Part III
By Cin
Cady sat out on her balcony, an open copy of Shakespeare’s The Tempest on her lap. Her college classes were starting up again in less than two weeks, and she was supposed to have Scenes One through Three read by the first day for her Shakespeare class—but she was finding it hard to concentrate.
The warm sea breeze blew invitingly across her face, and she could hear the sounds of fun and laughter coming from the beach over the noise of passing traffic. She wanted nothing more than to take her book and a blanket and lay out on the beach as she read, but she was too afraid of running into Micky and Brenda to attempt it.
When she had awakened that morning, she’d resolved to stay out of Micky’s life, which meant letting him find out about Brenda on his own. He would be hurt, but there was nothing she could do about it; she’d tried to warn him and only been slapped in the face for her troubles, so the ball was in Micky’s court now.
Though she felt somewhat better having made that decision, she still felt at loose ends about her relationship with Micky. Yes, she had romantic feelings for him, but he was also her best friend as well, and she already missed him, so much so that it felt as if she had a permanent ache in her heart. She didn’t like arguing with anyone—she would stand up for herself if she felt she was being walked upon, but she never deliberately provoked arguments—and she didn’t like being on bad terms with Micky.
<I am NOT going to apologize, though,> she vowed to herself. <I didn’t do anything wrong…>
Just then her phone rang, and she scurried back into the living room to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Cady, thank goodness you’re home.” It was Peter, and he sounded frantic.
“What’s going on?” she curiously asked.
“Mike’s still on vacation, and his Aunt Kate doesn’t have a phone, and I didn’t know who else to call, so I thought I could call you, and I’m so worried….”
“Peter…Peter, slow down. What’s the problem?” she said in a soothing voice, as if she were talking to a frightened child.
“It’s Micky…he wants to hock his drums, and Davy and I don’t know what to do…we’ve both tried talking to him and he won’t listen to either of us…”
“He wants to WHAT?”
“He went to see some bodybuilding guy today, and he’s got to have a hundred and fifty dollars to sign up for this program so he can bulk up for Brenda, but he’s flat broke, so the guy told him to hock his drums for the money, so that’s what Micky’s going to do, and I’m scared of what’s going to happen ‘cause it might break up the group…” Peter began to ramble again, but Cady wasn’t listening.
<He’s going to give up his drums—the one thing he loves most in the world—for Brenda?> White-hot anger shot up her spine, and her hand shook as it gripped the receiver tightly, her knuckles aching from the pressure. Just as swiftly her anger dissipated, replaced by a terrible, aching sadness. If Micky was going to make this level of sacrifice for Brenda, then she knew she had to make an equivalent one.
“He’s not going to hock his drums, Peter,” she said with certainty.
“He’s not? But what--?”
“I’ve got an idea. I’ll be right over.”
~*~
Cady arrived at the Monkees’ Pad about twenty minutes later, a bag filled with some of her own exercise equipment slung over one shoulder. <I hope this works,> she thought, crossing her fingers as she knocked on the door.
The small peephole door opened, then slammed shut, and a second later the door opened. Davy grinned when he saw her there.
“Thank God you’re here, love. Maybe YOU can talk some bloody sense into him!”
“I don’t know if I can, but I’ll give it my best shot,” she gamely said and walked into the foyer.
Micky was at the bandstand, packing up his drum kit, and Peter paced nervously around the small living room, clutching his teddy bear for reassurance. When the bassist noticed Cady, a huge smile—complete with heart-melting dimples—spread across his face, and he raced over to hug her.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“It’ll be okay, Peter,” she whispered back. “Why don’t you and Davy leave us alone?”
Peter nodded enthusiastically, and he and Davy disappeared into the downstairs bedroom.
“What’s this I hear about you hocking your drums?” Cady said to Micky, dropping her bag onto the chaise lounge.
Micky whirled around. “Cady? What are you doing here?” To her surprise, he didn’t look angry as she had expected; rather, he almost looked relieved.
