Part 1: from Spev's POV:
My best friend, M, and I, had just moved into our Bachelorette Pad in New York. We’d decided it would basically be a shrine to our harem of 60s pop stars. The Pad, as we’d affectionately named it in honour of The Monkees’ house, was, in a word, huge. We had three bedrooms, one of which was a spare room-cum-dressing room affair, a massive kitchen, a large bathroom and a huge living room. And it was all ours, all 1960s. I had two large posters in my room, a life sized Mike Nesmith one behind the door and a Keith Moon one above my bed. There was nothing we didn’t love about the place, and it was also close to M’s family – mine were still in England – so we could go over for a nice plate of pumpkin pie whenever (if ever) we got bored of takeaways.
One night, as we were watching The Monkees (again), I heard a clicking noise behind me. At first I thought it was M, so I ignored it, but it went on for nearly a whole episode and I was beginning to get really rather annoyed.
“M, knock it off, will you?” I finally pleaded.
“Heath, knock it off, will you?” she begged at exactly the same time.
“I never did anything!” we both protested, then we fell about laughing.
“Well, what is it, then?” she asked, confused.
“I just don’t have any idea!” I replied in a bad Texan accent as I stopped the video player. We giggled and got up to look around. Something wasn’t right about the room, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was.
“How long’s that door been here?” M asked, pointing to the door in question. She had a point, I’d never seen it before either.
“Maybe it’s the door into summer!” I joked.
“Fading through the door intoooo summerrrrrr…” we sang. M reached a hand out to the door handle.
“It’s probably just a closet we didn’t notice we had,” she decided, opening the door. We were struck by a blinding flash of bright white light (try saying that when you’ve had a few!) and for a while we physically could not open our eyes. When we finally did, The Pad didn’t look like The Pad any more. At least, it didn’t look like our pad…
“Davy, will you please come outta the bathroom?” a familiar voice begged.
“Nez?!” I asked in total disbelief. Everyone turned to me. I was totally confused. How did we get to be in the same house as The Monkees?
“Well, hello ladies!” Micky exclaimed, spreading on the charm like it was chocolate spread. M giggled flirtatiously and I sighed in despair.
“Hi, Micky,” she smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair firmly behind her ear.
“Yeah, hi,” I agreed, not taking my eyes off Mike. “I’m Heather, this is Emily, you can call us Heath and M if you like,” I introduced us.
“I’m Peter, this is…” Peter began. I shook my head.
“We know. Hey Pete!” I interrupted, fighting the strong urge to throw my arms around him and give him a big hug.
“So, what brings you ladies here?” Mike asked, joining in my staring game.
“I, er, well… we…” I flustered, turning a bright shade of pink because I was unable to meet his stare.
“It’s a long story,” M interrupted. I sighed thankfully.
“Yeah, long story,” I repeated, nodding my head vigorously.
“Well then, would you care for a cup of coffee while you relate your tale?” Micky asked. We nodded.
“Love one!” we declared in unison.
“We do that often,” I explained.
“We share a head,” M added.
“Metaphorically speaking, of course,” I told them with a broad grin.
“Naturally!” Mike smiled at me. Mike. Smiled. At. Me. Do you have any idea how that felt? Well, pretty damn good doesn’t even come close to describing it! “Come and sit down while Micky makes the coffee,” he invited, shuffling along the settee to make more room for me to sit down.
“Me?” Micky asked, jolting up. Mike nodded.
“You want any help, Mick?” M asked, like a shot. I hid a smile, I knew her exact thought process, as she knew mine. Micky smiled all the same.
“Sure I would,” I replied. I stopped hiding the smile as she followed Micky and I sat down next to one Mr Robert Michael Nesmith…
I giggled, not believing where I was or how I got here. All I knew was that I went from watching 'The Monkees' to making coffee with my favourite one of said group.
"So, M, could you get the coffee?" Micky asked me. "It's in the cabinet, above--"
"--the sink, second shelf, in the back," I finished for him. Micky's jaw dropped. He stared at me in amazement.
