By Ellen Barnhart
So here's the deal- I felt like writing on a trip home but I didn't
have my usual fanfic notebooks with me so I wrote this fairly self contained
story. It could go with the Sage Elliot story, which I swear I'm
working on in between assignments but I don't get enough to put it up.
Response from my SYMK compatriots has been encouraging, so I probably will
get enough written to post soon. So... This could be Sage, or Roe,
or even Maggie St. Matthew but I don't want to commit this to any one girl,
so she remains nameless. I'm babbling, but this is my site so I get
to do that.
Oh, and Continuing is a song off Mike's Pretty Much Your Standard
Ranch Stash album. It's the only name I could think of, and I stole
it from a half written story from a few months ago.
Touring was a grueling experience -
an endless tunnel of planes, limos, and anonymous hotel rooms punctuated
by crowds, screams, flashbulbs, and adrenaline.
Mike Nesmith settled back into his seat on the airplane.
An' to top it all off, he thought, scowling out the window, those
wise guys are probably up to somethin'.
The wise guys in question were Mike's bandmates,
Micky Dolenz, Davy Jones, and Peter Tork. Collectively, the four
of them were The Monkees. The three that Mike watched warily had
spent nearly the entire flight grinning and nudging one another.
Even worse, the more sullen Mike seemed to get, the more amused they, particularly
Micky, seemed to get. Oh, yes, something was up.
Mike closed his eyes and gave a quiet sigh.
Another tour date meant he was one step closer to home, one step closer
to her. There was an almost imperceptible change in Mike's
expression. He went from the suggestion of a scowl to a faint smile,
eyes still closed. A seemingly random memory of her sprung to mind...
She stood in front of the french doors in her apartment
where she usually set up her things to paint. Her hair was down and
a few tendrils hung across her face. Laughing, she was trying to
keep him from seeing the painting she was working on by physically blocking
"No!" She was almost overcome with giggles,
but she managed to put her hands on his chest and try to push him away
from the easel. It was facing the windows and he couldn't see it
from his angle. "I'm not done with it yet!" He looked down
and noticed that she had a few flecks and smudges of paint across her nose
He bent down to kiss her and slowly backed her toward
the windows. His attempt to distract her had worked. He pulled
back and grinned like a Cheshire cat, quickly spinning around to look at
the painting. He gaped at it for a moment. "Ow!"
She had punched him in the shoulder. "Rat!"
She smiled playfully at him. "You ruined the surprise."
He rubbed his arm and looked at her with mingled
admiration and tenderness. "Honey..."
She looked away and blushed, then glanced back at
him shyly with a little sideways smile. The canvas on the easel showed
a half finished painting of Mike sitting on the window seat of the beach
house the Monkees shared, intent on his guitar. It was done in her
distinctive style but apparently based off the snapshot she had taped to
"It's not done yet," she said with a hint of petulance.
Mike was jolted out of his reverie by Micky elbowing
him sharply. He shot a questioning look at Micky.
"We're landing, man," the drummer said, buckling
Another airport, another limo, another hotel.
Lingering snatches of the memory danced in the back of his mind, but they
only served to make him more homesick and lonesome for the girl who had
fallen in love with him before there was ever fame, tours, albums, interviews,
and all the other annoying burdens of celebrity.
He opened the door to his hotel room and wearily
dropped his duffel bag on the floor. He gave it a halfhearted kick
born of frustration and fatigue.
"Hard day?" The soft, familiar voice that
drifted across the room made him snap his head up in surprise. He
looked with wide eyes at the figure that leaned against a door frame on
the opposite side of the room. She laughed at the blatant shock on
his face. "I couldn't wait until the tour brought you back to town.
I missed you." She looked down shyly, then flicked her eyes back
up and smiled. "I love you, you know."
A grin blossomed on his face. He crossed the
space between them. "I know." He stopped suddenly, and narrowed
his eyes at her. "How?" He raised an eyebrow. "Those
smartasses had somethin' to do with this, didn't they? I knew they
were up to somethin'!"
She slipped an arm around his waist. "I had
to have somebody on the inside to help me. They don't let strange
girls into other peoples hotel rooms." She looked at him with an
expression of absolute wickedness. "I mean, if they did, Davy would
never see the inside of an empty hotel room."
He laughed. "I suppose I can forgive them,
then." He held her and she held him. No other words were needed.