Chapter Text
A gray room in a Cincinnati police station, empty except for some benches along the walls, and two Monkees, WOOL HAT and DIMPLES.
DIMPLES
Technically, it’s just “Dimple,” you know.
WOOL HAT
I would like to inform my public that I don’t actually wear wool hats.
DIMPLE
You did when I met you.
WOOL HAT
That was then. This is now.
DIMPLE
Or, the karma blues.
WOOL HAT
What did you say?
DIMPLE
Nothing, Michael.
MICHAEL
Groovy.
Hell is other people. DIMPLE paces around the cell-not-a-cell. MICHAEL sits on a bench and leans casually against the wall.
DIMPLE
I don’t like this.
MICHAEL
I just have one question.
DIMPLE
Michael.
MICHAEL
Have you ever been… arrested?
DIMPLE stops pacing long enough to give him a death stare, then continues.
MICHAEL
Peter. Are you cool?
PETER stops in his tracks.
PETER
Yes.
MICHAEL
Cool.
PETER
Cool.
MICHAEL
Cool. So then could you behave as if you’re cool?
PETER
Yeah–? Yes.
PETER resumes pacing.
MICHAEL watches him like a tennis match for a few minutes before interrupting again.
MICHAEL
What’s up?
PETER
Nothing.
MICHAEL
Hey, no shit, what’s really up?
MICHAEL stands. PETER stops pacing again and stands directly opposite him. He cocks his head to the side to indicate MICHAEL should come closer. MICHAEL stares at him as if to say seriously? PETER cocks his head again, this time even more serious. MICHAEL takes one deliberate step closer to him. PETER rolls his eyes, and fills in the gap between them.
PETER
(Whispering) I have like three ounces of weed on me right now. And we’re in the police station.
MICHAEL stares for a second while he processes. Then he laughs.
MICHAEL
Oh, shit! Oh, well, hey, man, that’s cool because I’m gonna cover you.
PETER
Fuck off, Michael.
MICHAEL
No, I’m serious!
PETER
(Backing up.) If I get arrested in Cincinnati, Ohio you personally are going to have to go to Connecticut to tell my parents why. And that’s when you better cover for me.
MICHAEL
(Shrugging) Okay! Well, I’m cool and that’s cool because it ain’t gonna go down like that because I am gonna cover you.
PETER
Uh-huh. (Resumes pacing.) How come they split us up, huh? And how come they had to split us up like this?
MICHAEL sits back down.
MICHAEL
Your guess is as good as mine, shotgun. You know I’d rather be trapped with Mick. Speaking of, I wonder how the face and the voice are getting along without us.
SHOTGUN
Uh-huh. I’m sure they’re having a whale of a time.
SHOTGUN taps his thighs as he paces. Picks at his calluses.
SHOTGUN
My mother always used to tell me not to do that. ‘Don’t pick at your calluses, Peter. You have them for a reason.’ You know?
MICHAEL
Not really. Are you gonna do that every time someone uses a nickname? Because I don’t wanna see ‘Mike’s’ and ‘Michael’s’ and ‘Micky’s’ and ‘Mick’s’ flyin’ around all over the place. It’s– (he glances to Peter and makes up his mind.) It’s ‘Michael,’ all right?
All right.
MICHAEL
All right.
Quiet, isn’t it, Robert Michael Nesmith?
PETER's brow is furrowed, like he can maybe tell Michael is having a moment. And like he can maybe tell he needs saving from it.
PETER
All right. So. Here we are.
MICHAEL
Here we are. In the big black box. And I never told Peter to cool it. Not when I’m actually enjoying his company for once, even if he is about to get us in a whole heap of trouble.
Didn’t you?
PETER nods sagely.
PETER
You wanna play truth or dare? You wanna get stoned? You wanna make out? Those are kinda my go-to activities these days.
MICHAEL
(Unfazed) Uh-huh. Well, outta those three I choose truth or dare, and I choose truth, and I choose Ann Moses asking me if I have a middle name.
PETER stops pacing, startled by the left-field response.
PETER
Do you?
MICHAEL
Yes.
The pause goes on too long. Only once PETER realizes MICHAEL is not going to offer it unprompted does he say…
PETER
What is it?
MICHAEL
Michael.
PETER
(Blinks.)
Go figure.
ROBERT
You– hey, you promised.
Sorry.
MICHAEL
All right, your turn.
PETER
All right, I choose–
A bright light shines from off stage or off screen, like a door has opened to let it in. From it emerge two more Monkees, THE FACE and THE VOICE. Colloquially, DAVY and MICKY. Happy?
MICHAEL
Do I seem fuckin’ happy?
PETER
Oh, hey fellas–
DAVY
(To MICHAEL) You fucking arsehole! We’re gonna just about miss the whole fucking show and for what? So you could play some stupid prank? On who, exactly?
MICHAEL
(Deadpan) Wow. Sounds like you guys didn’t get stoned and make out, like we did.
MICKY stares him down. He knows him better than anyone.
MICHAEL
What, Mick?
MICKY
Dave’s right, it was a dick move.
MICHAEL
Uh-huh, well, you were laughin’ at the time. (MICKY doesn’t justify it one way or another.) Yo, we got a ride outta here or somethin’?
MICKY
What’re you looking at me for?
MICHAEL
I don’t know, you’re lookin’ at me with, like, purpose and everything.
MICK
Yeah, the purpose is I’m going to kill you.
MICHAEL
Dig. Peter?
MICHAEL indicates with a gesture of his head that the two of them should go see what the situation is. PETER agrees, appearing somewhat reluctant. He tosses DAVY a look of commiseration and doesn’t receive one back. When they leave view suddenly we’re in–
The studio. Colgems. PETER pushes past MICHAEL to enter. It’s clear they’ve been arguing on the way there.
