Two Different Roads

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together

The beginning of February, 1967-The Monkees were all traveling. Mike and Ellen used the opportunity to take a belated honeymoon of sorts. They spent a day shopping in New York City then went on to visit Ellen's adopted hometown, London. She was delighted to finally have the opportunity to show her husband her old haunts, and he seemed to take to the city right away.
She hadn't realized how much she'd missed the place. Every British accent was like an old friend. A Texas drawl was undoubtedly sexy, but it wasn't home. She was content with her life in California, and she wouldn't have wanted to move back. It was nice to visit though.
Vicky had chosen to accompany her sister and brother in-law on this trip in order to catch up with acquaintances as well as London nightlife. Suprisingly she actually managed to convince them to attend a popular club with her, The Bag Of Nails.
It was packed, full of the city's grooviest citizens. Vicky rushed to the dance floor while Mike and Ellen attempted to find a table where they could observe the swarm of humanity from a safe distance. They finally located an only partially occupied one in back and sank down on the last available seat together, Ellen perched on her husband's lap, their arms about each other.

He ordered drinks for both of them, and they passed time getting to know the others they were sitting with, conversing on a number of varied subjects. Mike wasn't exactly a social animal, but his sharp intelligence and facile wit made him an excellent companion and raconteur when he felt inclined in that direction. Ellen was just thinking that the evening was turning out to be quite pleasant when all at once , she heard a distressingly familiar Liverpudlian accent coming from the next table.
She couldn't seem to resist glancing over warily to confirm what her ears already knew to be true. Unfortunately the owner of that well-remembered voice just happened to look up at the same time. (God there was apparently an almost psychic bond between them even now.) Her green eyes met a pair of near-sighted, almond shaped brown ones which were now adorned with the little round national health spectacles. They widened in recognition, and then she watched in distress as he instantly made some excuse to his companions, rose and headed in her direction.

"Well if it isn't England's long lost daughter, Ellen Raymond."
She was speechless, but her husband wasn't. Mike's head spun around instantly, and he corrected, "It's MRS. Nesmith now."
"I take it you're MR. Nesmith."
"I am, and you're that bastard Lennon."
"Temper temper-just trying to be friendly like."
"Well I don't feel like playing nice...not with YOU."
"Don't care Son. I'm not talking to you any road. I'm talking to Ellie."
"Well ELLEN doesn't want to talk to YOU."
"She's a grown woman, and I think she can speak for herself...or do you not allow that?"
"John don't make a scene," she told him.
"I've been completely pleasant. It's HIM who's been trying to start some shite."
"I just look out for what's mine."
"Is that what you call it? Seems to me if she was a tree you'd be pissing on her to mark your territory."
"Don't need to. This is plenty good enough," he stated and displayed Ellen's hand with the diamond wedding ring.

"That must have cost you quite a few Bob. The one I gave her probably wasn't nearly that expensive, but I didn't really need it anyway to get her to stay with ME."

Mike nearly dropped Ellen from his lap in his haste to stand up. At his 6'2", he was three inches taller than the Englishman, and he made use of each of them, hovering over him with obvious fury. "Watch what you say."
"Or what? I can see the papers now: 'Monkee punches Beatle in nightclub."
"Like I give a shit."
"There's that temper again, haven't you trained him yet Ellie?"
"Don't call her that!"
"I can call her anything I like, isn't that right Little Girl?"

"John, please."
He leaned in closer to the Texan, whispered conspiratorially, "I know what your problem is. You're pissed cause I shagged her first."
It was then that Mike's fist connected with the older man's face. Shockingly John barely flinched, and he didn't attempt to strike him back but doubled over in actual laughter instead. Mike could only stare for a moment, and then found himself laughing too.

John gripped his hand, gave it a friendly shake and said, "Well met, Mr. Nesmith, well met."
"Considerin the history here maybe ya better call me Mike."
"I'm John, Johnny to my friends and former lovers."
"You wanna sit down?"
Lennon glanced around at the other occupied chairs, pronounced, "You've got some place else to go, don't you?"
The man he'd addressed relinquished his chair immediately as if honored to be given the brush off by a Beatle. He probably was.

John took his place, lit a cigarette and signaled the waiter to bring him another scotch and coke.
"You're not exactly what I expected you to be," he told Mike. " Somehow I thought you'd be like more of a..."
"A shitkicker? Yeah, I get that a lot. You're exactly what I expected YOU to be."
"Cheeky Lennon, that's me."
"Damn this is surreal."
"It IS a bit that."
"Isn't anyone going to ask how this is for ME?" Ellen enquired.
"Why? Did ya miss me Little Girl?"
"I'm just starting to like you Lennon. Don't piss me off again."
"Please Sir, I'll behave sir."
Mike laughed. "Is he always like this?"
"Unfortunately yes," she told him.

II
Vicky nearly choked on her drink when she came to the table and found the two men, heads together, chatting as if they'd been friends for years. She stared at her sister in astonishment. Ellen could only shrug. She'd seen it as it happened and couldn't understand it either.
"Well it's the second most luscious bird in the room," John said as he saw her.
He rose to meet her, greeted her with a hug and a quick peck on the lips. "How the fuck have you been Sexy?"
Ellen was dismayed to find that she felt a slight stab of something that distressingly resembled jealousy.
"I'm good Johnny."
"Who's the latest?" He asked.

"His name is Peter, and he's fab."
"As fab as me?"
"Nobody is as fab as you Lennon," she flirted.
There it was again, just brief enough to be barely noticeable but distressing nonetheless. Ellen reached across from the chair in which she was now sitting to take her husband's hand.
Vicky sat down in another seat which had recently been vacated. "So exactly what's going on here? You two actually like each other?"
"Amazing isn't it?"
"Not really-you're both assholes."
"You've wounded me."
"Shut up Johnny. For somebody to hurt you, you'd actually have to give a shit."
"I give a lot of shits."
Even Ellen smiled slightly at that one.
"This is fun. Look, I have a great idea. Why dont you all stay with me and Cyn while you're in town."
"Have you lost what little sense you had?" Ellen asked incredulously.
"I said I'll behave. I've had lessons."

The song is called "In Demand" by a group called Texas. Look for the divine British actor Alan Rickman in the video. The singer specifically chose him herself when asked who she wanted to star in the vid with her