In the mid-1980s, the Monkees are hot stuff again after MTV has reintroduced them to a whole new generation of fans. The executives at their old recording label wants them to record some new tunes for a 20th anniversary album and go on a reunion to...
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The performance was first-rate, particularly in comparison to the full dress rehearsal Gabby had seen the night before. And also considering that underneath, there were currents of animosity between Davy and Micky that were completely undetectable. Gabby glowed with pride at both their talent and professionalism, while she mourned the loss of comradery and fun they could be having if they weren't locked in a battle for her affection and trust. Actually, she corrected herself, Micky wasn't in a battle for anything. He was just living his life as her beloved husband, and Davy was playing a very dangerous, misguided head game with himself and her at the center of a drama that never should have been created, nor perpetuated for this long. Still, she couldn't help but feel pride for her friend, as that is how she still thought of him in her heart and mind. But she was determined to maintain the physical distance between them that she had established in the hopes that it would build an emotional safety zone for both of them. She felt sad that she couldn't go down to his dressing room after the show to congratulate him, and she didn't even dare ask Lynda to tell him she wished him well. She knew that would only stir feelings of hope within him. She felt miserable about this, like she had a low-grade fever.
After she separated from Lynda and Robert, who were on their way to Davy's dressing room to congratulate him, Gabby made her way to Micky's room. She was halfway down the hallway when she saw Sharon, leaning against the wall, as if she were lying in wait for her. She was just hanging out as if the wall were holding her up, arms and legs crossed, smacking on a piece of gum. When she spotted Gabby, she snaked her tongue out and licked her lips lewdly. She let her fingers of her left hand stray to the waistband of pants and crammed them in, while she used the right hand to draw small circles around one of her nipples. Her eyes had that same shiny expression they had had the other day, so Gabby assumed that she was high again.
Gabby stopped mid-stride and tried to decide what to do. Should she back up, flee and run? If she did that, not only would she be signaling fear and weakness to this whackadoodle stalker, but she'd need to turn her back on her and the crazy bitch might catch up to her and harm her. Gabby was tempted to go up to her and give her a piece of her mind, to confront her and tell her she wasn't afraid of her and that she would never get a piece of either her or her husband. But that might cause further trouble and give her exactly the kind of attention she was seeking. The safest and most dignified approach seemed to be to ignore her and just go about her business, so Gabby assumed a blasé expression and continued down the hall and pushed her way into Micky's dressing room through the gathering crowd. She also decided not to mention it to Micky, so that he wouldn't give Sharon any satisfaction or attention either. She'd tell him about her later. Suddenly, she was grateful that Micky had acquired that switchblade.
Gabby entered the room and Micky jumped up from his chair. He embraced her, rubbing stage makeup and sweat and all sorts of yuck all over her. She squealed with despair at him mussing her up.
"Oh, sorry, babe. I forgot I'm a mess. Let me clean that off you!" He grabbed a towel and wiped her down. Then he wiped his own face and tossed the towel away. "Can we do that again?"