PETER
Blow me.
MICHAEL
That’s the introduction we get? You’d like that, wouldn’t you.
PETER pauses, by a shelf where he lays his guitar and banjo cases down. He decides which direction he is going to go today.
PETER
Maybe I would.
MICHAEL stares at the back of PETER’s head, mouth slightly open. Then he laughs, bitterly.
MICHAEL
I’m sure you would.
PETER
I’m sure I would.
MICHAEL
You’re funny.
PETER
You’re funny.
MICHAEL stares, and eventually cracks a short, guttural laugh.
MICHAEL
Keep dreamin’, pal.
PETER
Okay. I will.
MICHAEL laughs again, this time in disbelief.
MICHAEL
It’s like you actually think somethin’s about to go down!
PETER smiles, and shrugs.
PETER
I read the next scene.
MICHAEL
Oh, you did, did you? And what makes you so goddamn serene?
PETER
Where there is clarity, there is no–
MICHAEL
Choice, I know, and where there’s choice there’s fuckin’ misery. I know. I read the– well, anyway. Where should we take it from? The–
PETER
Top?
MICHAEL
(Coughs, startled.)
See, now you’re being ridiculous.
PETER
Am I? You’re the one who made it like that.
MICHAEL
Am not.
PETER
Are, too. You can’t get me off of your mind.
MICHAEL
Oh, please.
MICHAEL starts backing up, making to leave.
MICHAEL
Hey, just ‘cause you get Micky off at parties doesn’t mean I’m some kind of a–
PETER
Fag, I know. Neither am I. We’re all just people. And it’s like I said, you’re the one who brought it up.
MICHAEL
You must be some kind of a complete nut! (He laughs, but doesn’t stop looking at PETER.) A complete nut.
MICHAEL keeps backing away and leaves for real this time.
PETER
Mm-hmm. Right.
PETER keeps unpacking his gear.
PETER
Five, four, three, two–
MICHAEL bursts back into the studio and sees PETER’s smug expression.
MICHAEL
Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, this is absolutely not gonna go how you think it’s gonna go.
PETER
No?
MICHAEL
No. N-O. As in, there are no circumstances in the world under which I’m going to blow you. And I thought we were supposed to be honing in on something like reality here.
PETER
Uh-huh. But you seem to think that I…
PETER doesn’t finish his thought out loud, he just completes it by moving his gaze lower and lower from MICHAEL’s eyes until it lands on his–
MICHAEL
No, I don’t! Or, I didn’t. Or, I don’t know.
MICHAEL fidgets with the ring on his pinky finger, then rights his posture where he’s been slouching.
MICHAEL
I need to find out just what you’re willin’ to do to get me into some kind of compromising position here.
PETER
(Frowning)
It’s not supposed to be compromising.
MICHAEL
Compromising means neither of us gets what we want.
PETER
That’s not what I want.
MICHAEL
Well, of course it’s not what you– so, what’s it supposed to be, then?
PETER sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. He leans back against the shelf and plays hammer-ons on his fretboard for a moment.
PETER
I don’t want to hate-fuck you, Michael. That’s not where it’s at.
MICHAEL
Okay. I didn’t think that you did.
PETER
But… you confuse me. I feel strongly about you, yet I don’t want to make love to you either.
MICHAEL
(Through slightly clenched teeth)
I didn’t think that you did.
PETER
I want to do something else, and I don’t know what it is, yet.
MICHAEL
Well, what’s the problem? Are– are those the only two types of people in the world? Feels a little simplistic, even for you.
PETER
I’d like you to feel good. To feel happy. And I’m sure as hell not able to make you feel like that with the music.
MICHAEL
(Blinks.)
Why?
PETER
Why what?
MICHAEL
Why do you want to make me feel good?
PETER
I want to make everyone feel good.
MICHAEL
I’m not everyone.
PETER taps his fingers on the shelf behind him.
PETER
I think your mindset is untenable.
MICHAEL
I think your mindset is untenable.
PETER
Then, fine.
PETER stands and holds his arms up in surrender.
PETER
Then leave. And know that if you do, you’ll be making the choice about what world you’re really a part of.
MICHAEL
Well, fine. I wanna make that choice. I wanna. And you– you oughta… you really choose this world? You really choose the box?
PETER
It’s not my turn to make that choice. There’s only one path in front of me right now.
MICHAEL
Sure… and I can leave it all behind. But if I do, that means leaving…
PETER
Me. Here. Like this.
MICHAEL
Yeah. Right. I… Peter, I… I can’t… I just… wait right here, okay?
PETER
Oh, you know I will, Michael. I can’t go off script just yet.
MICHAEL shoots him a double take before leaving the room. PETER blinks and we see him on the streets of Greenwich Village with some members of his little gang, DOBKIN, SEBASTIAN, and STILLS, who can be heard whistling what sounds like the riff from The Byrds’ Mr. Tambourine Man. It’s a hot summer day; the sun glints a reflection off of a subway token dropped on the ground. PETER reaches down to pick it up and when he rises again his friends are gone, turned a corner he can’t see around.
PETER
Hey, fellas? Alix?
PETER does a confused three-sixty, looking all around for them.
PETER
Steve?
PETER oughta get outta dodge.
PETER
Hey, I… I was just looking for…
I mean, PETER really ought to get the hell out of dodge.
PETER
(Skeptical, but willing to hear them out) Okay… how far do I need to go?
PETER
How far is far enough? Chicago?
PETER
Big help you are. California?
PETER
Okay… well, I’m three months behind on my rent, so unless I want that debt passed onto my unborn children… no? And I don’t got a ride… as soon as I figure that out? Does that work for you?
PETER
You’ll talk to Michael but you won’t talk to me– wait… who…? Michael…?
