The first few days progressed normally. We avoided playing while Davy was around, we didnít practice out of respect for his feelings. Isa and I spent a lot of time working together, I helping her proof various articles and her proofing parts of my novel, which was coming along slowly but surely. Davy spent a lot of time moping around the Pad or walking on the beach. He also learned a little bit of lip reading, though he consistently refused my attempts to teach him sign language.
One morning at breakfast Peter wrote on his notepad and read off what heíd written while he showed it to Davy, "You said you had something to tell us. Weíre all here."
"You guys Ďave to practice. I know you Ďavenít cause of me but you gotta. We canít cancel a whole monthís worth of gigs cause of me -- weíll be kicked out!"
"Fine but you will be on the bandstand with us little man," Mike said, scribbling it out on his notepad. "Weíre not the Monkees without all five of us."
"Fine," Davy said softly.
Once the breakfast dishes were cleared we moved to the bandstand. I grabbed a stool from the corner and stuck it by one of the huge VOX speakers that stood on either side of Mickyís drums and motioned for Davy to sit. Peter fished the tambourine from the mess in front of the bass drum and handed it to Davy, who took it very reluctantly, laying it on his lap and leaning on the speaker.
"Letís do Mary, Mary to start," Mike said. We nodded and Micky counted it off.
Halfway through the song, I nearly missed a chord when I heard the distinctive jangle of the tambourine start up -- and on the right beat too! At the end of the song, Davy looked up at us with tear-filled eyes. "I can feel the rhythm! I did it!"
That night when we went to bed, we were able to say "Night, Davy," for the first time -- he could read that much, as well as all our names and a few other words.
The next morning Micky dragged me out to the beach right after breakfast and goaded me into several swimming competitions. A couple hours later I spotted Peter walk out onto the beach with the acoustic and the 12-string and I dunked Micky, then flew over to join him.
"Hey there big Peter," I said.
"Hi. I was hoping youíd join me. Iíve got a song bouncing around in my head and I could use your help to drag it out." He handed me the acoustic.
"Sure thing. You look upset," I said, idly tuning the guitar.
"Oh, just a little worried about Davy. He just woke up from a nightmare. He . . . well he said Ďif it worksí and I kind of got a little upset. He said heís not quitting but Iím not so sure. I hope he can manage until the 15th."
"I hope so too. Well, letís relax, forget about that whole horrible event and the aftermath, and make a little music," I said.
An hour later Micky ran outside and dragged both of us in. "Davyís missing! He snuck out while the two of you were serenading each other!! Of all the stupid, *careless* things -- "
His rant was cut off by Mike and Isaís arrival. "What in the world is going on here?" Mike asked.
"Davyís missing!" Micky said, "He snuck out while these two were making goo goo eyes at each other!"
"He had a nightmare," Peter said, tears filling his eyes, "He kept asking me why this happened. I didnít . . . I didnít have any answers for him. Mike, itís all my fault . . . "
"Itís nobodyís fault. Micky, cool it," Mike ordered. "Youíre furious at Davy and youíre taking it out on Len and Peter. That ainít fair."
"Yeah well neither is letting Davy leave without saying where he was going," Micky retorted.
"The main thing now is to find Davy," Isa said calmly.
"Sheís right. We need to split up. Iíll take the car and Isa and I will check downtown. Len, you hit the parks. Peter -- the beach. All along it. Micky -- take the clubs. Heís gotta be at one of those places. Letís go," Mike said.
I was flying invisible over the parks when I saw Davy sitting against a tree near the edge of a small lake. I swooped down, hiding behind another tree while I regained visibility, then ran towards him. He looked up at my arrival, startled.
"Where have you been?" I asked and, out of sheer frustration, signed.
"Walking, looking. Why?" he asked, standing.
"Micky has been chewing Pete and I out for leaving you alone. Heís afraid you wandered off to kill yourself."
"No!" he gasped. "I just needed to get out of the Pad awhile!"
"I see. I donít blame you. Come on, Iíll fly you home." I held out a hand to him and led him back around the tree, where I turned us invisible before launching into the air.
We walked into the Pad from the verandah ten minutes later, finding Micky and Peter there. Mike and Isa were still looking, apparently.
"Iím sorry. I should have told you where I was going. I didnít mean to get you in trouble," Davy told Peter. Then he rounded on Micky. "And you had no right to yell at him! You need to apologize too!"
"Iím sorry." Micky hung his head and in his mind I could see that he really felt awful. "I was upset, and worried about you." He looked up and fixed Davy with a glare. "Youíre my pal, Dave, and I didnít want to lose you."
"I dig, man, I dig," Davy said.
Two days later, the 30th of July, we were scheduled for our final recording session. Thankfully all of Davyís vocals were recorded, along with most of his instrumental work. He insisted we go, since we had a deadline to meet for the album. Micky and I ended up recording the last of the tambourine and maraca work that evening. We returned home to a Salisbury steak dinner that Davy had made in celebration.
Last updated 22 JAN 99
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