“What do you mean the bedroom was too small? I thought it was just the right size!” Jenny was saying.
“Yeah. Right size. Right size for a doghouse,” Micky grumbled back. “I don’t like the feel of that place, Jen.”
“The feel. Oh, for Pete’s sake. It’s a house!”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t feel right. It’s gotta feel right. That place didn’t feel right.”
Mike glanced towards Robert, who was calmly eating a bowl of dry cheerios, and sighed. “They’re at it again, huh?” he asked.
“Da,” Robert agreed, which was the closest thing to a word he could yet speak. “Ba da ba da,” he added, singing slightly. He stuffed a handful of cheerios into his mouth. Mike shook his head slightly and returned to his paper.
“If I’m going to live in a house for the rest of my life, I want it to feel right,” Micky continued as he entered the kitchen. “Wouldn’t you, Mike?”
Mike didn’t respond.
“By the time you find a house that “feels” right, we’ll be eighty!” Jenny replied, following him.
Micky opened the refrigerator. “Well, that’s not my fault!” he replied, taking out a carton of orange juice. He drank a gulp directly from the carton and put it back in the refrigerator. “If they can’t make houses right, that’s their own problem.”
Jenny heaved a sigh. This was an argument they’d had daily for the past month. Both were determined not to get married until they’d found a suitable place to live. But they couldn’t find a suitable place to live, despite all their looking.
“Ba da ba de ba da,” Robert sang as he held up a cheerio for inspection. “Ba da be ba.”
“No,” Jenny corrected him. “That’s a cheerio.”
“Ba de be oh,” Robert repeated.
“No, Rob. Cheer-ee-oh.”
“Bee bee oh,” Robert repeated.
“Cheer-ee-oh.”
“Bee bee oh…bah de be doh..”
“Whatever.” Jenny gave up. “That’s close enough.”
“Ba bee bee oh!” Robert cheered. “Ba bee bee oh. Ba bee oh. Bee bee oh. Bah de be doh!”
“No luck with this house?” Mike asked casually as he put the paper down.
“Nope,” Jenny replied. “Actually, I’m not that thrilled with it either. The kitchen was kinda small and the basement was damp.”
“Ha! See? Not that great!” Micky cheered. He picked up Robert. “Hey little guy!”
“Ba de be doh de bah de doh!” Robert replied. He held up a cheerio. “Bee bee oh!” he reported.
“Cheerio? Yes, I see that. Cool.”
“Bee bee oh!” Robert repeated. “Bee bee oh. Bee bee oh! Bee bee oh!” He was singing it now.
“Yes. Cheerio. Yummy,” Micky replied. He picked up one and ate it. “Yum.” The kid giggled. Micky carried him into the other room.
“’Ello all!” Davy cheered as he entered the house. He’d just returned from his most recent date.
“Ba bo!” Robert greeted from the couch where he was sitting with Micky.
“’Ey kid,” Davy waved to him. “Micky, I found you the perfect ‘ouse.”
“Oh? How perfect?” Jenny asked, coming into the room. Mike trailed behind.
“Absolutely perfect,” Davy replied. “Big bedroom, big porch, and a big kitchen. You’ll love it.”
“How far?” Mike asked.
“About two miles from ‘ere,” Davy answered. “Great location. Not too far from the beach.”
Jenny and Micky exchanged glances. “Can’t hurt to take a look,” Micky decided with a shrug.
“Great!” Davy stated. “Because I set up an appointment for you to look at it in ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes?” Jenny asked.
“Yep,” Davy replied. “We’d better get going.”
Davy’s hunch about this house proved to be on target. Both Jenny and Micky fell in love with it at first sight, and the inside was great as well.
“I can’t believe this worked out so well!” Micky commented as they entered the Pad again. They’d decided that they had to put a down payment on the house right away so that no one else snatched it up.
“Yeah, it’s great. Thanks Davy!” Jenny agreed as they drove homeward. “I can’t explain it, but it’s perfect.”