PETER spins around again, this time looking skyward. He stops, and shakes his head slightly like a wet dog, as if he can rid himself of a thought just like droplets of water. Then, he shrugs, and keeps walking.
PETER
Here I come, Californ-I-A. Goodbye to New York, skies of gray…
When he turns around the corner up ahead, we’re back in the Colgems studio just in time to catch MICHAEL bursting back in and standing pretty much right on top of PETER, pupils blown with adrenaline and Ritalin comedown.
MICHAEL
You don’t want me to leave. You want me to stay.
PETER
I want to see what you’re like after.
MICHAEL frowns even deeper than is his resting expression.
MICHAEL
That ain’t the same thing, is it?
PETER raises one eyebrow.
PETER
Hey, do you wanna know a secret?
MICHAEL
Do you promise not to tell?
PETER
Psst. I only give as good as I get.
MICHAEL visibly recoils, but only slightly.
MICHAEL
Well, that ain’t happening.
PETER
(Shrugs)
The fact that you’re even seriously considering it is possibly enough for me.
MICHAEL
I am not seriously considering it.
PETER
The fact that you consciously came back to this room to keep listening to me proposition you and aren’t five miles down the road while I lie here with my teeth smashed in says otherwise.
MICHAEL blinks at him.
MICHAEL
Your teeth are too pretty to smash in now you done got them fixed up.
PETER stares. After a long moment he moves to speak but MICHAEL gets there first.
MICHAEL
I didn’t come back in here to get fucking head from you or whatever it is you think is gonna happen.
PETER
No?
MICHAEL
It ain’t like you know how we get from point A to point B.
PETER
Don’t I?
A staring contest ensues. Neither of them seems to blink for five minutes. MICHAEL swallows, his eyes narrow. Then, PETER reaches down slowly, looking to MICHAEL for permission the entire time. Years go by while PETER runs his fingertips lightly down MICHAEL’s right arm. MICHAEL nods, almost imperceptibly, and still, PETER only grabs his hand, and guides it upwards. PETER runs his thumb over MICHAEL’s and has MICHAEL place his hand over PETER’s jaw. MICHAEL gently presses his thumb into PETER’s mouth, and he tongues over the pad, never breaking eye contact. PETER sees the muscles in MICHAEL’s neck tense, and he grins. He takes MICHAEL’s thumb lightly between his teeth.
MICHAEL
You’re fucking crazy.
PETER lets MICHAEL’s thumb slip from his mouth.
PETER
It takes the same amount of strength to bite through a human finger as it does to bite through a carrot. But you know how I feel about violence.
MICHAEL
(Nods)
You’re saying I can trust you not to bite my dick off.
PETER
You’ve let me play the Gretsch. I figure that means you’ll let me handle just about any old thing.
MICHAEL
Not true. I wouldn’t let you drive my car.
PETER's eyes light up.
PETER
Beep beep mm-beep beep, yeah?
MICHAEL
Yeah.
PETER reaches down slowly again and this time he does grab MICHAEL’s crotch.
MICHAEL
Uh-huh. Hi, Peter.
PETER
Hello, Michael. And I mean that.
PETER watches MICHAEL bite his lower lip in concentration. PETER laughs.
PETER
It is so easy to get in your head.
MICHAEL
Tell me about it. Man, are you sure this ain’t a dream sequence?
PETER
Michael, I’m flattered.
MICHAEL
Not that. I thought you think I’m stone enigmatic.
PETER
Touch dissolves enigma. You’re comprehensible in the palm of my hand.
MICHAEL
No shit?
PETER
You tell me.
MICHAEL
You told me…
PETER
Having a problem with tense?
MICHAEL
Or a tension problem.
PETER
Am I not keeping your attention?
PETER moves his hand and undoes MICHAEL’s fly without breaking eye contact.
PETER
Here, don’t just stand here in the middle of the room, that don’t make it. Come sit on the piano bench, at least.
They go over to the piano bench. PETER kneels on the floor in front of MICHAEL, leaning comfortably back on his heels.
MICHAEL
What the hell are we even doing right now, man? We don’t even like each other.
PETER runs his hands along MICHAEL’s thighs.
PETER
You just think that because they write us like that.
MICHAEL
Why do they write us like that?
PETER
Because we don’t like each other.
MICHAEL
Peter…
PETER
We see things in each other that other people don’t see, you dig? And so maybe we don’t see what everybody else sees…
MICHAEL
Uh-huh, Peter. Okay. Okay, I dig.
PETER
Okay, you dig.
MICHAEL
Okay, I– oh, f–mph.
PETER finally gets on with it. MICHAEL’s eyes close and his head lolls back and he clenches the piano bench till his knuckles go white. PETER goes at him. MICHAEL grabs and releases a fistful of PETER’s hair and it falls back impeccably into place. MICHAEL’s eyes snap open.
MICHAEL
Do you ever get the feeling you’re being watched?
PETER backs off. MICHAEL groans at his absence.
PETER
It’s like being at the dentist. Do you really want me to stop what I’m doing and answer your dumb questions?
MICHAEL
(Panting slightly.)
No such thing as a dumb question, shotgun, only dumb fuckin’ country bumpkin guitarists. Now, please put my dick back in your mouth. (PETER obliges. MICHAEL sighs in satisfaction.) When did you get all the fucking power here, huh? Don’t answer that. “Dumb questions…” That ain’t like you, Pete. That ain’t like you at– oh, fuck–!
MICHAEL looks like maybe he’s about to finish when we’re now in a generic hotel room. The drawn curtains have pale yellow and orange stripes which match the bedspread. PETER sits cross-legged against the headboard with his banjo while MICHAEL is sprawled longways across the foot of the bed with his guitar. PETER plays his banjo and sings quietly.
