Chapter Summary: The guys take the girls to a dance club. Elise attempts to connect with Peter...and fails. Davy does his Davy- Dance. Micky is a good friend. There. Now you don't even have to read the chapter.
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Mercury was a very popular dance club. It was located in downtown Malibu, not in the best of neighborhoods, but that never seemed to scare anyone away. Besides, the sort of people who were afraid of downtown Malibu usually happened to be the sort of people who didn't care to visit clubs. It was a slightly more urban scene than one might imagine, meaning it was fairly well integrated, although with every year that was becoming less and less a point of interest. It had been open since the mid-60's, but became so popular so quickly, people tended to believe it had always been there.
Usually there was a line stretching a block from the door, but it tended to move rather quickly. It was a large building, with several floors for dancing, so there was plenty of room and no need to keep patrons waiting outside for very long.
Each floor had a different theme. The most popular was the basement: a cross between psychedelic and mod--a very British atmosphere, actually. It was on this floor that the Monkees and their new neighbors had congregated.
In the basement, the Monkees and the girls were mostly keeping to themselves, despite the uneven ratio. Davy and Elise were lost somewhere in the middle of the dance floor. Mike, who didn't dance, but secretly enjoyed watching people who did it well, had actually hit it off rather well with Christy, Elise's sister. They were by no means flirting--Mike didn't flirt, but openly enjoyed watching people who did it badly--and they had almost nothing in common, but they'd managed to forge a bond poking fun at the poorer dancers. Micky and Kathy were dancing side by side, both on his or her own. Mike and Christy's jibes were mostly focused on them.
In fact, the reason why the groups were meshing so well was that Peter had set himself aside as the odd man out. He sat at the end of a velvet couch, beside the aforementioned peanut gallery of Mike and Christy, mostly sulking, partially nursing a Coke. Every so often, Mike would poke him and tell him to "get up and at 'em," whatever that meant.
It had been two weeks since the groups had met. It was now December 16th, close enough to Christmas so that the club wasn't as crowded as it might have been. You could turn around without lodging your shoulders between two people and get yourself carried off to the other end of the room. Still, from Peter's place on the couch, he couldn't locate either Elise or Davy.
As promised, Davy had shown up later that week and helped the girls unpack. He'd even "casually" dropped by with a casserole and met her mother. Heaven only knows how he figured out how to make a casserole!
Peter sighed and circled the mouth of his Coke bottle with his fingertip.
"Hey, Pete." It was Mike again. He could tell by the poking. "You gotta stop glumming up the works."
"I don't know why I even bothered to come."
"Why did you bother to come?" Christy asked.
To answer honestly, to admit he was waiting for Davy to twist his ankles, was impossible. Besides, Peter didn't like to entertain mean thoughts. Instead he just shrugged.
Mike frowned and crossed his long legs to the opposite side. He leaned in so Peter could hear him without having to shout over the music. "You can ask her to dance, you know. You like to dance."
Peter pouted. "Davy's better."
"Well, that's subjective. Sure, Davy's a good dancer, but, you see, he only really knows one dance." He waited a moment for Peter's reaction. If he didn't crack a smile, Mike was fully willing to get up and imitate Davy's odd penchant for snakedancing. Luckily for Mike, a tiny grin broke though Peter's sulking. And luckily for Peter, it was at that exact moment that Elise suddenly popped into view. She tripped out of the crowd, her cheeks glistening from the heat of the dance floor. Slightly out of breath, she fell into the little space beside Peter on the couch. Davy was nowhere to be seen.
"Have you been sitting here this whole time?" she asked.
He replied with a nod, still grinning. His smile was frozen in place, now.
"All dang night," Mike abruptly chimed in. "You've gotta get this boy out there."
"Aw, Peter."
"Pitiful, isn't it?"
Not knowing what else to do, Peter kept nodding. Elise took him by the crook of his elbow. The heat from her hands seeped through his shirt, dampening it, so the contact was almost skin upon skin. His eyes lowered to her fingertips as his smile began to quiver. He gulped. As she lifted him from his seat, it disappeared all together, but Peter couldn't help for follow her. He cast a pleading glance back to Mike a second too late. The crowd seemed to swallow him and the room swayed.
"What happened to Davy?" he asked, once she'd found an empty spot.
"He went to the restroom," Elise replied, tugging on his arms as she began to dance, waiting for him to follow.
"For how long?" All Peter could manage to do was tensely shift his weight from side to side. She was wearing a black dress and white tights, with a white band in her hair. Against the multicolored lights spinning around them, she looked like a film star from decades ago: a monochrome beauty. The image made it difficult to concentrate on picking his feet up from off the floor.
"Don't you like dancing?" she asked, pausing for a moment.
"Oh, yes. I mean...yes. I, um, I'm sorry." Peter squinted his eyes and forced them on the wall beyond her head. "It's just that you're here with Davy, aren't you?"
Elise hesitated, missing a beat. It took her a few seconds to fully recover. "I thought we all just came together."
"Oh." Again, his muscles tightened. At first, he wasn't quite sure how to interpret her. Davy had orchestrated the outing, but perhaps that was where it ended. He'd been dancing with Elise for hours, but perhaps that was only because Peter hadn't asked to step in. Maybe he had been foolish to hide in the shadows all night.
In the end, she'd dragged him onto the floor, but maybe, just maybe, she'd been waiting for him seek out her. Before he realized it, Peter was smiling. "I think you look really pretty tonight." And he almost felt calm saying it.
Now it was Elise who stopped. Finally, they stood still at the same time. They were little more than a foot apart, both suddenly engrossed with their shoes. Peter lifted his eyes slowly and she was only a second behind. "Thank you," she said. "I'm sorry, I don't take compliments well."
