Chapter Four
The cameras were waiting at the stables, and crew members were standing there open-mouthed at the sight of the Monkeemobile with all four of them in it pulling up.
All right, you boys have fun and no roughhousing! Mike teased as he drove off.
Yes, Daddy! Micky called after him.
Peter joined Micky and Davy as they lined up for horses, each giving his preferenceDavy desiring a nice rough one. Peter, as a middling rider who hadnt been on a horse in years, chose a calm, sedate-looking brown. He swung up on his and couldnt resist. Are you aware you have a Monkee on your back?
Davys horse was dancing back and forthsomething that wasnt bothering the Englishman a bit. Micky came walking up, sitting on a gray horse and looking every bit the competent rider . . . except for the fact he wasnt wearing any shoes.
Peter shook his head. You are gonna be feeling that.
I want to ride bareback, Micky groused, taking the reins in his hand. They wont let me take the saddle off.
But barefoot? Peter chuckled.
Micky shrugged. Ill be okay. He patted his horses shaggy neck. This boy looks pretty tame.
So does this one, Peter grinned. What do you think of the long-haired style these day? he asked his horse. My goodness . . . your hairs as long as mine! Are you a boy or a girl? I dont want to say youre a horse, but youre no deer, dear . . .
They followed their police escort out of the courtyard and out onto the trail, Micky and Davythe most experienced ridersimmediately shifting into a fast canter that kicked up clouds of dust. Peter followed at a trot, smiling as he watched them.
As their ride came to an end, Micky groused, Well, here we are back againthe same spot!
Peter smiled, pulling his legs up Indian-style on top of the saddle. Howre your feet, Micky? Micky glared at him. Peter held up his hands, still grinning. Hey, man . . . dont say we didnt warn you.
Micky dismounted and headed off to put Band-Aids on his blisters. Peter hopped down from his horse, patting the animal on the neck and thanking it for a gentle ride. He and Davy waited for their footsore companion.
At last, Micky limped over. Youre a horse talker now, Peter?
No. Just sensitive to the thoughts of others. Even if theyre not human.
Micky frowned. That somea that Stranger from a Strange Land mumbo jumbo?
Peter just shrugged, a cryptic grin on his face. If it was easier for Micky to see him that way, he wasnt going to discourage him.
Bob smiled at them. Off to meet Mike at the radio station now!
Peter swallowed a surge of excitement as they piled into yet another carthis one far less distinct than the GTOand drove back into the city, where they were quickly hustled into a brick building and up several flights of stairs to the station, where Mike was waiting.
How was your downtime? Peter asked him softly.
Mike smiled. Pretty good. Me an some of the roadies went out drivin . . . we stopped at a mall and wandered around a bitI confused the hell outta some poor guy on the escalatorwent shootin . . . usual guy stuff, he added with a dismissive shrug.
Peter squeezed his shoulder. Bob, mind if I sit back here with the camera guy? he asked as he eyed the food. Stomachs telling me its hungry.
Sure, Peter, Bob replied. Im sure these three can make up for it.
Peter smiled and sat down, helping himself to a hamburger. He laughed as Mike went into his farm report routine; afterwards they brought a girl in from the street and asked her that if she found out they couldnt carry a tune in a bucket (to use Mikes words) would she hate them? She replied no, something that seemed to genuinely surprise Mike because he immediately asked her why.
Well, because . . . youre putting people on pretty good if you dont.
Peter frowned at this. Hold on . . . whats this about? Were going on in six hours . . .
Micky leaned over. Press has been hounding us. Saying we dont play our instrumentswhich we didnt at first. Peters eyes telegraphed his disbelieving shock. Ive been taking lessons double time, Micky continued. Im worriedIve been shaky the last couple dates and I think Mikes pissed off.
Micky . . . youre a great drummer.
Micky smiled. Thanks. And once I can stop looking at Mikes foot I think Ill start believing it for myself.
That made Peter frown again, and he whispered, Just feel the beat, Micky. Thats what youve always done, and youve never lost it.
Bob motioned to Micky. Your turn, Mick.
Turn for what?
Bob rolled his eyes. For the candid clip were going to put in the episode?
Micky sighed and closed his eyes. What do you want me to say?
Whatever pops into your head, Peter replied before Bob could even open his mouth. Reflections on life on the road . . . concerts, being famous. Improvise.