PETER
Remember what you said, my dear, when we stood side by side
You swore you’d love no other but me and be no other man’s bride, my dear
Be no other man’s bride
And I truly understand that you love another man
And your heart shall no longer be mine
I wish to the lord I’d never been born or died
When I was young and seen those two brown eyes of yours
And heard that flattering tongue, my dear, heard that flattering tongue
MICHAEL joins in and sings a sweet minor harmony.
MICHAEL AND PETER
And I truly understand that you love another man
And your heart shall no longer be mine
PETER
Now, who’s gonna shoe your pretty little foot? Who’s gonna glove your hand?
MICHAEL’s expression changes, and he smiles in something between confusion and recognition.
PETER
Who’s gonna kiss your ruby red lips when I’m in the foreign land, my dear?
When I’m in the foreign land?
MICHAEL props himself up on his elbows.
MICHAEL AND PETER
And I truly understand that you love another man
And your heart shall no longer be mine
And I truly understand that you love another man
And your heart shall no longer be mine
MICHAEL
You know that’s an old bluegrass tune.
PETER
It’s what?
MICHAEL
Those lyrics. “Who’s gonna shoe your pretty little foot?” Doc Watson does ‘em. Hell, I used to do ‘em when I was scroungin’ around like I was. Don’t Let Your Deal Go Down.
PETER
(Blinks)
Play it to me?
MICHAEL
Hollywood blues?
PETER
Huh?
MICHAEL
I… don’t know. Here.
MICHAEL shifts to handle his guitar and his fingers hover above the fretboard – he’s trying to remember what key it’s in.
MICHAEL
Don’t let the deal go down, little girl
Don’t let the deal go down
Don’t let the deal go down little girl, till your last gold dollar’s done gone
Who’s gonna shoe your pretty little foot? Who’s gonna glove your hand?
Who’s gonna kiss those ruby red lips? Who’s gonna be your man?
Don’t let the deal go down, little girl
Don’t let the deal go down
Don’t let the deal go down little girl, till your last gold dollar’s done gone
Mama’s gonna shoe your pretty little foot, papa’s gonna glove your hand
Nobody’s gonna kiss your ruby red lips, ‘cause I’m gonna be your man
Don’t let the deal go down, little girl
Don’t let the deal go down
Don’t let the deal go down little girl, till your last gold dollar’s done gone
Now PETER’s the one who smiles.
PETER
It’s not one thing or the other, Michael. Those are Woody Guthrie lyrics.
MICHAEL
Are they, now?
PETER
They are. Just… goes to show just how dialectically linked bluegrass and folk are along the thesis of musical Americana, I suppose.
MICHAEL
Sure thing, Roget. Though, that does make me think of something that I kinda wanna try… Old square-dance tune, goes something like this. Goes exactly like this. Check it.
PETER grins. MICHAEL plays some very familiar opening chords.
MICHAEL
Well, I married a wife in the month of June
Married her up by the light of the moon
We lived down on Cripple Creek
We been there about a week
I’ma goin’ down to Cripple Creek, I’m goin’ on a run
Goin’ down to Cripple Creek to have some fun
I’ma goin’ down to Cripple Creek, I’m goin’ on a whirl
I’m goin’ down to Cripple Creek to see my girl
MICHAEL manages some fancy picking for the musical interlude.
MICHAEL
When Cripple Creek girls is about half grown
Jump on a man like a dog on a bone
Roll my britches up to my knees
I’ma cross ol’ Cripple Creek a-when I please
I’ma goin’ down to Cripple Creek, I’m goin’ on a run
Goin’ down to Cripple Creek to have some fun
I’ma goin’ down to Cripple Creek, I’m goin’ on a whirl
I’m goin’ down to Cripple Creek to see my girl
(More picking and strong rhythmic strumming)
Ta-dah.
PETER gives a low, charmed wolf-whistle.
PETER
I won’t say you don’t pull it off.
MICHAEL
Hey, now here’s my plan–
Now we’re on stage. PETER, alone, with his banjo, wearing a white cable knit sweater and matching white trousers, introduces his solo.
PETER
Now, the four of us guys, we all come from very different musical traditions, you see. For instance Davy comes from England, as you all know, and grew up on the West End and on Broadway, doing vaudeville and show tunes and that sort of thing. And Micky is from Los Angeles and he can be a real bluesy lounge singer when he wants to, and maybe you’ll get a taste of that later. And Mike is from Texas–
MICKY
(From the wings.)
Yee haw!
PETER
Right, thanks, Mick. And can do a real country bit for all y’all. And me? I was a folkie, tried and true. I mean I was a stoner and a hippie before I ever even came to California, you dig? Ha-ha. Uh, but the folk tradition, you see, it spreads out in all sorts of directions, like from the five-string banjo which I’m going to play for you now, to what we might call jug band music, which you might hear some kind of version of if you go and see the Spoonful who will coincidentally be here next week and whose show I– I recommend most wholeheartedly, for reasons of long-standing personal friendships, of course, but also because, well, because I like the music.
Uh, anyway, what I have for you now comes from farther along that historical line than I might usually bring you, something from an early rock and roll, rhythm and blues place, that my country and western coordinator, that’s Michael, guarantees me will sound a treat given my, uh, equipment, here. (He gives the banjo a cursory, open-stringed strum.) And that’s also to say, if at first you think this is something of a ridiculous arrangement, all you have to do is listen to the lyrics and you’ll have my answer. Here goes!
He starts playing. It doesn’t translate as well as Cripple Creekbut the effect is utterly charming.
PETER
You can’t judge an apple by looking at the tree
Can’t judge the honey by looking at the bee
Can’t judge a daughter by looking at the mother
You can’t judge a book by looking at the cover!
PETER grins and glances to MICHAEL in the wings, who winks. PETER turns his smile back on THE CROWD.
PETER
Oh, can’t you see
You misjudged me, baby!