"Why not?" She opened her mouth and closed it again. Something on the far side of the room suddenly caught their attention, but neither could make out what it was. "I don't know why..."
"Neither do I." Peter murmured, his eyes already tracing her profile.
"You don't? You don't what?" She shook her head and returned her attention to Peter. "You don't take compliments well?"
"Oh. Um, no." It was true, but Peter wasn't sure that was what he'd meant at all.
It was then that, just as Elise had earlier, Davy burst out of the crowd. He hopped up beside Elise, literally appearing out of nowhere as far as Peter was concerned. His stomach flipped over.
"There you are," Davy exclaimed, taking her by the arm. "I've been looking all over for you, you know. Keeping my date company, Peter?"
Peter's face twitched in a string of frazzled expressions. Maybe'd he'd been wrong thinking he was wrong. Elise was with Davy. He was being assailed on all sides. It was all wrong and everything cancelled each other out, leaving Peter with...nothing.
Although, if he hadn't been so confused, he might have noticed the equally stunned look on Elise's face.
"I've got it from here, Peter."
Peter blinked, his wide eyes set it an equally blank face. "Oh." He took a step to the side, then turned around, still unsure of what was happening. Davy had already turned his back to him. His eyes met Elise's from over his shoulder. "Okay..." he murmured quietly and slowly made his way back to the couch.
Mike was genuinely surprised to see him return so quickly. "Hey, what happened?"
"Davy came back." Taking his Coke back from Mike, who'd been guarding it.
"So?"
But neither Peter nor Mike knew what else to say.
~*~*~
It didn't take Davy any time at all to get back into the swing of the music. It was as though he'd never stopped dancing. Elise, however, was having a harder time concentrating. She found it far to easy to catch glimpses of Peter's hair as he disappeared into the sea of dancers. She suddenly felt very alone, despite the man dancing just a few inches in front of her.
"Have I told you how fabulous you look tonight?" he asked.
"Yes. Three times."
"Just smashing."
She nearly smiled.
"You know, I'm glad you girls showed up. The guys never want to go out like this anymore. They're all turning into a bunch of fuddy- duddies."
"But you play a lot? In nightclubs like this?"
"Depends on how you define a lot."
Davy's ease at conversation only served to keep Peter on her mind. Not that his shyness bothered her--not by any stretch of the imagination. She was usually just as shy herself, at least when it came to approaching someone. In some ways, she enjoyed being with Davy because she hardly had to say anything at all to make sure he was having a good time. Even now, he was chuckling at his own little joke and she hadn't given more than a word to set it up.
But it did bother Elise that Peter had just walked away. She knew she hadn't corrected Davy when he'd called her his date, but that was only because the term had thrown her off. And the more she thought about it, the fewer arguments she had to prove him other wise. He'd shown up to help them clean the house and she'd let him in. He'd baked her a casserole and she'd eaten it. He'd asked her to go to a dance club and here they were, dancing together. Davy went out of his way to make her feel special. Peter, well, Peter had just...
...walked away.
~*~*~
It wasn't more than five minutes later that Peter announced he was splitting. Mike protested. It was already late and it it wouldn't be long before they all piled into the Monkeemobile and called it a night. Even Christy advised him to stay, pointing out that they weren't in the best of neighborhoods.
Peter wouldn't listen. He tossed his Coke bottle in the trash and pushed his way through the crowd, heading for the door at a fierce pace no one had ever quite imagined him moving.
Mike sighed and rolled his head back against the top of the couch. "Well, someone's got to go with him," he announced, mostly to himself, not that anyone else but Christy was listening. He certainly wasn't about to drag her off into the city at midnight. But it was then that Micky approached, his brows low enough to obscure his already squinty eyes.
"Hey, where's Peter going?"
With a grunt, Mike stretched out his legs and stood. "Escaping Davy, I imagine."
"Well, he shouldn't go out alone."
"I told him, but he wouldn't listen."
Micky's shoulders dropped as he turned to face the door. "That's not like Peter."
"Not like him at all."
Mike took a step forward, but Micky stretched his arm and blocked his friend across the chest. "No, I'll go. You seem like you're having a good time."
"You're not? You've been dancing with Kathy all night."
"Yeah, back to back. Don't worry about it, I'll go."
Micky squeezed through the masses, having a slightly easier time of it than Peter--being thinner--except for his head--or better, his hair. He fought his way to the door and stepped out into the windy air, although it was slightly warmer than it had been recently. The line outside Mercury was as long as ever, but on the next block, Micky could see Peter making good speed in the opposite direction.
He hurried after him, his heeled boots banging on the pavement. He didn't have to call Peter before he looked over his shoulder to see who was following him.
"Hey, Pete, where're you going?" He was already out of breath and his voice cracked. Micky wasn't much of a runner.
Peter shrugged. "Home, I guess."
"It's a half-hour walk, man."
He turned and continued down the street. "I could use the time to think."
Micky glanced back at the club and sighed. "Well, I'll think with you." He caught up to Peter and buried his hands in his pockets.
"You don't... have to..." Peter muttered. Truth be told, he didn't really mind the company. Davy, he didn't want to see for a few hours, and Mike, although he always meant well, sometimes put too much pressure on him. Micky was, well, Micky. For all his spastic energy, he had an uncanny ability to know when to give advice and when someone just needed a friend. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it. Do you want to talk at all?"
"Why does Davy always get the girl?"
"Davy doesn't always get the girl."
"Then why does Davy almost always get the girl?"
"Well..." But Micky didn't have an answer, despite that it was a question he'd often asked himself. "Let's blame the accent."
Peter kicked a chip off the pavement with the toe of his moccasin, and cracked the slightest smile. "Fine by me."