May 12, 1967
Henry Babbitt was just trying to have a peaceful morning. That peace, however, was shattered by the insistent pounding on his front door. “Who is it?” he shouted angrily. The only answer he received was more banging. Grumbling all the way, he heaved himself out of his chair and stomped over to his front door. Wrenching it open, he scowled at the person standing there.
“Oh, it’s you!” he grumbled, making an abrupt about-face and stalking back to his den.
“Yes, it’s me,” Andi said, her sarcasm as thick as the door she kicked closed behind her.
“What do you want?” he demanded, stalking back to his desk and plopping down in his chair.
“Aren’t you going to offer me a chair?” she said stiffly.
Babbitt rose halfway out of his seat and gestured mockingly. “Won’t you have a seat?”
“No. I prefer to stand.”
Babbitt gritted his teeth in annoyance but remained silent. “Fine. What do you want?”
“I wish to purchase the Monkees’ beach house.”
His mouth fell open. “You wish to what?”
“You and I both know there’s nothing wrong with your hearing.”
“You’re sure about this.”
Andi gazed at him sternly. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. Just quote me your price.”
Babbitt narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “How do I know you have the money?”
“I have it. Quote me your price, please.” The last word came out through her firmly clenched teeth.
He grunted and leaned back in his chair. “Ten thousand.”
“That’s for the entire house?”
“No, it’s just for one railing. Of course it’s for the whole house!”
Andi uncrossed her arms. “Fine. I’ll give you thirty.”
Babbitt let out a surprised yelp and fell backwards onto the floor. “Thirty?” he exclaimed.
“Yeah. Thirty thousand dollars, payable as soon as you produce the deed.”
Babbitt crawled to his hands and knees and pulled himself back into his chair. He had expected some bargaining, but not like this. “You don’t have the money. Who put you up to this? Those no-account kids?”
Andi’s jaw tightened, but she kept her cool. “Those ‘no-account kids’ are my friends. I have the money. In fact,” she said, reaching into her pocket, “I have it right here.”
Babbitt took the paper she handed him with a trembling hand. It was a company check with the words “The Dellin Corporation” emblazoned across the top. “Pay to the order of Henry Babbitt, thirty thousand dollars and zero cents,” he read, his voice barely audible. “How did you know how much I’d ask for?”
“You’re an easy man to read, Mr. Babbitt. That and I had the house appraised last week.”
“But why?”
Andi leaned across the table. “I don’t like you, Babbitt. That has never been a secret.”
“No kidding.” His arm still twinged at the memory of their first meeting: Andi had twisted it up behind his back, commanding him to “knock on the damn door” before entering the house--never mind the fact that the door had been open.
“I am moving in with them,” she continued, “and where I am you cannot be. I don’t like the way you treat them. They deserve better than you.”
“So you’re going to be their landlord?” he said doubtfully.
“I prefer the term benefactor. But that is none of your business. I expect the deed to be signed over and in my hand tomorrow, or else the thirty thousand is--” She mimicked the fluttering wings of a bird with her long fingers.
Babbitt looked down at the check. “You’ll have it,” he said, still staring in wonderment at all the zeros. “Who do I sign it over to?”
She retreated to the door. “It’s on the bottom of the check,” she said over her shoulder as the door closed behind her.
May 13
The next night found the five sitting around the kitchen table, shooting fingers to determine who was going to wash the dishes. Micky and Mike lost, but as they stood up Andi reached out with a staying hand.
“Hold on. There’s something I want to tell you first.”
“What?”
“Well, you know that I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Mike muttered, looking down at the floor. He wished she wouldn’t keep reminding him.
“I’m not going.”
“Yeah, we know you--” he stopped, the words sinking in. “What did you just say?”
“I’m not leaving. That forest is not my home any more, and I don’t want to go back. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to stay here.”
Mike was speechless. He looked to the others for help, but they were just as bewildered.
Andi stood and reluctantly pulled the envelope from her pocket. She hoped that this wasn’t too much too soon. “And there’s this, also.” She placed it in the middle of the table and waited for one of them to pick it up.
Micky was the only one with enough courage to reach for it. He tore the envelope open with his usual enthusiasm and unfolded the thick, embossed paper, his eyes widening. “Oh, wow . . . ” he breathed.
