Chapter Six
“Mike, I think this might actually work out for us,” Peter said as they emerged onto the street.
“I’ve got a good feeling about it—for Baker,” Mike smiled. “For us, we’ll have to wait and see.”
They fell silent as they walked back to the hotel, their guards automatically raised as they passed through the revolving door. The manager shot them a look of venom, but made no move to stop them.
“So far so good,” Micky murmured.
There were no goons waiting on the floor, no goons by the doorway, but there was nevertheless a shared feeling of anxiety as they knocked on the door to the room.
Baker answered it, one ear pressed to the phone. He was grinning from ear to ear.
Micky grabbed Mike’s arm and held on for dear life. Peter clung to his other; Mike had to brace his legs to stay upright. Davy snickered at the three of them.
“New backer!” Baker said before moving away, talking to the new person, grinning. Suddenly the grin faded.
“What? What is it?” Mike said. He’s got a backer, so what’s the problem?
“I . . . see . . . I’ll . . . get back to you, okay?” Baker asked, then nodded. “Okay. Call you in a few minutes.” He hung up the phone and looked at the Monkees, a sorrowful expression on his face as he sat down.
“Mr. Baker? What is it?” Mike asked.
“My backer . . . he wants to do the play . . . b-but . . . ”
The Monkees exchanged puzzled looks. “But?”
“He wants . . . four girls . . . as the lead.”
“Four girls?” Davy exclaimed. “I’m not gonna dress up as a girl!”
Micky slapped him on the arm before Mike could.
“I’m sorry, guys . . . maybe I should just look for another backer.”
“No,” Mike said. “You need to get this play off the ground, and that means you gotta take this opportunity. And down the road, when you’re successful, we’ll still be around.” His voice was steady but there was still an undercurrent of bitter disappointment to it.
Baker stepped forward. “Guys, I’m so sorry—you came all this way . . . ”
Mike shrugged. “It couldn’t be helped. Besides, we were needed. If we hadn’t come . . . ” He shrugged again, letting his statement hang.
Baker sighed and nodded. “If you hadn’t come I’d probably have ended up paying that crooked ambassador to get my play produced. I can’t ever repay you.”
“That’s for sure,” Micky muttered, wincing as Peter’s elbow hit him in the ribs.
“I’ll pay your tickets home,” Baker said, the look in his eyes showing he was sorry he couldn’t do more.
“That’s very generous,” Mike said. “In return—we want you to make the best musical you can and get yourself a name in this town. Deal?”
Daker smiled and held out a hand. “Deal.”
It only took them a half hour to pack up after Davy’s wound was tended to. They said goodbye to Baker, leaving with a promise that once he hit it big he’d look them up.
“We taking the Blim line back?” Davy asked with a shudder.
“I guess we’ll have to,” Mike sighed, giving Peter a quick glance.
Peter grinned, shaking his head. “Baker gave us enough—we can take Greyhound back!”
“A vast improvement,” Micky agreed.
Davy gave a Broadway-ish rendition of “California here we come,” which didn’t even make the New Yorkers turn their heads. “Tough crowd.”
Peter chuckled at that. “Let’s go home, guys.”
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