"How did you-you-are you psychic or something?" he inquired. I laughed nervously, wanting to smack myself for being so thick.
"Er, it's part of what we have to tell," I quickly replied. I got the can of coffee--Maxwell, of course--and handed it to Micky. He just shrugged and proceeded to measure out the water. I turned around and sat down at the table, playing with the stuffed monkey next to me.
"So, er... you've known Heath for a while, I take it?" Micky attempted to start some small talk.
"Oh, yeah!" I answered. "We're best friends. Have been for... four years," I finished, counting on my fingers.
"Groovy!" he exclaimed. "The guys and I have known each other for two years."
At that moment I glanced over at the coffeepot. "It looks like it's done," I said. Micky and I proceeded to fix everyone a cup each.
"One sugar or two?" he asked me.
"Three," I replied. "It's always so bitter."
We walked back out to where Heather and Mike sat, about to kiss. I was about to walk back into the kitchen--this was Heath's DREAM!--when Micky, oblivious to their moment, announced, "Coffee!" Heath and Mike backed away from each other; Heather blushing, Mike narrowing his eyes at the drummer.
Davy and Peter walked into the room, then walked back out to get their coffee. Soon they were back and everyone made themselves comfortable.
Mike cleared his throat. "So... um, exactly how did you girls get here?"
"Yeah... and how do you know everything about us?" Micky asked.
"Well... it's, uh..." I started. I stopped and took a deep breath. "Okay. We're from the year 2001. In that year, Heath and I share a bachelorette pad. We're... well, we were watching 'The Monkees'..."
“You watched us?" Davy asked, extremely confused. " 'Ow'd you manage t'watch us?"
"Well, well... you're on a television show!" I sputtered.
“What? You mean they're taping us?" Peter asked, getting up to look for cameras hidden around.
"Peter! Get down from there!" Mike demanded.
"We've already voted!" I added without thinking. Mike gazed at me and I think the whole world witnessed my stomach turning a complete 360.
"How in the world did you know I was gonna say that?" he asked in wonder.
"I just don't have any idea!" I giggled in a bad Texan accent.
"What about the cameras?" Peter asked, confused as he jumped down from behind the bookcase.
"There aren't any," M told him.
"There aren't?" Peter repeated, more confused than ever.
“No. Peter, it’s such a long story, can you forget about the cameras for one second?” I begged. Peter nodded. “Okay, basically what happened is…” I was pretty confused myself, I mean, I was sat next to Michael Nesmith, of all people! The only other person likely to cause me to forget which planet I inhabited would be Keith Moon, and if he walked in now, I knew I’d faint. Thankfully, he didn’t. Equally thankfully, M took the story up.
“We were watching TV, you were on the TV. We noticed a door behind us in our pad we’d never seen before. We opened the door and tra-dahh! Here we are!” she explained better than I could have done in the present circumstances.
“And that’s it?” Davy asked.
“What do you mean, that’s it? We’ve just travelled back in time thirty-odd years! I think that’s pretty groovy myself!” I defended myself.
“Me too. What did it feel like?” Mike asked. I furrowed my brow.
“I can’t remember. Just that my eyes hurt cos the light was so bright,” I replied.
“It was just exciting in a scary way,” M explained, again, better than I did. I wondered why in the world a girl so much younger than me became so much more eloquent than me in the space of five minutes. Damn that Nesmith!
“That’s beautiful!” Peter sighed, exactly like he had done on Monkees A La Carte, M’s favourite episode. We giggled. “What?” he asked.
“Never mind. It’s just us being silly!” I explained, hoping I wouldn’t be upstaged yet again.
“Well I guess you must be tired after your long journey,” Mike began.
“Yeah, I guess we are, you’re a whole 34 years behind us!” I joked. Mike smiled slowly and I wished he didn’t have the capacity to smile like that, it was too much!
“What I mean is, you’ll probably need some rest,” he told us. I shook my head but M piped up.
“Yeah, now you come to mention it, I *am* pretty exhausted,” she yawned.