I look like a farmer, but I’m a lover!
You can’t judge a book by looking at the cover!
You can’t judge the sugar by looking at the pan
Can’t judge a woman by looking at her man
Can’t judge one by looking at the other
You can’t judge a book by looking at the cover!
Oh, can’t you see
You misjudged me, baby!
I look like a farmer, but I’m a lover!
You can’t judge a book by looking at the cover!
Thank you!
THE CROWD goes wild. PETER takes a goofy bow and steps back up to the mic.
PETER
Thank you, thank you! You’re such a lovely audience… We’d like to take you home with us, we’d love to take you home! I don’t really wanna stop the show, but I thought you might like to know, that the singer’s gonna sing a song, and the man’s name is Mike Nesmith!
More cheering from THE CROWD. PETER outstretches his hand to usher MICHAEL on stage, acoustic guitar slung over his back, who pretends to think he’s meant to shake it. They fumble shaking hands, missing each other and switching hands– it’s all very classic slapstick. They finally do make it, then mime as if their hands are stuck together and PETER can’t leave. MICHAEL’s eyebrows furrow when for a second he almost thinks he actually can’t get loose from PETER’s grasp, until PETER mimes being thrown halfway across the stage, and dusts himself off.
MICHAEL
Bo Diddley he’s not, but he is Peter Tork. Or Harpo Marx, as the case may be.
THE CROWD cheers, even though they can’t have heard what he said. MICHAEL swings his guitar over to his front and steps up to the mic. He breathes in, about to speak, when a flashbulb goes off and when our eyes adjust we’re at a press conference.
MICHAEL, MICKY, DAVY, and PETER sit in a row, looking like caricatures of themselves, dressed how four guys would dress if they were going as The Monkees for Halloween, circa 1967. Only DAVY looks remotely interested in what’s going on.
REPORTER
Mike, can you tell us a little bit about the titles of these songs? They don’t seem to have much at all to do with the content of the songs themselves. “Auntie’s Municipal Court,” for instance, could you explain that?
MICHAEL
Well, uh, I don’t know… I mean, the world is strange, so I suppose some things within it are going to be called strange things. I- you know, for instance, what’s your name?
REPORTER
Gardener. John Gardener.
MICHAEL
Well, that doesn’t have anything much to do with the content of what you do, now does it?
PETER
(Muttering) Oh, very nice.
MICHAEL's eyes go wide. He leans back while GARDENER moves on and MICHAEL talks to PETER alone.
MICHAEL
Can I help you?
PETER
Yeah, you can stuff it.
MICHAEL laughs, incredulous.
MICHAEL
Yo, we’re on the fuckin’ junket, babe. You better hope you don’t got a hot mic.
PETER
Uh-huh. You better hope you don’t got a hot mic, Mike.
MICHAEL
Je-sus, who pissed in your sponsored cornflakes?
PETER
Look, I detest these asinine conferences as much as you do, but that still doesn’t mean these innocent people deserve to be on the receiving end of your interminable barrage of déclassé sarcasm.
MICHAEL
Sarcasm? I ain’t–! I’m not–! I’m just answering the questions, man, best that I can. Folks always think I’m being sarcastic, when I’m not, and take me serious when I’m joking. But that’s your hang up, buddy, not mine.
PETER
Maybe you’re just not as funny as you think.
MICHAEL
I don’t think I’m funny. Funny looking, maybe–
MICKY slaps MICHAEL on the shoulder, less subtle than perhaps he intended.
MICKY
Would you two be so kind as to stop having an entire conversation in your own world over there for two seconds so we can finish this and go home? Please and thank you.
PETER recoils and makes an apologetic expression. He really doesn’t mean to be a nuisance. He folds his arms across the desk in front of them and looks at THE CROWD inquisitively, ready to save MICKY and field some questions. MICHAEL crosses his arms and sits sullenly and quietly with his sunglasses on.
PETER
Actually, do you all want to hear something interesting about one of our song titles? The closing theme to the television show, you know? Do do do do do do, do do do do do, in this generation, in this lovin’– yadda yadda yadda? Well, I wrote that, you see, when we were working on our album Headquarters, and it wasn’t going to have a title. You know, I couldn’t think of one, and I didn’t think it needed it, so we just sent it over to Colgems untitled, but then a week later when we get the first pressing, I’m reading on the back, and it’s got this title! I didn’t find out till then that Michael had come up with it and told them to print it, and so nobody thinks much about it, but if you look on your copy of the record you’ll see that it’s called “For Pete’s Sake,” which is just pretty darn sweet if you ask me. You know, we were born to love one another, for Pete’s sake. It’s really true, I think.
MICHAEL
See? And people say we have problems.
PETER
Problems? Us? No, we’re just two– two peas in a proverbial pumpkin patch, aren’t we?
MICHAEL cracks a smile.
MICHAEL
Two…
PETER
Peas in a– (He pops his “p’s”) proverbial pumpkin patch.
MICHAEL
Right.
PETER
Right.
WARD
Right. Any more questions?
A sea of hands raise and another flashbulb goes off and we wake up in PETER’s bedroom. It’s cluttered, messy, but not dirty, except for overflowing ashtrays and other drug paraphernalia. Mostly there are books, records, magazines, and anything floral patterned on a series of shelves and jewel-toned ottomans. PETER is facedown wearing only a pair of underwear next to KAREN who’s in only a large paisley shirt. She’s leaned up against a headboard reading a book when PETER stirs and groans into his pillow.
KAREN
Morning, baby.
PETER
Ughhhhhhh.
KAREN
No kidding.
PETER
Ugh. My head. Jeez.
PETER props himself up and squints at the time. He rubs his eyes and collapses back into the pillow.
PETER
Ughhhhhh. No. Tell me it isn’t true.
