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"I Met a Girl Who Sang the Blues - Part 4"
Title: I Met A Girl Who Sang The Blues
Genre/Pairing: Peter/OFC, Micky/OFC, Mike/OFC, Davy/OFCs. Gen/Rom/Com
Rating: PG-R, nothing very graphic happens
Warnings: Mild language, mild violence, suggestive themes, sexual situations
Disclaimer: I do not own the Monkees, or any of the characters from the show. I only own my OCs.
Summary: When two girls move in close to our boys, will the effect cause happiness
for all, or will every thing be torn apart?
Author's Note: This is the first Monkees fiction I wrote. As such, it is not the best thing I’ve ever written, but it remains in a special place in my heart none the less. Some of you may remember this from Monkees Fic on Livejournal.
In Which A Feast Is Enjoyed By All, And Many Thanks Are Given
Sophie hated cooking. She was, by nature, the anti-housewife and greatly disliked cooking, cleaning, or organizing of any sort. Luckily she had Myrtle to live with, who was extremely clean and knew how to get stains out of fabrics and such.
Why, then, she had agreed to cooking a turkey and other things for her neighbors, whom she had known for a little over a week was beyond her. As she slammed the oven door on the turkey slightly harder than was necessary, she inwardly blamed Peter Tork.
It was his fault she was cooking this damned turkey. Sophie had been searching for any excuse to spend more time with the young man who fascinated her so. And when Nesmith had mentioned not having a turkey for Thanksgiving, Sophie had leapt at the chance. Her grandmother had taught her years ago how to cook, and Sophie had been afraid that she may not remember how, but she found that it was just like riding a bike.
That didn’t change the fact, however, that Sophie hated to cook. To further vent, she slammed a pot down on the counter, not realizing Myrtle had entered the room and she jumped.
“I thought we had agreed you were going to use your words, Sophie.”
She laughed. “Sorry, Myrtle. Just don’t like to cook.”
“Yeah, I never thought to see the day when you would willingly cook something.”
“Stranger things will happen; I’m sure.”
“Stranger things are standing in front of me in this kitchen.”
Sophie looked down at herself. She did look odd. She had woken up especially early (before ten), but hadn’t changed out of her pajamas. She had put a bathrobe on, and then added an apron over that. She had also put her black hair up in a knot on the very top on her head, but flour still seemed to have gotten up there, giving Sophie the look as if she had aged overnight.
“I promise I’ll change before we go.”
Myrtle laughed. “You’d better…I’m not sure Peter would go for the winner of the worst-dressed chef award.”
Sophie rolled her eyes, picked up a handful of flour and blew it on her roommate. There followed a very interesting ingredient fight, which resulted in Sophie picking blueberries out of her hair and Myrtle trying to scrub honey off of her hands. Sophie looked around at the demolished kitchen.
“We can clean this up later…”
Of course, by ‘we’, she meant Myrtle.
Meanwhile, the guys were trying to make their apartment ready for Thanksgiving dinner. Peter and Mike had pulled and extra table out of storage and had set it up in the kitchen to make one large dining table. Micky had found a green sheet that would work as a table cloth. Davy put a large Indian headdress on Mr. Schneider, who didn’t seem to mind, and had taped a whole bunch of dried leaves all over the doorways and the winding staircase.
Micky had slipped out earlier and returned with a few bottles of wine to have dinner. Mike had taken extra care not to blow the kitchen up while he boiled some eggs to make potato salad with. And so, as four o’clock rolled around, the apartment was very festive. Mike was fussing over mismatched silverware, Micky was trying to ignore Mike, Peter was upstairs practicing how not to make himself look like an idiot, and Davy had left to pick up Hilda.
He had invited Julie along first but she had plans with family. Hilda was a girl that Davy had met at a producer’s office, where she worked as a secretary. Davy had never met her outside the office (and had only met her inside the office once), but like him, she was European and had no plans for Thanksgiving, so Davy had given her a call.
Sophie and Myrtle made their ungainly way over to the guy’s apartment, carrying several foil-wrapped plates. When they discovered that they couldn’t knock on the door, Sophie proceeded to bellow.
“Nesmith! If you want this damned turkey, you had best open the door!”
Peter had been on his way downstairs and was closest to the door. He opened it and Sophie and Myrtle tumbled in. Peter and Micky helped the girls unload all the food while Mike started setting up chairs around the table. It wasn’t too long until Davy showed up with Hilda.
