How to Become The Monkees Without Really Trying

Chapter 6

"Here we are!" announced Micky as he led Davy through the front door.

"This is your pad?" said Davy, stopping to look eye-to-eye at the second face on a colorful totem pole on the east wall.

"Yeah. What do you think?"

"Well, ah..." Davy looked around at the interior of the shabby little house and its mismatched collection of broken funiture and rusty street signs. "I'd rather not say. I was raised to be honest... But I was also raised not to insult anyone who thinks he's doing me a favor." Davy next went to the plump mannequin in the chair. "Who's this?"

"He's our advisor, Mr. Schneider," Peter said, just coming in with one of Davy's suitcases. Each of the young men was carrying one.

"Advisor?" said Davy. "But he's only a dummy."

Peter's eyebrows came close together, and he drew his lips inwards in a tight frown. Then he pulled Schneider's string, allowing the mannequin to offer his own self-defense: "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names can never hurt me."

Davy raised his eyebrows, astonished at the appropriateness of the fat, wooden man's rebuttal. Peter lifted his chin and declared haughtily (an unusual attitude for Peter), "Next time, watch who you call a 'dummy.'"

Mike came in at last, carrying the last, and the largest, suitcase. "Boy, for a little guy, you sure have a heavy bunch of clothes."

Davy folded his arms and smiled smugly. "I'm British. We're very clothing-conscious."

Micky sat down to remove his skates. Grinning, he commented, "Well, Americans are clothing-conscious, too- especially men. I, for one, am very conscious of women's clothes."

Peter piped up, "My dad was very conscious of what my two sisters, my two brothers, and I wore."

Mike gave Peter a questioning look. "Peter, I thought you said there were four kids in your family, and that's why you wanted a quartet."

"I have two brothers and two sisters," Peter said. "That's four." He counted quickly on his fingers. "Yup," he said, smiling proudly and holding up four fingers. "Four!"

"Plus you, Peter," Mike said. "That's five."

"Oh?" Peter counted quickly, and smiled. "Hey, Mike, you're right! Well, how 'bout a quintet, then?"

Micky groaned and covered his face with his hand.

"Only if the fifth is a girl," Davy said.

Mike raised his eyebrows. "In a house with four guys?"

Davy nodded thoughtfully. "Hmm, I suppose you're right." He gave a kind of wry smile. "I'd have to share her with the three of you, wouldn't I?"

Micky brightened at that suggestion. "Hey...!"

"Micky..." said Mike, scoldingly.

Micky cringed under the glare of those piercing, dark brown eyes. "No?"

Mike shook his head sternly.

Micky shrugged. "Well, you can't win 'em all."

Peter looked over the luggage stacked up by the downstairs bedroom door. Davy had four suitcases, all full of clothes and toiletries. "Hey, we forgot to ask- what instrument do you play, Davy?"

"Instrument?"

The other three exchanged and "uh-oh" look. "Well, do you play anything?" asked Mike.

Davy glanced at Micky's drum set. "Well, I play the drums a little bit."

"Hey, I'm the drummer!" snapped Micky, jealously guarding his position. "And don't you forget it!"