faces were indistinguishable, slowly walking in the direction of the Pad. Both Micky and Peter began silently eyeing them, waiting till they came into focus.
Several moments passed before either of them said a word and it was Micky who spoke first. "Are those the girls you met?"
Peter straightened up and narrowed his eyes, though a second later they popped open and his stomach flipped. "Oh no."
"No?"
"I mean, yes."
Micky stood up, rolling his shoulders. The girls were now fully in view and he nodded thoughtfully. "Not bad."
Peter gulped. Elise was standing in the middle, with a shorter girl on her right and a taller one on her left. Both had much longer, curly hair: brown and red, respectively. All three had their hands stuffed into buttoned jackets. They were surveying their new surroundings, it seemed, although their eyes were fixed on the water. They hadn't noticed the two men staring at them from the balcony.
So, Micky decided to rectify this.
"Hey!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the winter air without any difficulty. Peter's hand instinctively and immediately flew to his friend's shoulder, but it was too late. Micky had their attention. The girls turned around and squinted at the Pad.
"Micky, no..." Peter whimpered. "Come on." Everyone knew the wider Micky's grin, the more impossible it was to deter him, whatever the situation. Already his lips were stretched from ear to ear. Besides, when it came to girls, he assumed--like everyone else--that Peter Tork just didn't know what was good for him. "Are you the new neighbors?" he asked, waving, knowing full well they were.
The girls pointed to themselves and looked around to see if there was anyone else he could be screaming at. Micky waved for them to come closer, giggling like a child as they started toward the Pad.
Peter shook his head and backed away. "I'm going inside."
"Aw, Pete, no."
"Don't invite them in."
"Why not?"
"Because we hardly know them," Peter stammered, unable to think of a better excuse on the spot.
Micky shrugged. "You said you met the one. Which one was that?"
To his utter horror, Micky now lifted his finger to actually point at the girls. Peter dove to the edge of the balcony and caught him by the wrist. Micky scowled, thoroughly confused, as their eyes met in silent communication. Slowly, he lowered his hand as Peter shook his head.
"The one with the short hair," he whispered, unable to turn his gaze back to the beach. They were approaching, he could sense it by the way his stomach was twisting. Oh, God, why'd he have to call them over?
"Hi, Peter."
He turned stiffly, gripping the railing as though the Pad was about to buck him into the sand. "Hi, Elise," he replied, a little too loudly.
"Is this where you live?" She seemed greatly more at ease than she had earlier, but Peter tightened his hold. His knuckles turned white. Funny, how he'd been so calm when he hadn't known her name, and now that she knew his, she sounded like she was speaking to an old friend.
He nodded a little to vigorously. Micky elbowed him in the ribs and introduced himself. Elise likewise stated that the girls she was walking with were named Christy (the short one) and Kathy (the redhead), and that Christy was her sister. They were also, rather obviously, her two roommates.
Peter's attention, however, was almost entirely on Elise--that is, whenever his eyes weren't twitching about in some random direction. He was too nervous to maintain contact for very long, but Elise had redone her hair and freshened her makeup. Before, she'd been frazzled and weary from her journey, and even then Peter had found her beautiful. Now...Oh God, now...
"Peter said he helped you move in," Micky said, effortlessly making conversation.
"I carried a box." Peter added, his voice now too soft for anyone to really hear. The lump in his throat was too thick to work around.
"He saved my flatware." Elise smiled at him, which was more than Peter could handle. He was completely aware of how absolutely ridiculous he was acting, and he'd lasted a minute longer than he'd expected, but he felt too pathetic to chance another sixty seconds.
Peter excused himself, ducked indoors and disappeared. He couldn't even hear Micky calling after him and Elise remained with a frown, wondering what had suddenly gone wrong.
~*~*~
Inside, Mike was finishing putting the dishes away, while Davy was stretched out on the couch, picking at his fingernails.
"What's Micky shouting about?" he asked, not bothering to lift his eyes.
Peter snatched his banjo from their makeshift bandstand by the window and dragged his feet down the stairs. His hesitation to answer caught Mike's attention on the other side of the room, but Davy was still mostly oblivious. Mike froze for a moment, his head hidden behind an open cabinet door, while his fingertips grazed the edge of a plate.