When Davy was having an off week, he at least did it proper. Hilda was a very tall girl, like Sophie. But unlike Sophie, who was very skinny, Hilda was a large girl. She was from Switzerland and had been raised in the Alpine region. A mountaineer by birth, this was no girly-girl. Davy had never noticed this, seeing as the only time he had met her she had been behind a receptionist’s desk. The two were obviously not compatible, although she and Sophie hit it off almost immediately. Davy was very happy about this.
Soon, everyone gathered around the table and sat down to eat. This being a traditional Thanksgiving dinner (apart from the zürigschnätzlets that Hilda brought, which was apparently a common Swiss dish), Mike wanted to say grace. They all held hands around the table (Peter jolting slightly when Sophie grabbed his hand) and Mike said grace
“Bless this table, O Lord, and the wonderful Thanksgiving dinner on it. And also bless the friends gathered around this table, and the family who couldn’t be here with us. And thank you, Lord, for our good health and thank you for sparing us from any accidents or explosions this year…”
“Amen!” Micky said loudly, and everyone began to grab for food. Everything was delicious, and complements on the turkey came from all directions. The only thing that remained untouched was Hilda’s zürigschnätzlets, which only Hilda and Sophie tried. Of course, Hilda enjoyed it immensely, but Sophie was able to sneakily spit her mouthful out in a napkin.
After everyone had eaten their fill, and then some, Sophie, Myrtle, and Hilda started a dish washing chain and sent the boys into the living room where they collapsed around the television.
Mike turned the T.V onto the big football game, but Peter wasn’t paying it any attention. Instead, he was watching Sophie out of the corner of his eye.
She stood at the end of the dish-washing line, and was drying the plates as Myrtle finished washing them. She was obviously making fun of her roommate, who looked especially little standing between Hilda and Sophie. The girls hadn’t dressed up much for the dinner, although Peter thought that Sophie may have taken a little extra time in getting ready than she usually did. She was wearing a black skirt and button up shirt. Her hair was braided back the same way it was pulled back when she went to work. It occurred to Peter that he had never seen her wear make up, and today was no exception. It amazed him that Sophie could just be that naturally beautiful.
As if she had felt him looking at her, Sophie abruptly glanced back over her shoulder at Peter and held his gaze from across the room. She smiled brightly at him, waved the dish towel a bit, and then went back to drying.
When all the dishes were done and taken care of, the girls sat down in the living room; Myrtle groaning when she noticed it was football on, Sophie cheered when she saw the score, at which point she was booed by Mike. Sophie was delegated the task of explaining the game to Hilda, who had asked Davy first, but his response was “heck if I know”. Hilda soon gave up understanding the game, however, as Sophie kept interrupting herself to cheer.
While the game was on, Micky and Myrtle slipped out onto the balcony. With the doors and windows closed, it was exceptionally quiet outside; the only noise was the waves on the beach, which was unusually deserted.
Myrtle eventually suggested a walk out on the beach and so they went. Micky grabbed her hand as they went down the steps, although a few paces down the beach he let go of her hand and put his arm around her shoulders.
“Hey, if you really like to walk, about ten minutes from here is something really neat I’d like to show you,” Micky asked, hoping she would like to go.
“Sure. What is it?”
Micky grinned impishly. “It’s a surprise.”
Myrtle rolled her eyes and laughed. “Lead on, then.”
The secret place turned out to be a small cave awhile down the beach. Davy and Micky had found it a couple of years back, and had stashed away some blankets and candles and other things in the back of the cave for use on dates. It was a relatively dry place and it didn’t drip or have bats in it like most caves did. Davy came here considerably more often than any of the others, but they all considered it theirs.
Micky pulled Myrtle in after him, and led her to the back. She noticed the things they had hidden.
“So, what is this place, some sort of secret Monkee make-out spot?”
Micky laughed. “Not really. It’s more of a secret Davy Jones make-out spot, but he lets the rest of us use it too.”
“So you’ve brought other girls down here too, have you?”
Micky winced at the uncomfortable question and Myrtle saw him and laughed. “Oh, it’s alright if you have, I was just curious.”
Micky shrugged. “One or two, yeah.” He leaned over and kissed Myrtle lightly on the lips. “But never anyone very serious before now.”
“Well, that’s good.” She kissed him back, a little harder this time.