“Micky, what is it?” Mike asked impatiently, gazing at Andi, who stood with her hands behind her back, whistling at the ceiling.
Micky handed the paper to Mike. Peter and Davy clustered in for a better look. It was indeed the deed that Andi had procured from Babbitt that morning, but what caught Mike’s eye were the names on the OWNER line: Nesmith, Tork, Dolenz, and Jones.
“Is this your sick idea of a joke?” he asked, while Peter and Davy exchanged wide, excited grins.
“What makes you think it’s a joke?” she deadpanned.
“You mean this is real?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?” She sat back down in her chair. “If I’m going to live here Babbitt had to go. So I bought the house.” Andi was surprised how simple it sounded, even to her. Maybe it was a little too simple.
“Andi, this is too much,” Mike said, dropping down next to her. “We can’t let you do this.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “And why not?”
“Well, because . . . I mean . . . we can’t burden you with our problems.”
He watched her eyes narrow fiercely. “First of all, they aren’t your problems. They’re our problems now. I think I’m a big enough part of this group to share them. Secondly, you’re not burdening me. It’s going to take a lot more than a beach house and a few bills to cause me financial hardship.”
Micky cleared his throat loudly. “Um, what are you guys talking about?”
Andi looked at Mike. “You didn’t tell them?” she asked, a slight hint of anger in her voice.
“No. It wasn’t any of their business.”
“What isn’t any of our business?” Peter asked. Mike and Andi ignored him.
“Well, NOW it’s their business. I think you’d better tell them.”
“Tell us what?” Micky asked, a little louder.
“Why don’t YOU tell them?” Mike said petulantly, folding his arms across his chest.
“TELL US WHAT!?” Micky, Peter, and Davy shouted in unison, making Andi and Mike jump.
Andi glared steadily at Mike, who finally threw up his hands in frustration. “Andi’s a millionaire,” he said shortly.
Three jaws dropped again. Micky, as usual, was the first to recover.
“A millionaire?” he repeated.
“Yes. My parents have . . . had . . . a multi-million dollar corporation that I inherited when they . . . died.” As usual, talking about her parents and their untimely death put hesitation into her speech.
“How many multi-millions?” Peter asked. The question was neither greedy nor suspicious, just curious.
Andi’s brow furrowed and she stared intently at the table. She had never been comfortable talking about her money. “Um, that’s hard to say. I have ten million in cash, and the company is probably worth about ninety, I’d say.”
There was dead silence following this pronouncement. Peter’s head swam. A hundred million dollars? I can’t even count that high!
Even Mike was shocked. He had figured Andi had maybe one or two million, certainly not a hundred.
“What do you do with all that money?” Peter asked as his vocal cords unlocked.
“My parents were philanthropists, and the company is devoted to charitable works and things like that. The board invests the money--in the stock market, I suppose--and then takes the returns and . . . finances charities and nonprofit organizations.”
“So are we just another charity case?” Davy asked.
“No!” she exclaimed. “But there is no way I’m going to live under this roof and watch you scrape and scrimp and pinch when you don’t have to. How many times have you practiced in the last two weeks?”
They all looked at one another. In order to pay bills and make that month’s rent, they had all had to get outside jobs, which meant that time for music was nearly nonexistent.
“You all are too talented to be wasting your time elsewhere. Now you don’t have to. My contract with you is simple: you have to stay together and continue making music. As long as you do that, your necessities are taken care of.”
There was a long silence as the Monkees contemplated her offer.
“I suppose it’ll be okay,” Mike said. “But what happens if you decide to move out?” What if our relationship doesn’t work out? was the question that Andi saw lurking between the lines.
“The money is yours no matter what. Where I am and in what mood I am in is irrelevant.” Her features softened. “Besides, I don’t plan on leaving you any time soon.” Though her statement was directed mostly at Mike, it was intended for all of them.
Mike sighed and looked at the others. “Well, what do you say, guys?”
Three heads--one blonde, one brown, one fuzzy--nodded enthusiastically.
“Then it’s settled.” Mike still looked a little doubtful.
Andi grinned. “Good. Call your bosses. Tell ‘em you quit.”
On to Chapter Two
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