The next day progressed much the same way. We got up late, played some war games before lunch, rehearsed for an hour after lunch, then did another hours worth of war games before we started getting ready for the gig. We decided upon the white 8-button shirts this time, and everyone split to their respective bedrooms to get ready.
"Shoot ya for the bathroom!" Micky said once he’d pulled out his shirt and flares.
"Okay," I replied and we met in the center of the room. "One, two, three, shoot!" He shot a three and I shot a one.
"You got it babe. Just don’t take too long!" I poked him in a ticklish spot with a forcefield as I walked out of the bedroom.
I was showered and dressed in fifteen minutes and I curled up on a field a few feet above the living room floor to wait for the others. I was dozing off when there was a knock on the door followed by Davy’s yell of, "Wake up Lenora!"
I woke up with a start and momentarily lost control of my powers. The field I was laying on collapsed and I landed on the floor with a thud. Standing up, I glared at Davy and snapped, "Don’t DO that!"
"Sorry luv but we can’t open the door with ye sleepin’ like that," he apologized. I stuck my tongue out at him and, turning invisible, I floated upstairs to my room to finish off my catnap up there.
But I was just not meant to get any rest. Moments later I heard Babbit’s yelling from downstairs.
"Man, can’t that guy be a little quieter? The dead are trying to sleep," I mumbled. Micky paused in his dressing to look up at me, floating near the ceiling, and smile.
"Nah, he likes waking the dead. And beautiful musicians too."
"Come on Micky! Find Lenora and let’s get going!" Mike called up the stairs.
I felt myself being yanked downwards with another field. "Aw stoppit Mick, I can get down on my own. I don’t need your help."
"Well then get down. And no floating down the stairs in case Babbit’s still here." He walked out of the bedroom, tousling his curls in his version of brushing, and slid down the banister of the spiral staircase. I rolled my eyes and, making a quick stop in the bathroom to make sure everything was in place, slid down after him.
We arrived at the Club ten minutes later and set up. We’d added "Yellow on the Broom" to the set list, along with solo pieces. "Skye Boat Song" was my solo, Micky did "I Got A Woman," Mike did "Can’t Judge a Book by Looking at the Cover," Peter did "Cripple Creek," and Davy did "Gonna Build a Mountain." With the solo pieces and some added songs we’d used during our gig in Hawaii, we had brought our set up to a full three hours, with plenty of room for rearranging as we wrote and perfected new pieces.
We were, once again, a hit. Davy got phone numbers from another two dozen girls, three went after Mike, four after Peter, two after Micky and two guys asked me out. I politely declined, not yet ready to date due to recent circumstances -- mainly adjusting to the new powers and still getting used to life in the 60s. All the books I’d read had been insufficient preparation for life here. A history book could tell you that the hippies disliked meat, their taste in fashion, and their favourite places to hang out but didn’t say much about what a dollar was worth, certain social customs, and specific customs in Malibu Beach such as which restaurants catered to the hip crowd and which stores carried hip fashions.
When we got in the car, Davy was hanging on one girl who joined him in the far back seat, stealing Micky’s and my spot. We sighed and squeezed in the middle with Peter while Mike and Isa took the front seat. Moments after pulling out, Mike ran into a detour.
"Aw, damn. It’s goin’ ta take forever to get home with this!" he snarled but turned into the detour route anyway. Micky closed his eyes and leaned on my right shoulder, fast asleep within moments.
"Sleepy?" Peter whispered in my ear. I nodded and yawned. "I thought so. As soon as I saw Micky drop off I had a feeling." He gently pushed my head on his shoulder. "Go ahead. I’ll wake you when we get there." I smiled my thanks and I, too, was soon fast asleep.
"Len? Micky? Wake up!" I heard Peter’s gentle voice what seemed to be only moments later.
"No, it’s too early!" Micky groaned into my shoulder.
"Micky, it’s nearly midnight! Get up and come into the house, unless you wanna sleep in the Monkeemobile all night. That goes for you too Len!" Peter said.
"Come on Micky. I’d at least like to get into my pajamas," I groaned as I tried to sit up and stiff muscles protested.
"Okay okay," he mumbled. I noticed that the trunk was empty. The other guys had apparently emptied the trunk before trying to wake us. Peter helped me climb out of the car, then helped Micky, and telekinetically opened the front door for us.
"Good night!" he called as we stumbled up the stairs. We slid into our pajamas and off to dreamland in minutes.
Last updated 23 OCT 98
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