KAREN
What’s that?
PETER
I can only half-remember what happened… but I think I got Michael off last night. Again.
KAREN doesn’t look up from her book.
KAREN
Michael who?
PETER sits up again.
PETER
“Michael who?” Michael! My Michael. And either way, don’t make me say it.
KAREN
Ohh, Nez.
PETER groans again, grabs his pillow, places it in KAREN’s lap, and buries his head in it again.
PETER
I can’t believe this is a thing that happens now. Except I can, because I’m me, but then I can’t, because he’s him. And we’re us.
KAREN
(Gently stroking PETER’s hair.)
I know, baby.
PETER
He’s the only person who turns me on when he’s mad at me. Is that ridiculous? It’s like I feel like I can knock some sense into him if I get him to come undone for a few minutes because he’s so… wound up, you know? But, of course, if I’m not actively sucking him off then it’s like I imagined the whole thing. Did you ever see Gaslight with Charles Boyer? Our relationship is entirely built upon this skewed power dynamic where he holds everything over me by being so calm and collected all the time, except that I’m cool when I play music. And when I have sex. He’s also… I mean, he’s also the only person who’s ever mad at me.
KAREN
Because you’ve worked so hard to be like that. You’re a people-pleaser, Peter.
PETER
Catchy.
KAREN
And you please people by giving them things they want and need but that you have in abundance. Maybe you don’t have anything that he needs… Are you sure he turns you on? Or are you just trying to find a way to cool him down, you know? A blowie is a hell of a way to diffuse a situation, but if it ain’t broke…
PETER
I don’t need more people telling me how I’m being taken advantage of.
KAREN
Oh, come on, that’s not what I’m saying.
PETER
He says it most of all, how all my friends are just grifters, scammers… But, if he’s grifting me, then he’s no better than the people he puts down all the time. Or if it’s not a grift, then none of it is a grift, you know? Unless he really does know something I don’t.
KAREN
You don’t get hung up like this about sex with anybody else, you know.
PETER
Ha. That’s only because I haven’t made it with Davy.
KAREN
You using Mike as a substitute for that?
PETER
I hope not. Despite everything, he deserves better than that. I hope I’m not using him. I hope I’m not using him for anything.
KAREN
But it’s okay if he’s using you?
PETER
He’s not using me.
KAREN
Then what is he doing?
PETER
My darling, if I knew the answer to that, I’d run for God.
PETER buries his head back in his pillow and we’re on a tour bus. PETER has just finished a conversation with the driver and is ambling toward the back, leaning heavily on each row of seats as he passes. MICHAEL sits in the middle of the back seat reading a magazine in the dim lighting. MICKY and DAVY are each asleep on one of his shoulders. PETER stops a few rows short of them and smiles, watching the scene for a minute.
Quiet, isn’t it, Peter Halston–
PETER
Shut up.
PETER goes the rest of the way toward the back of the bus, taking a seat one row in front of the other guys and turning to face MICHAEL. PETER produces a joint from his shirt pocket and offers it to MICHAEL, who shakes his head to decline. PETER lights up, takes two drags, then lays the joint on a precariously balanced ashtray on the slim windowsill.
PETER
I guess they don’t just call you Papa Nez because of Christian and Jonathan.
We could call him that if you like.
MICHAEL
You’re saying there’s something paternal about this scene?
PETER
I’m saying… that’s a side to you I’ve missed. They bring it out very strongly in the series–
MICHAEL
I’m a regular mother hen.
PETER
Only ‘cause we run around so much like chickens with our heads cut off.
MICHAEL
Yeah… The world moves so quickly. If we ain’t one step ahead of it, by God, it’s gonna pass us by. I mean, you ever done something that you felt like you could do that for the rest of your life?
PETER
Sure. When I was back in the Village, man, I thought that was the life. It doesn’t make a difference to be scrounging for your next meal if you dig that scrounge. And if the meal is always there.
MICHAEL
See, I ain’t ever been in a frame of mind where I don’t feel one step behind where I’m supposed to be. I mean, one day you’re a kid, and don’t you tell me you don’t grow up overnight because you do, boy– one day you’re a kid and the next… I always felt like if I just changed one thing, then I’d be happy someday… someday, man, someday.
PETER
So, you’re a Someday Man.
MICHAEL
I’m a what now?
PETER
A Someday Man. You’re too busy trying to make things better for your future self that you never let yourself be the future self your past self was making things good for. Because “someday” never comes, Michael. Today is “someday.”
MICHAEL
Today is Wednesday.
PETER
And yesterday all my troubles seemed so far away.
MICHAEL
And tomorrow may rain, so I’ll follow the sun.
PETER
Oh, baby, don’t you let me down tomorrow.
MICHAEL
Huh?
PETER
No, I don’t–
We drive through a tunnel and when we come out we’re in the bright hallway of a hotel. MICHAEL and PETER drunkenly stumble back to PETER’s room, leaning heavily on each other. PETER digs the key out of his back pocket and lets them in. He locks the door behind them and leans up against it. MICHAEL stands right in front of him and takes PETER’s cheek in one hand.
MICHAEL
Peter.
PETER
Michael.
MICHAEL
I gotta piss so bad it’s about to start coming out of my eyeballs.
PETER dissolves into a fit of giggles while MICHAEL goes into the bathroom. PETER collapses halfway onto the bed with his feet still on the floor and giggles some more at MICHAEL’s small satisfied sounds. MICHAEL comes out of the bathroom and eyes PETER up and down, before collapsing next to him on the bed. Together, they sigh.
PETER
Do you wish I was Micky?
MICHAEL
Do I… what now, shotgun?