"There are some girls on the beach," he finally replied, when he'd nearly crossed the floor. He was making his way towards his bedroom.
Davy sat up. "Girls?"
Mike lowered his brows and closed the cabinet. "The same girls who moved in. The ones you met today?"
"Peter met girls?"
"I met a girl," Peter corrected, opening his door.
"Well, where're you going, Pete?" Mike asked, finally stepping out of the kitchen. His arms were folded across his chest and his tone was one of increasing concern.
Peter paused and shrugged, his eyes cast downward in thought. Sometimes he wasn't sure if he was just shy, or an honest-to-goodness coward, but he stepped inside and closed the door.
Davy stood up and ran his fingers through his hair, although it was already perfectly in place. It always was. He started for the bandstand.
"And when were you all going to tell me that there were new girls in the neighborhood?"
He had no intention of waiting around long enough for an answer and a few seconds later, Mike was alone in the room. He took a step towards the bedroom door, but already he could hear Peter plucking lazy strings on his banjo. The corner of his mouth twitched in a subtle frown. Too often, he knew he treated his friends like children. Perhaps Peter truly needed some time alone.
Many times, thoughts like this had crossed Michael Nesmith's mind. He could be downright pushy when someone needed a problem solved, although, deep down, he knew most of the problems were rarely any of his business.
Of course, these thoughts had never stopped him before, and Mike was already knocking on Peter's door. And he'd opened it before Peter welcomed him in.
"Hey, Pete, what's wrong?" he asked, genuinely concerned. Let it be noted that his intentions were constantly pure, and usually very simple. See a problem, get involved, fix it. It was more of an older brother mentality than anything else.
"Nothing."
Mike closed the door and rested his hip against the bureau. The room was darkened except for a table lamp beside Peter's bed and the dismal natural light misting through the windows.
"Nothing? Well, for nothing, you're sure making that banjo sound like the saddest thing since I don't know what. Honestly, Pete, I didn't know you could play a banjo like that." But all he got in return was a weak smile. "Did something happen?"
Peter shook his head, then caught himself midway and nodded. "Micky called the girls over."
"So?"
"So, I can't talk to girls."
"Pishaw, Pete. You talk to girls all the time. You talk to the checkout girl at the supermarket--tell her to use paper bags so they biodegrade..."
"This is different any you know it," Peter interjected weakly, but it shut Mike up for a while. "Micky can shout at them. Davy gets a new date every day. I hide in my room...and play the banjo..."
"Sometimes you steal their pictures," Mike added, which earned him a rare Peter eye-roll. "Seriously, though, everyone gets nervous when they ask someone out on a date. It's stressful."
"I couldn't even say hello."
"Sure you can."
Peter turned his eyes back to the instrument and pouted defensively. "Well, nothing ever seems to scare you."
But Mike wouldn't let him get away with it. "And how many times a month do you see me go out? Right." He walked over to the bed and wrapped his skinny fingers around the neck of the banjo. With a little fight, Peter allowed him pull it away.
"Now, get up. Go back out there. Invite them in for some tea."
"Tea?" Peter asked, pushing himself to his feet. Sometimes, there really was no use trying to argue with Mike.
"Or something. I dunno," Mike chuckled, trying to set his friend at ease. It almost worked. "Now, go out there 'n knock 'em dead."
~*~*~
But it was during all this that another conversation was taking place. In spite of all his naysaying, Peter had been correct on one account: Davy, in fact, did have a new date every week. At least he seemed to, and very few people would argue otherwise.
What Peter did not know, however, was that Davy had completely failed to impress the new ticket girl at the arcade that afternoon, no matter how many games of Skeeball he'd won. The girl had a very large, very protective boyfriend, so all Davy had brought home for the evening had been a stuffed purple bear, which now rested in the lap of the stoic Mr. Schneider.
Had Peter known this, he may have thought twice before granting Davy access to the girls.
