Spiritual Audition 2/5
Mike groaned as he came out of the bedroom, shaking his head as his returning vision let him see the source of the loud sounds that had woken him. "Aw, PETER!"
"I can't -- HIC! -- seem to -- HIC! -- help it!" Peter gasped before returning to trying to drink a glass of water from the wrong side of the glass.
Sitting down beside the hiccuping man, Mike reached over and rubbed his back. Taking note of suspiciously guilty expressions on his other two bandmates, he growled, "Okay, it's too blasted early in the mornin' to be playin' guessin' games. What the hell happened?"
Micky jerked his thumb to Davy, who Sighed. "I told him I sent the tape in." In response, Peter gave a very loud hiccup.
"Nerves," Mike diagnosed, rubbing slow circles on Peter's tense back. "Peter, man, you gotta relax."
"I'm -- HIC! -- trying, Michael! I don't -- HIC! -- know what's wrong!"
"Okay, let's relax," Mike said with a smile. "Close your eyes." Peter shot him an incredulous look. "I MEAN it. Close 'em."
Peter hiccuped, sighed, and closed his eyes.
"Good. Now, imagine yourself somewhere peaceful -- like a meadow!"
"Yeah!" Davy put in. "A nice, green meadow with lots of beautiful flowers...."
A faint flush of red appeared on Peter's nose and spread under his eyes. Micky's eyes widened. "Uh -- guys?"
Peter suddenly let out an explosive sneeze. Bleary eyes opened and he drug his sleeve across his runny nose. "Sorry guys," he slurred. "Hay fever." He followed that up with a hiccup.
"HAY FEVER?" Davy gulped.
Mike groaned, his head crashing against the back of the couch. "We keep forgetting just HOW good his imagination is..."
"At least it -- HIC! -- wasn't worse," Peter smiled as the phantom allergy slowly receded. "At least you didn't tell me to -- HIC! -- imagine I was on a ship!"
"Why's that?" Micky asked when no further explanation seemed forthcoming.
Peter's smile was slightly sheepish. "I get -- HIC! -- seasick."
"SEA sick?" Davy yelped, incredulous that anybody could get seasick. The rocking of the boat that had carried him down the Thames the day before he left for America was still one of the most soothing of all Davy's memories.
Peter held his breath and -- mercifully -- the loud, jarring hiccups began to fade.
They vanished completely when the sudden ringing of the phone startled him.
Laughing at Peter's stunned expression, Mike picked up the phone. "Monkees Pad!"
A man's voice replied, "Then I assume you're one of the Monkees -- the music group?"
Mike's smile was audible. "You assume right, sir. Mike Nesmith, lead guitar."
"And I assume I have reached your home at--" There was a pause, and then it sounded like he read off of a paper. "1334 Beachwood Lane?"
"You seem to have the advantage of me, sir."
Laughter. "Stay where you are! I'll be RIGHT there!"
"Wait, wait!" But the man had already hung up. Mike blinked as he hung up as well, whispering, "Who ARE you?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Mister Benson! Mister Benson, wait!"
Annoyed, Benson whirled to face his secretary. "What IS it, Miss Chumsky! I've got to go hear these Monkees in their natural environment!"
With a similarly annoyed sigh, she passed him a folded bundle of cloth. "You forgot your pants!"