PETER
Your heart connection with Micky is so strong. Even stronger than mine is with David. And… and I feel like mine is stronger with David than his is with me, and so I feel like I’m floating. Apart from you all, apart from time, in a way. I’m left to try to connect on a lonely goddamn night like this with you even though you want nothing to do with me but because we can’t help but get put together like this because of something people see that we don’t–
MICHAEL
Who says I want nothing to do with you?
PETER
You, mostly.
MICHAEL
I don’t want nothing to do with you.
PETER
(Giggles)
Your vernacular’s got you in some kind of horrible catch-22.
MICHAEL
Well, you get the idea.
PETER
Okay.
They lie in companionable silence for a while. MICHAEL hums something that sounds a little like “4 + 20.” PETER traces his fingers up MICHAEL’s arm. A slow process ensues of PETER exploring different ways he can place light touches over MICHAEL’s body, like fingering through his chest hair while delicately undoing each of his shirt buttons and walking his first and middle finger down the line of his hipbone before unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down. PETER strips off his own shirt and sits crosslegged at MICHAEL’s feet, walking those same two fingers up his shin, stopping just below his knee as if he were going to test his reflexes.
MICHAEL flexes his hips somewhere between involuntarily and urging PETER to get on with it.
PETER
Relax.
PETER places a kiss at that spot under MICHAEL’s knee.
PETER
You move too fast. You gotta make the moment last.
MICHAEL
That’s fair enough. You do make me feel groovy. Real groovy.
PETER
I suppose that’s all I can hope for.
MICHAEL props himself up to look at PETER, trying to gauge how self-pitying that was supposed to be. Knowing PETER, it was probably sincere. PETER raises himself up on his knees enough to let his head rest on MICHAEL’s thigh.
PETER
I know this tantric bit isn’t really your bag, but I’m not doing it to piss you off. Not entirely, anyway. (This earns him a low chuckle.) But I do really think the journey can be as sweet as the destination, if you let yourself believe that it will be. Just… feel everything. A light touch.
PETER dusts his fingers along MICHAEL’s inner thigh.
PETER
My breath, while I’m speaking. Can you feel it?
MICHAEL
I can feel it.
PETER
Yeah, but can you dig it?
MICHAEL
I…
MICHAEL sighs, and relaxes back onto the bed. His hand drifts to the back of PETER’s head and he touches his hair lightly with his fingertips. PETER’s arm erupts in goosebumps.
MICHAEL
I can dig it.
PETER
Good.
PETER takes MICHAEL into his mouth and works slowly. MICHAEL makes a concerted effort to actually feel the sensation through fifteen layers of inebriation and Texan upbringing. It goes on so long MICHAEL loses track of time, PETER’s lips and tongue working him up and down, PETER’s calloused fingertips resting on his quivering stomach. Eventually, he can’t hold it back anymore. A strangled noise in the back of his throat is all the warning he gives before he spills into PETER’s mouth, who swallows it as incidentally as a few sips of coffee, sitting back on his heels afterwards, working MICHAEL with his hand until he goes completely limp.
They both breathe heavily. PETER massages his jaw with one hand.
PETER
Can I say something crass and uncouth?
MICHAEL
I don’t know, can you?
PETER
You always say you’re funny looking, but that dick is no joke.
MICHAEL
Pfft.
The banter is warm and comfortable. They both wear contented expressions. PETER toes off his moccasins and MICHAEL slowly sits up to lean over and take his boots off, so he can take his pants off from where they’re entangled around his ankles. He pulls his shorts back on and lies back on the bed, this time all the way against the headboard.
PETER
(While unbuckling his belt and taking his pants off)
I’m going to get myself off now. You don’t have to do anything, but… I think it would be nice if you stayed.
MICHAEL blinks. And nods. PETER walks over and joins him on the bed, MICHAEL’s eyes on him the entire time.
MICHAEL
Damn, Peter. You got a big dick.
PETER chuckles roughly while lying down.
PETER
Uh-huh. Thank you.
PETER blinks. The looks at the palm of his hand. Then he has an idea.
PETER
Hey. Would you spit in my hand?
MICHAEL
(Eyebrows shoot up. He answers, deadpan.)
I thought you’d never ask.
MICHAEL spits. PETER touches himself. Slowly, like he would do anyone else. He closes his eyes and sighs little ephemeral swears that never quite become fully formed words. MICHAEL watches him with his mouth slightly open, his brow slightly furrowed.
MICHAEL
Stop.
PETER
(Breathless) Huh?
PETER stops moving but doesn’t remove his hand.
MICHAEL
I… I wanna.
PETER
You… (Shaking off a cloud of arousal) you do?
MICHAEL
Yeah. You… yeah.
PETER
Okay, Mike.
PETER pushes himself a little closer to MICHAEL, who props himself up and leans over just enough. He takes PETER in his hand and handles him experimentally for a moment.
PETER
Oh, yeah.
MICHAEL’s eyes light up slightly at the words. He takes the cue and goes at him. Fast. Hard. Not rough, but not not rough.
PETER
Oh, my God. Oh, my God.
MICHAEL
You spend so much time making love that you’ve forgotten how to fuck.
PETER interrupts him with an exasperated sound.
MICHAEL
Hush now. I’m just here to remind you that fucking feels good, too. ‘Cause it does feel good, don’t it?
PETER
Yeah, Mike. God. It feels really fucking good. I– f–ah– I don’t believe this.
MICHAEL
Believe it, baby.
MICHAEL keeps working him. PETER writhes slightly, clutching the blankets, the pillows, MICHAEL’s other arm. His hips buck into MICHAEL’s hand.
MICHAEL
Come for me.
PETER
That is infuriatingly sexy.
MICHAEL
Are you even listening to me?
PETER
Shut up! I’m listening, I’m listening, I’m– ah–oh–fu–ah!
You can probably tell what happened there. MICHAEL stares at PETER’s face in the minute before he comes back to reality. Then MICHAEL stares down at his hand before wiping it on the blanket behind him.