“I’ve just had coffee, I couldn’t sleep!” I disagreed with her for the first time ever.
“Hey, I could sing to you!” he offered. Mike Nesmith, sat next to me, SINGING to me while I was lying in bed, and he thought THAT would send me to SLEEP? What did he think I was? Blind? Stupid? Lacking in all taste? GAY?!
“Thanks for the offer, Nez, but I couldn’t sleep if you paid me!” I replied. “After all, I’m English, I don’t do dollars!” I joked. Davy laughed appreciatively.
“Finally, another Brit to even things up!” he told me, beaming.
"To tell the truth, I've always admired the British;" Micky began, "all of them except for you, Davy." I started to laugh, and Heather, Mike, and even Peter followed suit. Davy, however, got an enraged look on his face.
"Oh! Well, Skillet Features, I happen to be one of the most respectable gents tha' Manchester 'as to offah," he countered, raising an eyebrow.
"You don't even have a Mancunian accent at *all*!" Heather told him, ready to double over from laughter.
"An' ow would you know? You're... well, where ARE you from?" inquired the male Briton.
"Longton, Preston, Lancashire--though she considers herself a Scouser at heart!" I answered for my best mate, nodding my head down. I then wondered why in the world I had become so much more eloquent than my closest friend of four years (this had NEVER happened before) in the space of five minutes. Damn that Dolenz!
"Upstaged again!" Heather giggled, not really seeming to mind too badly. "But, now I think I agree with you, M... bed could be a good thing!"
"Aww... but now *I* don't want to go to sleep!" I laughed. "I'm ready to start bouncing off the walls!" Peter's face twisted in a look of sympathizing pain.
"That might hurt a little," he proclaimed. "The walls are hard. Is that what you guys do for fun in 2001? Are the walls softer?" That rang out a chorus of laughter from the other five of us.
"No, no, Peter!" Heather smiled. "It's just an expression, sweetie."
"'Sweetie'?" Mike asked, raising both eyebrows.
"Platonic!" Heather and I declared together, then cracked up.
"Bed?" Micky asked.
"Bed," I answered.
Exit M and Micky. Of course, not to the same room, that would be most improper. No, Micky went to the bathroom, M went to bed. Peter and Davy decided to turn in for the night as well. When we were on our own at last, Mike turned to me.
“Uh, ah, Heath, I, uh, don’t want you to think I always, I mean, I never,” he stuttered.
“Oh, I understand, I never do that either!” I assured him, “I hope you don’t think I’m a slut or something, cos I’m not!”
“Oh, I don’t think that for a second!” he replied. “I just hope you don’t think I’m a sleaze or anything, cos I’m not!”
“I think you’re anything but,” I told him. He leaned over and managed to kiss me without any interruptions at all. “Did that just happen?” I asked, hardly daring to believe it myself.
“Yeah I think it did,” he smiled. I wanted to pinch myself, but I couldn’t stand the thought of Peter being agonised any further! “Uh, Heath, y’know, I’d love to stay up and chat, I really would, but I’m ready to hit the hay,” he told me.
“Isn’t that a rather violent pastime?” I joked. He giggled.
“Probably! Well, night, Heath, see you sometime in the morning,” he half whispered, kissing me goodnight.
“Oh she will be there!” I assured him as I watched him go to bed. Then I went into mine and M’s room with a dazed expression.
“Well, what happened?” she asked eagerly. I grinned.
“Mr Robert Michael Nesmith of Dallas, Texas has just kissed me!” I told her triumphantly. M nearly squealed. So did I!
“Tell me EVERYTHING!” she begged.
“Okay!” I agreed as I sat down. I opened my mouth but before I could say anything our door burst open and a terrified looking Peter dashed in.
“I’m scared!” he told me, sitting next to me, hiding behind my back.
“Oh, Peter, what’s wrong?” I asked, cuddling him.
“Davy was telling me about aliens who come from the future to take over the world!” he stammered. “You’re not aliens are you?” I burst out laughing.
“Don’t be silly!” I giggled.
“Do we look like aliens to you?” M asked. There was a pregnant pause. “Uh, well, we aren’t.”
