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"The Seashells of California - Part 1"

Title: The Seashells of California – Chapter 1
Author: Mrs Nesmith
Genre/Pairing: Mike/OFC
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Strong language, implied sexual situations (but very, very mild)
Disclaimer: I (sadly) do not own Mike or any of the guys. This is 100% fictional and written for entertainment purposes only
Summary: The guys get a day off and Davy suggests a day out, with a few catches...
Author's Note: My first fanfic! Wish me luck. Might be a bit lengthy in places, but do bear with me. Also, a few British-isms might pop up now and again, especially in Davy's speech.

It was just another morning. Mike woke up, hoping for a day off but half expecting that he would end up filming, like he did most days.

Being on a TV show like The Monkees was hard work, but Mike had gotten used to it these past few months. Sure, he missed anonymity and just having quiet afternoons, but even Mike had to admit some of it was fun at times.

Mike just sauntered into the kitchen, still in his pyjamas, and got a glass of juice. He looked at the picture of his wife, Phyllis, and his young son Christian and smiled to himself. Phyllis and Christian were away seeing relatives for a couple of weeks and had left a few days before. It was nice having the house to himself for a while, but he couldn't shake that lonely feeling off of his back.

Then the doorbell rang. Mike firmly dumped the empty glass onto the kitchen table, put on his hat and opened the door to see who it was, expecting it to be yet another crazy fan girl. Who the fuck is it at 8AM?, Mike thought.

It was Davy.

“Hello, Mike,” Davy greeted in his signature English voice.


“Guess what?”

“What is it, Davy?”

“We're getting a day off! Half the crew are off to a funeral, poor things, and there ain't enough people to do the filming.”

Mike was over the moon. “Well, that's just great! The day out, I mean. Do Peter and Micky know?”

“I told Pete and he's told Micky. Isn't that great?”

“Isn't it just?”

There was an awkward pause.

“Hey, d'ya fancy a day out in the city?”

“A day out? But we're the fucking Monkees. We can't go out the door without having at least one fan going after us or some shit like that.”

“So? Nothing a little wig or fake moustache can't sort out.”

“Look, get the hell in. We can talk a bit more once I've got some proper clothes on.”

Mike gestured to Davy to come in and he obediently followed. He was led to the sofa where he sat and looked at the television while Mike was changing.

Suddenly, there was a loud noise. It sounded almost like something had been knocked down or broken.

Davy immediately got up and grabbed the nearest large object (a lamp). Ever since the incident his sister had to face only a few weeks ago, he was always prepared. Mike had heard the noise too and came down the stairs quickly but silently, armed with a baseball bat.

They carefully edged out into the hallway of the house. Two dark figures were crouched on the floor. The figures then looked up. Mike and Davy half expected to see 2 figures dressed in full black, possibly armed with knives.

But it was only Micky and Peter.

“Oh, hi guys! Sorry, just dropped the damn groceries.” Micky apologised.

“Oh, frightened the life out of us, didn't he, Mike?”

“Yeah. I suppose you heard about the day off?”

“Yep. We got here as soon as Pete told me.”

“Well, why don't ya come through, sit on the couch and I'll get a coffee?”

“Good idea. Go ahead, Micky, me and Davy will pick up the groceries for you.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

Micky then followed Mike into the kitchen to help make the coffee while Davy and Peter picked up Micky's groceries off of the floor.

“So, Davy's suggested a day out. What do you think about that?”

“A day out? How can we have a day out? We're the Monkees.”

“I know. But Davy's set on the idea and is convinced some wigs and fake beards can sort it out.”

“MOUSTACHES!” Davy called from the hall.

“Whatever, that shit's all the same.”

“So, Mick, how about it? It's not a bad idea.”

“No, not exactly.”

“What you guys talking about?” Peter innocently queried as he and Davy heaved the groceries onto the table.

“Well, goes like this. I think it's a good idea that we could use our day off to let loose and have fun in the city. But sissy girl Mike says 'Oooh, we can't. We're the Monkees, and deranged fans will chase us. My real name's Mikaela'—OWW!” Mike had punched Davy on the arm, half playfully, half spitefully. “What was that for? Anyway, and we could easily dress up and put wigs and moustaches on. I've got some here...” and Davy produced an old shopping bag with 2 female wigs and 2 fake moustaches in, one blonde and one brown, and tipped them onto the table to show everyone.

“Oooh, nice wigs!” Peter said as he stroked the smooth top of one of the wigs.

“Well, Peter will obviously need the blonde beard,” Micky pointed out cleverly.