“I came by to help you so you don’t have to sell your drums,” she said.
“Peter called you,” he correctly guessed.
“He was worried that the group might break up,” she said. “And really, Micky, you should have called me right off the bat—you know I’m studying to be a phys-ed teacher.”
He shrugged, embarrassed by his own stubborn pride, and stepped down from the dais, eying her curiously. “Why do you want to help me?”
She was unable to face him; instead, she stared down at her shoes. “Because I want to see you happy. And if Brenda’s what makes you happy, then I guess I have to deal with that.”
He reached out and placed a finger under her chin, tilting her face upwards until she was looking him directly in the eyes. Her knees trembled as she stared into the dark depths, her heart pounding from his nearness. She wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around him and kiss him passionately, to tell him just how much she loved him. Instead she bit down hard on her lower lip, remaining silent.
“Even though you think she’s all wrong for me?” he softly asked.
Cady swallowed hard. “If she’s what you want, I’ll help you get her.”
Their gazes held for what seemed like an eternity before Micky finally looked away. “Thanks, Cady…and by the way…about yesterday…I’m sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean…”
She waved it off. “It’s okay—apology accepted. Now we’ve got some exercising to do...we ought to start with some light jogging on the beach.”
~*~
Thirty minutes later she and Micky were running down a quiet stretch of the beach, the only sounds being the squawking of the seagulls and the gentle lapping of the waves against the shoreline.
As soon as they’d stepped off the verandah stairs onto the beach, Micky had taken off at full blast down the beach, Cady straining to catch up with him. “You don’t have to be a powerhouse your first time out, Mick,” she softly chided when she reached him. “You’re supposed to pace yourself so you gradually get used to it.”
“I don’t have time to pace myself,” Micky impatiently replied. “By that time Brenda’ll be with Bulk.”
<So he DID see them…> “It’s not going to take that long,” she said. “Your upper arms and your legs are already in fairly good shape from your drumming…we’ve just got to get the rest of you caught up.” <Not that it really needs it…> He wore a thin white t-shirt and cut-off sweatpants that emphasized the leanness of his body, and she thought it was a shame that he wanted so badly to look like Bulk, because in her opinion he was beautifully made the way he was.
“You really think so?” he asked, a look of hopefulness on his face.
“I know so. Your drums are great exercise, and once you start running and using some of the stuff I brought over, you’ll be well on your way. Then we’ll talk about your diet.” Strands of dark hair fell in her face, having escaped her ponytail, and she blew them out of her eyes.
“You know…” Micky quietly said, trailing off, then continued. “I really don’t deserve this after the way I treated you.”
“Micky, come on, don’t—“
“No, it’s true. If our situations were reversed and you wanted help to get this guy that I thought was completely unsuited for you, I probably wouldn’t do it,” he admitted. “You were just sticking to our honesty promise, and I beat you up pretty bad for it.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and she looked away from him, blinking crazily to prevent them from falling. “You did hurt my feelings, but I forgive you for it,” she finally said in a small voice. “You know I can never stay mad at you for very long.”
“Must be the Dolenz charm,” he teased.
Cady, however, was no longer paying attention to him. Her eyes were focused on Bulk, standing
half-hidden behind a sand dune, talking to a short, squat man wearing a brown robe who was watching them and waving his hands in the air agitatedly. <Wasn’t that how Micky described Shah-Ku?> she wondered. And if that was Shah-Ku, what did that mean? She shook her head at her own paranoia. Obviously Bulk had had some help in attaining his muscular status; perhaps he was one of Shah-Ku’s clients and the older man was overseeing some of his training.
“Earth to Cady,” Micky said, waving a hand in front of her face.
“Oh, sorry…” Whatever the case, something told her to keep silent about what she had just seen until she had more proof as to what exactly the connection between Bulk and Shah-Ku was. “Just thinking about more exercises to torture you with,” she joked.
“I can hardly wait,” Micky answered with a smile.
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