“No, this was just an accident, Pete,” I promised. “I’ve got an idea,” I began.
“Not another one?” M asked, fearfully. I nodded, stood up and went into Davy and Peter’s room, leaving M to look after Peter. I opened the door quietly and looked over to Davy’s bed. He was fast asleep, and I crept up on him. When I was close enough I grabbed hold of him and yelled “We are from the planet Zorg and we demand that you take us to your leader!” as loudly as I could.
“ARGH!” he shrieked in terror. I burst out laughing. “Take anything you want, just please don’t kill me!” he begged.
“Davy, you idiot, it’s me!” I told him, taking hold of his arm.
“Don’t do that!” he gasped dramatically.
“Well don’t scare Peter and I won’t have to!” I answered on my way out. I went back into our room and looked at Peter, who had fallen asleep on my bed.
“I’ll be on the couch,” I told M as I went into the living room. “Night!”
“Night,” she replied.
I woke up slowly the next morning, trying to think. (It's a rather difficult task when you don't get much practice!) I put on my glasses and sat up. I noticed Peter still sleeping on the other bed. Quietly, I tiptoed to the living room. Heather was, of course, sleeping on the couch. She had a big grin plastered on her face, and was talking in her sleep.
"Oh, Nez," she murmured, "of COURSE I'll hold your woolhat while you play football for Everton! BLUE ALL THE WAY!"
"HEATH!" I shouted, making her jump. She looked very shocked, then we started giggling madly.
"You've NO IDEA what I was just dreaming," she smiled.
"Oh, yes I do!" I laughed.
"Yeah? Tell me then."
"Mike wanted you to hold Woolie while he played soccer--uh, football--for Everton!" I doubled over from laughter. The idea of Mike playing soccer was so funny it HURT!
Heath gaped at me. "How did you know?!"
"You talk in your slee-eep," I replied sing-songingly.
"I *don't*! … *Do* I?"
"Yes, but I do too, 's okay!"
"Our phrase!" she smirked. "Ah. Hope we haven't woken too many people up…"
Micky emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his eyes. "Sounds like an interesting dream," he yawned. After a pause, he added, "That couch does weird things to people… but it's more comfortable than the bathtub!" He chuckled to himself.
Part 7: (Spev's POV)
"Hey everyone, I've had an idea!" Mike yelled as he bounded into the living room.
"What?" we all asked in unison.
"Let's go and play soccer on the beach!" he suggested. We all burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter which woke Peter up.
"Hey guys, what's the noise?" he asked, walking out of mine and M's room in just a pair of shorts, rubbing his eyes and yawning. 'Oh, so very cute...' I thought.
"Mike wants to play soccer!" M gasped between guffaws. Peter smiled, then chuckled, then laughed out loud, then started belly laughing.
"It isn't funny! It was just an idea!" Mike pouted, to which I nearly had a heart attack. I could just about handle Mike pouting in photos, even on television, but when he was five yards away from me, it was a little bit much!
"We were only laughing because I just had a dream that you played football, uhm, soccer, for my favourite team in England!" I explained.
"What about Peter?" Mike asked, his face starting to soften.
"Mike playing soccer... Mike doing anything sporty!" Peter just about managed to breathe.
"Well, fine, *be* like that, it was just a damn suggestion!" he yelled angrily, storming into his room.
"Petah!" Davy and I growled at the same time.
"I'm sorry, Heath," Peter began, looking at me with big brown 'like-you-could-possibly-ever-NOT-forgive-me-anything' eyes.
"Oh, it's all right, Peter. Just let me go and talk to him," I answered with a sigh. I shrugged and went over to Mike's bedroom and knocked on the door. "Mike? Mike, it's me, can I come in?" I called.
"Yeah," he answered quietly. I turned around to the others and gulped.
"Wish me luck!" I mouthed to M, who smiled and crossed her fingers. I opened the door and went inside.
Part 8: ~*M*~'s POV
"Superstitious?" Davy asked me, nodding his head at my crossed fingers.