PETER
(Practically panting.) God. Was that real? Was that really you?
PETER runs a hand through his own hair, pushing it back from his sweaty forehead, then does the same to MICHAEL, running his fingers behind his ear.
MICHAEL
I think so. I think so because… I think we’re in a pocket of reality where they can’t see us.
PETER
Where who can’t see us?
MICHAEL
You know, them! The them that’s always there.
PETER
But if they’re not here… what about this dialogue? How can we be saying this… if no one’s listening?
MICHAEL
You mean if a television star falls in the forest and there’s no one there to hear him, does he make a sound?
PETER
I… something like that. (Pause.) Do you ever think about what happens when we die? To your body, lying in that box, underground?
MICHAEL
No.
PETER
No, me neither. I’d be one big fat hypocrite of a transcendentalist if I did… and it’s silly to be depressed by it. I mean, there’s no consciousness in there after you’re dead, that’s the point, isn’t it? You can’t think of it like being alive in there, I mean, it’s being dead that makes all the difference.
If you were dead, in a box, you’d never know you were in a box, would you? It would be like being asleep in a box. Not that I’d like to sleep in a box, mind you, not without any air– you’d wake up dead, for a start, and then where would you be? Apart from inside the box. That’s the bit I don’t like, frankly.
MICHAEL
This is getting pretty heavy-handed, Pete. Like starting to move past homage and into straight plagiarism.
PETER
But don’t you feel helpless?
MICHAEL
Straight outta North Ontario, Pete, but you’re startin’ to freak me out.
PETER
I’m sorry, Michael, but it’s true. Stuffed in the box like that? Do you really want to be in there forever? Even taking account the fact that you’re dead, it really isn’t a nice thing, you know. Especially to be dead. I mean, ask yourself, really ask yourself, if I asked you right not– I’m going to stuff you in the box now, would you rather be alive or dead? Naturally, you’d prefer to be alive. Life in the box is better than no life at all, I expect.
MICHAEL
Well, there’s your answer.
PETER
NOT BECAUSE YOU MIGHT STAY IN THE BOX! BECAUSE YOU MIGHT LEAVE!
MICHAEL
Peter! Jesus!
PETER
Because you’d have a chance, at least. You could lie in there thinking “well, at least I’m not dead! In a minute, someone’s going to bang on the lid and tell me to come out.”
PETER tarts banging on the headboard behind him. Someone starts knocking at the door, too, but it’s unclear if the boys hear it.
PETER
“Hey you, whatsyourname! Come out of there!”
The knocking gets louder and the door to the hotel room opens and a white light floods in and when it pales… we’re on set. In the box. MICHAEL and PETER go to their corners. Diagonal from each other. As far away as physically possible. A projection starts playing on one of the long walls, though there is no projector in sight. It’s them, but looking tweaked, just slightly different.
In the projection, PETER’s hair is parted in the middle and his sideburns are long and make him look even more like STILLS than he already does. MICHAEL’s hair is cut neater than it is now. PETER wears an orange floral shirt and heavy beads, MICHAEL a brown suit and sunglasses tucked in his hair. They’re having a discussion of some kind, maybe an argument, maybe not quite. In the box, MICHAEL and PETER strain to hear, but the sound is muffled, like it’s coming from underwater.
In the projection, MICHAEL takes a step forward, and PETER steps back, away from him. They talk more, and MICHAEL paces before settling in front of PETER. They’re on a crowded set, and PETER bumps into an electric organ with his hip. They shake hands, and PETER leaves the set. In the box, they realize what they just saw.
PETER
Oh.
MICHAEL
Guess you didn’t take my advice.
PETER
How’s that?
MICHAEL
Don’t let your deal go down.
PETER
We don’t know that.
MICHAEL
Like hell we don’t. We just saw you quit the group, motherfucker!
PETER
Yeah. I guess we did. I guess we know that now.
MICHAEL
You always were one step ahead of me. Part of me thinks only you were supposed to see that. But I wandered in here… thinkin’ I could go unnoticed.
PETER
You never go unnoticed, Michael. Not by anyone who counts.
MICHAEL
We’ll see about that. I got my own visions of the future, after all. The eagle flies with the dove, you know.
PETER
If you say so.
MICHAEL
I do.
PETER
But for now… what do we do?
MICHAEL
What’re you askin’ me for?
PETER
You’re in charge, aren’t you?
MICHAEL
You ain’t never recognized my authority before.
PETER
Authority is more than wearing a badge.
MICHAEL sighs. He rubs his hands over his face. He takes a seat in his corner with his knees up, and rests his elbows on them.
MICHAEL
I wanna go home, man. Trouble is, I don’t think that’s a place that exists anymore.
PETER sits cross-legged in his own corner.
PETER
I’d like to go home, too, but you’re right. I haven’t had a home since… I don’t know. Since I was a kid. Not a real one, a place that feels like a place and not like a moment you can hardly hold onto. My house ins’t… my house is a place and it’s solid but it’s got a transient essence. I’m so transient. And I would’ve stayed in the Village. I always would’ve stayed in the Village…
MICHAEL
So why didn’t you?
PETER
I don’t want to call it divine intervention.
MICHAEL
Then don’t.
PETER
I can’t explain it.
MICHAEL stares for a minute.
MICHAEL
Fair enough. (Pause.) Will you make me a promise, Peter?
PETER
I’ll try.
MICHAEL
When you get outta here, because we know you’re gonna get outta here, will you try and find where home is?
PETER
Will you try to come and meet me there?
MICHAEL
Oh, you know I will.
Lights flash in their corners, indicating they’re needed on set. They don’t speak again, about that or anything on their way out. They just leave and shut the door behind them. Blackout.
End of Act 1