Micky set out a couple of the blankets and they lay down on the floor of the cave together. Micky leaned down to kiss Myrtle again, this time not pulling away. The kisses started out being very sweet and tender, but they soon became hotter, Myrtle pulling Micky on top of her in a very suggestive way. Micky began to consider that he had landed himself a bombshell.
Time flew past for the couple, and as was inevitable, Micky began to have to fight off certain instincts that he wasn’t sure Myrtle may appreciate at this stage in the relationship. He pushed himself off her and lay on his back.
“Myrtle, we need to stop…”
She obviously didn’t feel the same way. She rolled over next to him and kissed his neck. “Why?”
Micky spluttered, at a loss for words for a change. “Do you really want to do this?”
Myrtle looked at him funny. “You don’t?”
“No! I mean, yeah I do, it’s just…We don’t really know each other well, and…”
Myrtle rolled her eyes. “Micky, I like you and I can tell you like me. Does it really need to be more complicated than that? Besides, what did you bring me to this cave for anyway?”
As she continued to kiss his neck and down onto his chest, Micky began to think she had a point.
“The others will wonder where we are…” Micky mentioned, trying to give Myrtle a last chance to change her mind.
“Sophie knows what we’re doing, she’ll cover for me…”
Micky sighed and gave over, rolling Myrtle on her back again, this time laying full out on top of her. He couldn’t help but to ask again, “Are you sure about this?”
Myrtle smiled at him. “Very much so.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her in a kiss that defied all the others before. Micky moved his hands from her waist to her thighs, pushing the skirt she was wearing up. She sat up a bit and pulled her sweater off; the static made her hair fly out like a halo.
Micky smoothed it down and began unbuttoning her shirt, kissing each new area of skin that was revealed. Myrtle made an odd, throaty noise when he got to the waistband of her skirt. She arched her back and pulled the shirt off.
Myrtle ran her hands down Micky’s chest and arms and back, feeling the muscles there built up from hours working on the drums. She unzipped his jeans and felt him hard against her and he pressed up against her and they were soon together, rocking with each other, sweat pouring down their faces despite the cold cave.
When it was over, Micky collapsed on top of Myrtle, who was shivering, not entirely from the cold. He rested his head on her chest, her heart beating loudly and rapidly in his ear. It was a while before they got up and walked back to the apartment.
Sophie did in fact know what they were doing. She had known Myrtle for going on ten years, and she always seemed to know what her friend was doing. If any of Micky’s friends knew what he was doing, they didn’t let on.
Sophie didn’t let on either; rather she cheered wildly when her team won the game and proceeded to force Mike to carry her around the living room for a victory lap. She made friends with Hilda, who explained the finer points of goat husbandry to Sophie, who was honestly interested. She complemented Davy on his choice in women and was awarded in what she could only assume was some sort of British obscene hand gesture.
Sophie also managed to get Peter on his own, which seemed nearly impossible; he kept moving, and Sophie thought he may be avoiding her. She revised this opinion, however, when he slipped out on to the balcony. Only an idiot would try and hide on a balcony.
Peter jumped when he heard her voice. “Hello!”
Sophie stood next to him at the railing. The sun’s final rays were shining on the last remnants of the week long rain storm, turning the sky into an amazing pink, red, and grey beauty.
“Oh, wow! This is amazing…”
“I saw it through the window and came out to see.”
Sophie nodded. “Do you think we should get the others?”
Peter froze. “No…Let’s just keep this one for ourselves.”
Something in his voice caught Sophie. She looked over at him; for a change Peter was looking right at her, not looking away, not being afraid of getting caught.
“You look very pretty today.”
Sophie wanted very much to look at her shoes, but couldn’t. “Thank you…you look nice today, too.”
“Thank you…” Peter glanced back at the sunset. “I wish I had a camera.”
“It might take away some of the magic, though.”
Peter nodded and looked back at Sophie. She was still watching him. He moved a little bit closer to her, appreciating the fact that they were the same height. She didn’t pull away, so he moved a bit closer still. They were inches apart from each other and Sophie knew this time he was going to kiss her…
But then the door behind them opened and Mike poked his head out. “Hey, have either of you seen Micky?”
Peter jolted away from Sophie as if electrocuted. “Uh, no, Michael, no Micky out here.”
Mike swore under his breath and went back inside. Peter avoided Sophie’s eyes again, and for some reason, she felt like crying. There was no reason to cry, of course, but still the sunset began to swim in front of her. Silently, she went back in the apartment. Peter didn’t follow.