"Oh, no!" I told him. "Just wishing Heath luck."
"Uh-huh," he nodded. A short pause ensued, followed by Davy asking me, "You wouldn't 'appen to 'ave a nailfile 'andy, wouldja?"
"Uh, I think I *do*, actually--in my jeans pocket in my room," I answered.
"I'll, uh, help you look!" Micky suddenly added, getting a goofy grin on his face and making googily eyes at me.
"Sure!" I quickly agreed. Hey, I didn't want to miss a chance! We both trotted into my room that I had used the night before. As I shut the door, I could hear Peter faintly remark, "Gee, I feel lonely now!"
"Wot'm I? Chopped livah?" Davy growled back. "An' ya still owe me a quartah, y'know!"
Micky laughed and shook his head. "Ah, they're insane!"
"Well, in the wise words of John Entwistle, 'Insanity in fun,'" I quoted.
"Yeah!... Who's John Entwistle?"
"You mean you don't know The Who?" I asked, bewildered. Micky shook his head and shrugged. I gasped. "What kind of world IS this?!" I shouted and pounded a fist towards the ceiling. Micky grabbed my hand, put it down, and kissed me.
"Better?"
"Much," I sighed enrapturedly. Just then, the door burst open, and who bounded in but Heather!
"Well, aren't we cozy! C'mon, now, we've got to get ready to shop for some clothes and then play football/soccer on the beach! Come 'ead!" she giggled, then pushed Micky out of the room.
Davy faintly remarked, "Where's me nailfile?"
P> "Pass, pass!" I yelled to M, waving my arms frantically at her.
"Pass? Oh, the ball!" she realised, kicking it over to me. I, naturally, missed it by a mile and it was intercepted by Micky.
"Not good enough, I'm afraid! These Brits, they're useless at sport!" he called mockingly and then found himself on the floor while Davy scored his hat-trick.
"Er, what was that you were saying about Brits?" he asked, lightly. Micky stood up and smiled.
"I take it back," he replied, shaking Davy by the hand. Mike pouted and blew the whistle. He insisted on doing things properly.
"Mike, it's only a kickaround on the beach!" I assured him.
"It may only be a kickaround on the beach to you, but to me, it's a game of soccer!" he replied adamantly. I, totally confused, just left him to it. 'Some people just take things TOO seriously...' I thought.
Finally, after about half an hour, I was wheezing, as was M, what with us not being used to exercise and all, so I gave up.
"I'm going inside, anyone care to join me?" I asked.
"YES!" M gasped, looking like she needed a glass of cherry cola (or coca-cola, depending on whether she thought she was a single or an album that day. Erm, that's an in-joke, y'know!). So we stumbled over to The Pad and sat down.
"So what did Mike say?" she asked. I frowned.
"Well, not a lot. You know what he's like," I explained.
"Yeah," she agreed.
"Well, what am I like?" Mike asked. I spun around in shock to see him stood at the doorway, arms crossed, not looking impressed at all.
Mike posed with his hands on his hips and lips in full pout. I thought that Heath would faint right there and then. I quickly finished the last of my Coca-Cola (I felt like an album that day, not a single) and put the glass in the sink.
"Well, Mike," I began. When he turned and faced me with cold eyes, my face coloured itself pink. "Um, guess I'll go outside," I said and basically ran outside.
"What's wrong?" Micky queried, rushing up to me, obviously noticing my worried state. I hugged him tightly.
"Heath and I were talking and Mike came in and asked what he was like and I started to and he gave me look--" I stopped, out of breath and confused. "What did I just say?" I asked.
"I'm not sure," Micky told me honestly, but hugged me back nonetheless. "I think I understand, though." Then he held me closer and kissed me once again. Just then Heather and Mike waltzed out of the beach house, hand in hand.
"Well, what happened here?" I asked with quite a bit of surprise.
"She told me exactly what I am," Mike smiled.
"Mike, I thought that what you think is what you are!" Micky chuckled, still holding onto me.
"That, too," the woolhatted one grinned a little grin.