The next day progressed as usual, everyone tumbling into bed after a particularly exciting performance at the Cassandra. The next morning, the alarm went off and Mike chuckled as Micky woke screaming gibberish. I shot up in bed, startled awake from the combination of the alarm jangling and Micky’s screams. I concentrated, and the alarm fell to the floor, knocked over by a force field, and silenced.
"The downstairs one is going off too," Mike drawled. "Time we all got up."
"Shoot ya for the shower," Micky said, then yawned.
"You’re on. Len?"
"Nah, you two battle it out. I’m gonna steal a few more minutes." I slid back beneath my covers, bundling up in a warm cocoon.
They shot fingers and Micky won. Mike stood. "I’m gonna go see if I can help with breakfast."
"Meetcha there," Micky said, heading towards the bathroom. "Oh, Mike?"
"Yeah?"
"Watch it at the bottom of the stairs. I think I left my coat there last night."
"MICKY!!!!!!" came a bellow from downstairs.
"You did," I mumbled from my cocoon.
"I’ll kill him," Peter muttered, coming up the stairs.
"Over a coat?" Mike asked. Making a hole in the piles of covers and peeking out, I saw him regard Peter with one raised eyebrow. Peter smiled and shook his head. "Anything I can do to help with breakfast?"
"You and Len loose the shoot?"
"I didn’t shoot. I’m not ready to leave my warm cocoon," I retorted.
Mike chuckled. "I did."
"You can put away the dishes from last night, while I make the waffles," Peter said.
Peter mixed up his special recipe blueberry waffles while Mike moved around, putting the dishes away. I stumbled downstairs for some caffeine and Davy wandered into the kitchen.
"Blueberry pancakes!" Davy cried.
"Blueberry WAFFLES!" Mike and Peter chorused.
"Fine. Blueberry waffles then. Smells good either way," Davy retorted. I snickered and leaned up against the staircase while using fields to pull the Pepsi from the fridge and pour some into a field.
"What’s that fizzin’ I hear?" Mike asked.
"Len’s soda just floated past ya," Davy said.
"Oh." Then Mike looked up. "He’s out. See y’all in a few." He headed upstairs.
I floated upstairs as soon as I’d drained my Pepsi and grabbed a pair of jeans and the moccasin boots Peter had gotten for me, then I floated downstairs. I nabbed Peter’s blue and white Nehru shirt on my way into the bathroom and hopped into the shower.
After my shower, as I dressed, I heard Peter say, "Last batch is in now . . . IF Mister Mouth doesn’t eat them all!"
"I’m HUNGRY!" Micky whined.
"Yeah, but seven?" Davy snapped. "Man, I’m the one who needs to eat cause of his power!"
I stepped out of the bathroom as Mike sat down. "Seven? And five hamburgers last night? What are ya doin, havin’ a growth spurt?" He threw a napkin and managed to hit Micky squarely on the nose. I grinned, surprised at his accuracy.
After breakfast, Mike went to the bandstand and grabbed the 12-string. "I’m goin’ for a walk on the beach."
"But Mike, we have to practice, and then there’s today’s recording session!" Peter protested.
"I want to go for a walk on the beach! Can’t we practice later? And I thought the next recording session wasn’t ‘till tomorrow . . . six days off, right?"
"I thought it was five. Besides, Mike, you know you keep getting depressed when you go to the beach," I said.
"I’M GOING FOR A WALK ON THE BEACH! I NEED A BREAK FROM YOU TWO AND YOUR ‘DON’T THINK ABOUT THE BLINDNESS’ JAZZ!!!" Mike roared, then stalked off.
"Oh man . . . I didn’t think it had come this far," I said.
"I can’t believe we made Mike mad," Peter sobbed. I got up and put an arm around his shoulder.
"I guess we haven’t let him really feel. We’ve just been keeping him busy, not letting him give up . . . and I guess in the process, kept him from feeling," I said softly.
When Mike returned three hours later, Peter and I had decided to back off . . . and we told him so.
"I’m glad. I’m sorry I blew up but . . . "
"We understand Mike. We never realized that we were bring so . . . overbearing," I said.
We skipped practice for the night and thankfully we didn’t have a gig or a recording session that day -- Mike had been right, it wasn’t until the next day.
Last updated 02 DEC 98
[Home] [Guest Book] [Back to Lenora's Fiction Archive]
[Take my Survey] [What's New]
[Music]
[Science Fiction]
[Story Archive] [Scotland]
[The 60s] [Figure Skating]
[Concert & Convention Diary] [Beadwork]
[Links] [Reviews]
[Webring] [Search Engines]