'Time, I need more time,' Micky thought to himself frantically, as he was bent over with his hands on his knees, sucking wind into his lungs, trying to catch his breath. He had just run through his signature number Goin' Down, and it had gone badly. Aside from the fact that he was having trouble remembering all the lyrics, even if he could remember all the words, he didn't have enough breath to push them all out of his mouth in time with the tempo. And then Davy actually expected him to throw in some of his old dance steps and move around the stage, since many of the concert venues were going to have the audience seated in the round and they would need to make sure they all had a view of the guys.
Davy, on the other hand, was as fit as he had ever been. Micky eyed him jealously as he strutted around wearing a tank top and shorts, flashing his still well-developed biceps and pecs. Davy had always been an exercise fiend, and obviously was still as vain as he had ever been. Noticing Micky's envious glance, Davy blushed and answered his gawking expression. "Yeh, well, I've been hitting the gym a lot since I got sober. It keeps me from picking up a drink by giving me someplace to channel me frustration and energy. I go there a lot." He paused and exhaled out a puff of embarrassed breath. "A lot."
Peter also was in decent shape physically, but mostly he just moved around very slowly, apparently conserving his energy and needing very little of it anyway, considering he sang only one solo number during the set. Micky both pitied him this indignity and envied him. At the moment, he was leaning quite heavily towards the envy side of the scale, as he reached for a towel and swiped away at the sweat pouring profusely from his forehead and scalp. As he looked down at the towel, he noted with a groan that there were a few stray hairs that clung to the white terrycloth, and he took another blow to his ego and confidence.
During the days, Micky, Davy and Peter rehearsed for the show, and at night, Peter and Micky went to a studio in Hollywood to work on the new tracks for the Greatest Hits album. This was a less stressful setup for Micky, and the voice lessons he had taken with a coach prior to leaving England had served him well. In a static environment such as a recording studio, he could command his diaphragm to do his bidding and produce the clear, dulcet notes he used to be able to sing. He was able to hit the correct pitch and detect the accurate harmony line and hold the notes for the required amount of beats. Unfortunately, Peter's voice was just as unreliable in all respects as it ever was, and again, Micky found the process to be an exercise in frustration as they recorded take after take.
When Micky came home around 10 p.m. after his full day of rehearsals and recording, he slammed the front door with some extra force, alerting Gabby to his presence in an unpleasant manner and putting her radar on high alert. She popped her head out of the kitchen and asked "Wow, that bad?"
Sighing with exhaustion and tension, Micky slumped down on the couch, closed his eyes and just mutely nodded. He threw his arms around the back of the couch and leaned his head back with his legs splayed out in front of him. Gabby saw two things: a dejected, frustrated, unhappy husband, and a luscious landscape that could use some tending. She knew what her next move needed to be, so she strolled over to the couch.
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Reunion (The Monkees Family Vol. 3)
FanfictionIn 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...