You're Just Too Good To Be True

Broken Hearted

She woke up in her small, yet cozy studio apartment in West Hollywood, feeling empty and alone. 'I can't believe this happened,' she thought.

Glancing over at his beer bottle, half-empty, and his cigarette butt smashed into the dirty glass ashtray, tears welled-up in her eyes, eventually pouring down her face, and finally letting out a huge sob.

"He's gone!" she yelled, repeatedly as the sobbing jolted her whole body.

Her now ex-boyfriend, Joe, made her promises that he couldn't keep, and one of them was to remain faithful. She thought back to the icy glare he gave her as he said "There is someone else. I'm not in love with you anymore."

Tracey didn't think that following her dreams would come at such a cost. Her and Joe moved to L.A. to have a better life. She would finally get to sing her songs and maybe get a record deal. Joe would pursue his filmmaking career. It seemed like everything was falling into place as far as their careers were concerned. She found a steady gig performing with a former Monkee, Peter Tork, at The Troubadour in West Hollywood, and she was consistently writing songs while she wasn't performing. Joe started going to film school at UCLA and became a production assistant for a big-time director.

Their dreams were slowly becoming a reality, as their relationship was slowly deteriorating. Tracey thought it was the struggle of the chase that might have torn them apart. However, it was a girl named Samantha, an actress Joe had met on the set of a movie he was working on, a woman he apparently had been having an affair with while she was rehearsing and performing her songs.

She sang of heartbreak, never really having experienced it before. She thought she was "lucky-in-love" when she met Joe, he was her ideal, and she saw herself marrying him and having his children.

Tracey was devastated, and even though she had her aspiring career as a singer-songwriter to look forward to and to get her through this, the pain of her break-up was too fresh. She decided to call Pete and tell him she couldn't perform that night. When she told Pete what happened, what he responded with shocked her.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that, Tracey. But you know what? This is the best time to perform. It will be a raw performance, and since a lot of your songs have to do with love lost, your emotion will be in it."

"What if I start crying?" I asked

"If you cry, that will make the performance even more beautiful. Also, the best thing for you right now is to get dressed and out of the house."

Tracey, a bit hesitant, decided to follow Pete's advice, and after pouring out the last remaining beer from Joe's bottle, and cleaning out the dirty ashtray, she jumped in the shower, cried, and sang. 'Wow, singing does make me feel a lot better,' she thought.

While she was getting ready, trying to powder-out the red-crying cheeks, she became sad again, thinking, 'It's too late for me now, I'm almost 30, who the hell is going to want to date me now?'. Living in L.A. with a boyfriend, she always had this sense of security, a feeling that she didn't have to compete with the bimbos of Hollywood.

Of course, Tracey didn't have to worry when it came to the looks department. She had long and wavy blonde hair, big blue-green hazel eyes, a tan complexion, mostly from the California sun, and a shape that most women envied. She always wished her boobs were bigger, just like every woman who is never completely happy with how they looked. When she wore short dresses or shorts, she would drive the guys crazy, with her long, lean, tan legs.

She decided to flaunt her legs tonight, with a short, green and blue dress, one that made her blue-green eyes pop. She also curled her hair, wore black eyeliner and mascara, something she barely wore when she was with Joe, since he always preferred her natural look.

Entering The Troubadour as a newly single woman, she felt a little self-conscious. But, by the looks the fellas at the bar were giving her, she knew she looked good.

"Wow, look at you!" Pete said. "Super Model!"

Pete always had a way of making her feel good. He was one of the few good friends she made in L.A., and she was grateful.

"Why, thank you! It's a miracle what a little blush and mascara will do..."

"Well, it's not like you need it," Pete said as he gave her a little wink. "Oh, by the way, the guys might be stopping in tonight.

"What guys?"

"Oh, you know, Mike and Micky. I've been trying to get them to see us for months now, and I finally spoke to Micky, and he said they were actually rehearsing in L.A. today, and would stop by after dinner."

Tracey's heart almost stopped. She knew, of course, who Pete was talking about. She had been a fan of The Monkees when she lived in Chicago, and was star-struck when she met Pete at first. She knew eventually she would meet the other Monkees, but didn't know it would be tonight, after a horrible break-up.

She always fancied Mike, and what she heard from Pete, he was a serious songwriter just as she was, and she knew also that his marriage had just dissolved. They had a lot in common, with their career and now in their personal lives. Her ex had been on the shorter, stocky side, with big arms, which she loved to squeeze and hold onto. Mike's build was more tall and lanky, but he had the tall, dark and handsome look she was always attracted to.

"So, I might meet them tonight?!"

"Yeah, I told them how great you are, and they really want to see you."

'Oh no,' Tracey thought, 'Now I have to be great tonight, because The Monkees will be expecting it.'

"So, what, are you nervous?" Pete asked, as he looked at the wave of concern on her face.

"Well, I mean...my mind's off my break-up now, if that means anything!"