"Hello, hello." he began, in his usual charming way. His English accent, although attractive, made up a much smaller portion of his charisma than most would admit. Davy was just a natural people person, which no one could ever really hold against him, though they frequently tried.
The three girls said "Hello," in reply, almost simultaneously.
Micky patted his friend on the back, not realizing that he would soon regret welcoming him to eagerly to the conversation. "This, ladies, is David Jones, self-proclaimed as America's finest import."
Davy chuckled. "He's flatters me, he does. So, who's who?" He clapped his hands.
"I'm Christy. This is Kathy, and this is Elise."
"Oh, Elise, that's a pretty name."
It was then that Micky first started to feel a funny gnawing in his stomach. "What's wrong with Christy and Kathy?" he asked, not really knowing what he meant by it, only knowing that he definitely shouldn't keep quiet. Not that he ever did.
Davy shrugged. "It's just rarer."
"I guess," Elise replied. Behind her back, the other girls exchanged smiles.
"Did you all just move in today?" Davy asked, resting his chin in his palm and leaned over the railing.
"Yup," Micky answered, but Davy ignored him.
The girls nodded. "Still unpacking," one of the other two added.
"Oh, do you need any help?" Davy asked, perking up.
"I think we're about done for the day." Elise nervously shifted her weight from foot to foot.
"Tomorrow, then?"
Davy's persistence earned him a sudden glare and a poke in the ribs from Micky, but it didn't faze him.
"Um, sure."
Micky twisted around and squinted through the window, but there was no sign of anyone in the house. "Hey, Davy, why don't you see what happened to Peter and Mike," he suggested, placing much more emphasis on Peter's name. Once again, he was ignored; although, if he'd turned around in time, he would have caught a spark of interest in Elise's face, a quick flash in her eyes.
"Actually, tomorrow, our parents are arriving," Christy said, tapping her sister on the shoulder.
"Oh, yeah..."
Davy's face fell a little.
"We should probably head back," Kathy added. By now, the sun had set. Soon, it would be completely dark. "I'm sure we'll see you around."
"It was nice meeting you... all," Elise waved as she and the other girls started for the street. From where they were, they had to walk under the balcony to get there. "Say, bye to Peter for me," she threw in at the last second, her eyes briefly landing on Micky.
Davy, however, wasn't ready to say goodnight just yet. There was still a little more effort to be made. Before Micky could catch him, he ran down the balcony's stairs and onto the beach.
"Wait, Elise," he called and she stopped. She was a little behind the others, anyway. They waited for her on the sidewalk. "There's this groovy club around here, called Mercury. How'd you like to check it out later in the week?"
"Oh-Oh, uh..." she stammered, caught off guard.
"I don't mean just you and me, of course. You bring your friends and I'll bring the guys." Of course, in reality he did mean just him and her.
"I guess that would be all right." What else could she say?
"Great. What's you're number? I call you about it later."
Elise frowned. "Oh, we haven't connected our phone yet, or anything..."
"Do you know what it's going to be?" he asked. She nodded. "Well, give it to me and I'll keep trying it till it goes through."
See? You'd have to fantastically charming to get away with saying something like that to a girl.
With only a little difficultly, she recalled the number. Davy nodded after each digit. When she asked why he wasn't writing it down, Davy replied that he had a knack for numbers, which was true. He had an excellent memory, especially when it came to telephone numbers.
He finally let her go and the three girls turned the corner and went out of sight. Davy bounded back up the stairs, where he found Peter had rejoined Micky, with Mike standing in the doorway. "Well, chaps, today wasn't a bust after all. I've got her number," he announced, tapping his temple with his index finger. "Now, I'm going to jot it down, if you'll excuse me." The last part had been directed mostly at Mike, to stepped aside and allowed Davy into the house.
"Her?" Peter asked, the palms of his hands already turning clammy.
Micky winced. "Elise...I tried to stop him. I really did."
Peter's chin fell to his chest. "Oh."
"Of all the girls, he had to pick her." Micky sighed, turning to Mike, who had folded his arms. He scowled silently, at nothing in particular. He was speechless.
"Peter, I'm really sorry," Micky continued.
"Oh," he repeated.
It finally started to rain.