Micky nodded and began to tell of his dream to build something that would outlast him. Sfunny, man . . . went to this house a man had built all by himself, and I really got hung up on it, cause, uh . . . when I was a kid I used to build a lot of things, and I know Ive got a lot going for me with the music and the show and everything, but . . . but still . . . someday Id like to make somethingsomething thatll last. Something important. Something I can say is my own. When he finished, he opened his eyes and looked hopefully at Bob.
That was groovy, Micky. Perfect. He looked at Peter. Your turn, man.
Life on the road . . . Peter pulled up his memories of the last few concerts theyd playedsmall venues, compared to what was facing him tonight, but hed been right next to the amplifiers. After a concert, my ears are ringing for about twelve hours. And, after a number of days of this kind of thing, you . . . you really need some absolute quiet for while . . . and . . . its not fun to avoid people all the time . . . spend all your time running from . . . thats nowhere. So, you walk. Just . . . a little green . . . and a little quiet . . . you hope, if you can find it any place. He smiled as he opened his eyes. Helps if you can.
Everyone was silent, even Mike, whod been talking with the girl. He gave Peter a reserved, respectful smile. Peter returned the smile, bowing his head respectfully to Mike, knowing that he was the only one who knew.
Bob glanced at his watch. Shit, were gonna be late. He glanced around, noting Davys absence. Well find Davy and record his on the spot, and Mikewell do yours in the car. Mike nodded and stood up.
They found Davy outside, smoking a cigarette on a sunny part of the sidewalk.
Davy, think fast! Micky said, startling him.
Davy gasped, the cigarette falling to his feet.
Sorry, Micky said with a cocky grin that proved he wasnt.
Davy growled at him. What is it?
We have five minutes to record your clip, Davy, Bob said. Talk about anything you want.
Anything I want? Davy ranted. I just wanna know what bloody day it is! I cant tell one day from another anymore! You know what I was doing this morning? I was playing tag with a bloomin swan! Im tired, man. Im really tired.
Its Friday, Peter said.
Davy smiled at him. Thank you, man. Fridaythe last day of the freakin tour! He looked at the camera. Some days I lose track of time. I couldnt tell you what day it was today. Like, at home youve got everything worked out, from hour to hour, minute to minute. Here, you dont know what youre doing to do, like, uh . . . I got up this morning at eleven oclock and I went over there and played with the swan for an hour.
You played with what? Whyd you play with the swan?
I dont know. It looked lonely, Davy replied, giving Bob a cheeky grin.
Yeah, thats the one, Bob said, looking at his watch. Now pleaseor well be late to the concert and the villagers really will be coming with their torches.
They got in the car and as they drove, Bob asked, Micky, what do you think about us splicing your comments over the footage of you looking at the stone palace?
Sounds fine, Micky said.
Hey, whens it Mikes turn? Davy asked.
In the car, Bob said. Come onwe gotta roll.
Mike was thoughtful as he leaned back in the seat, trying to think of something to say. Bob turned in the front seat, aiming the handheld camera at him. How about some reflections from before you were famous, Mike?
Mike chuckled. Eyes on Peter, he couldnt resist the huge grin as he said, I used to cut class and take a chair, and go and sit on the middle of this stage, and look out at this empty house. And just play, like it was full of people screamin. And, uh . . . I kept thinkin to myselfsomeday, man . . . someday. But its still the same flash. Instead of thinking Ive made it, I keep thinking someday, man . . . someday! He chuckled again, shaking his head at himself.
Peter sat back as the car headed for the arena. Somewhere in the distancea distance that seemed like milesPeter could hear Mike speaking with the distorted, slightly fuzzy sound of a radio.
. . . Wed like to thank everybody for making it a wonderful stay. Wed like to thank the Rolling Stones for being a great group. Wed like to thank the Mamas and the Papas for making it good. Wed like to thank the Loving Spoonful for making it happy. But most of all, wed like to thank the Beatles, for starting it all up for us.
Peter only half-listenedhis mind was still reeling after the events of the day, and he knewwith the prospect of performing before a crowd larger than any hed ever facedthat the mind-bending was just beginning.
You okay? Mike asked suddenly.
I hope so, Peter replied honestly. In a whisper that Micky and Davy couldnt hear, he added, Ive never played before more than two hundred people before.
Matching his tone, Mike whispered, We cant see moren two hundred at a time, the lightsre too dim. Just picture it as a small place with a LOT of amplification.
Peter swallowed as the looming hulk of the arena swallowed the car whole. Ill keep that in mind.
On to Chapter Five
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