“I'm not wearing the fucking wig. No, no, NO. Forget about it. I'm not putting on a wig and dressing up as a girl,” determined Mike announced. “Either I wear a beard or I don't go.”

“Bloody hell, Mike. Loosen up!”

“Well, I ain't going as a chick either.”

“Well, someone HAS to be a girl. Peter can't, lucky bugger, so it's between you, Mike and me. And I won't do it unless I have to.”

“Hey, maybe we could each write our names on a few pieces of paper, then draw them out of a hat and the names drawn have to wear the wigs and get dolled up?”

“Not a bad idea, Pete!”

So the boys each launched on the nearest piece of paper and wrote their names down.

Mike handed Micky his hat with the pieces of paper inside. “Right, just get it over with.”

Micky rolled the eyes in his head like marbles and shuffled the paper around, picking out a piece in the middle. He picked it up between his forefinger and thumb as if it was contagious and unfolded it.

“Mr David Jones,” Mickey read aloud, his gaze fixed on Davy's sweaty expression of anxiety.

“Shit,” Davy muttered under his breath.

“Oh, this'll be interesting!” Mike teased. “We'll have to start calling you Diana or...or Daniella.”

“Cut the crap, Mike. We haven't even pulled the second name out of that hat. You never know, it could be you. It's a 50/50 chance.”

“Davy, you can pull the name out, since you were unfortunate enough to be chosen.”

“Alright then.” Davy then reached into the hat and rustled the 2 pieces of paper around before his fingers wrapped around a piece.

Tension was at an all-time high as Micky and Mike both hoped that they would not be unlucky enough to have to dress up as a chick. It was not exactly a pleasurable experience for Micky when he had to dress up as Mrs Arcadian for that episode that was filmed a couple of weeks ago, and Micky didn't particularly want to have to go through that again.

Davy unfolded the paper, saw the name and sniggered. “Michael Nesmith,” he read aloud.

Micky breathed a sigh of a relief, and Peter felt Mike stiffen in his seat beside him.

“Oh, Mike!” Davy laughed as Mike's face turned a deep shade of crimson.

“So, when are we setting off?”

“Well, let the ladies get ready and then we can go. Moustache at the ready, Pete.”

“Yeah. Hey, what about clothes? We haven't got anything for Davy and Mike to wear. And what about the chest? We can't walk around with 2 completely flat-chested birds, it looks strange.”

“Well, Davy could borrow one of Phyllis' dress.” Mike added reluctantly. “But they wouldn't fit me.”

“Oh, I've got a dress at my place. Mike could wear it. It looked about his size. And I've got 2 spare bras as well.”

“Don't bother to tell us how you got those, Peter.”

Peter just tapped his nose. “I'll just go back and get them. Won't be long!”

And Peter was out of the door faster than he had ever been before. Typical, Mike thought.

Micky, Davy and Mike finished the coffee in awkward silence as they anxiously waited for Peter to come back with the bras and dress.

What kind of day out is this? Being forced into dressing up like a transvestite just so we can have a little fun. Whoever had this idea is a fucking idiot, Mike thought.

Then Peter rushed back in, lunging 2 pale pink bras in Davy and Mike's faces.

Davy and Mike immediately dashed upstairs to change. Davy claimed his territory as the bathroom, while Mike, unsurprisingly, changed in his own bedroom, taking care to angle himself away from the window.

When Mike and Davy came down in their dresses, wearing Phyllis' lipstick and shoes, it really was a laugh and a half. Mike had natural balance in the shoes but Davy kept stumbling every few steps, having to hold onto something for support. Micky and Peter were already in business suits and they stuffed pillows sticking out of the top of their trousers. Peter even got a comedy cigar to keep in his mouth for effect.

“Could I walk with you, Micky? Please? These crappy shoes are impossible to balance in. How Phyllis wears them, I don't know. Or any chick for that matter.”

“You are a fine lady, Miss Jones. Now, off we go!” Micky cheekily taunted as he held out an elbow for Davy to grip, and opened the door.

“Ladies first,” grinned Peter cheekily.

“Oh, fuck off, Pete,” Mike scowled sourly as he stepped out of the door and helped Davy over the step as Micky locked the door.

“Thanks,” Davy muttered.

“Let's go!” exclaimed Micky, holding Davy's hand to help him balance.

Mike felt a bit annoyed, but at the same time excited. And, yet, he couldn't shake of the feeling that something bad was going to happen and this day out would be something he'd rather forget. But he just ignored the feeling, linked arms with Davy and walked off.

The Seashells of California - Part 2