Davy just grinned to himself as he accepted the compliments.
“I don’t see how I’m going to fit all of this into that,” Jenny said. “This” was referring to the twenty or so odd boxes that littered the living room of the Pad. “That” was Micky’s small blue convertible, parked just outside.
“We’re not,” Micky replied. “We’re going to hire a van.”
Jenny surveyed the boxes again. “I hope it’s a big van,” she commented. “’Cause my stuff has to go, too, ya know?”
“I know,” Micky said. “And it’ll fit. Don’t worry!”
The door to the Pad opened and Davy entered. “Mail’s ‘ere!” he called joyfully. He flipped through the envelopes in his hand. “Bills, bills, fan mail for me, fan mail for me, oooh…letter from home…bills, fan mail for Micky, letter for Mike, letter for Micky, bills…” he trailed off, passing Micky’s two envelopes to him and throwing the bills and Mike’s on the table.
“Fan mail?” Micky asked. “Ooh.” He grabbed the letter and, tearing it open, he began to read. “Dear Micky, I think you are the best Monkee.” He paused and grinned. “Well, I think so, too,” he agreed.
Jenny rolled her eyes and went back to surveying the boxes.
“You are the cutest and the most talented,” Micky continued reading, his ego inflating with every word.
Mike bounded down the staircase. “Did someone call for mail?” he asked. He had just finished putting Robert down for a nap.
“Yep, there’s a lettah for you, too,” Davy replied, pointing towards the table.
Mike sifted through the pile. “Bills, bills, bills. Ah. Letter. Oooh. It’s from m’mom.” With a grin, Mike tore open the letter and began reading. “Dear Son,” he began, and continued the rest silently.
“I think your voice is just divine,” Micky continued reading aloud. “So much better than Davy’s.”
“What!?” Davy demanded, lunging at the letter. “It does not say that!”
“Does so!” Micky replied, holding up the sheet of paper and sticking his tounge out at the short Englishman. “See?”
Davy furiously read what the letter stated. He frowned. “She was probably drunk or something when she wrote it,” he declared with an air of indifference.
“Ha! You wish,” Micky retorted. He continued reading. “Is the rumor true that you’re getting married? I’m soooooooo jealous. She must be a really lucky girl.” He turned to Jenny and grinned, but Jenny was too busy trying to rearrange things in the boxes to notice what he was saying about the letter.
Micky continued reading the letter, which was full of various ego - exploding statements of how great he was, how well he could sing/play drums, and how incredibly cute he was. Several times the writer compared him to Davy, which served to make Micky’s shorter statured rival just a tad annoyed.
Eventually, he finished reading the letter, and turned to the mysterious other envelope addressed to him.
“Hey, what’s this?” he wondered aloud as he studied the envelope. “There’s no return address, and no postmark.”
“Probably a fan who was too cheap to pay for a stamp,” Mike commented without looking up from the reply he was already writing to his mother.
“Maybe it’s a stalker,” Davy said in an eerie voice.
“That’s not funny,” Micky replied. “I don’t need any stalkers right now.”
“Just open it and you’ll find out,” Jenny advised from where she knelt, reorganizing boxes.
Micky shrugged and did just that. Inside was a plain white sheet of paper. Micky unfolded it.
“Hey! It’s written in those weird newspaper letters!” he commented.
“See? It is a stalker,” Davy told him, trying to scare him even more.
“Shut up!” Micky snapped back.
“Make me!”
“Ok!” Micky put the paper down and started for Davy. The shorter man was faster, and dashed out of arm’s reach before Micky could grab him. He took off out the back door, and Micky ran right behind him. “I’ll get you for that!” he shouted, waving his arms.
“Weird newspaper letters?” Jenny asked, overhearing. She stood up from where she knelt, going through boxes, and entered the kitchen. “Let me see that.” She picked up the piece of paper and began to read.
In weird, cut-out letters was written the following messge:
Micky,
You are in trouble. You can not be free. You will be mine again. Do not try to hide.
-Anonymous
