|Band of Brothers
Author: Ennon PM
The series never explained how these Daydream Believers came together so here's a fictional AU tale of how a crosscountry quest led to discovering what they never knew they needed. RIP, Mr. Jones. Previous Chapters revised for clarity. Final Chapter Submitted. Please Review.Rated: Fiction T - English - Adventure/Humor - Chapters: 9 - Words: 31,764 - Reviews: 10 - Favs: 5 - Follows: 5 - Updated: 02-02-13 - Published: 04-07-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8000715
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
'California, Here They Come!' (Chapter Seven)
September,1965, San Francisco Peninsula Promontory off the Presidio Fort.
Although Mike's 'Frankenmobile' still had its multiple colors as it had when the others first saw in Amarillo, Texas, the four were quite excited to use it at the prospect of using it to drive across the Golden Gate Bridge.
"We've been followin' the signs for the Bridge for miles but I still can't see it for the fog! How is we went from desert to fog just like that?" Davy asked with a finger snap as he rode in the backseat with Micky while Peter road shotgun with Mike driving.
"It's California," Micky laughed.
"Yeah, and that fog was so thick that the Spanish didn't see this here San Francisco Bay sailin' past it for two centuries and only after they hiked overland to build the San Francisco Mission did they spot it!" Mike laughed
"Glad one of you Yanks stayed awake durin' history class," Davy laughed while Micky and Peter gave Mike puzzled looks.
"Can we sing that song now?" Peter asked.
" What better place to sing it?" Micky asked with a laugh.
"I thought it might have worked crossing from Nevada," Peter shrugged.
"San Francisco's a brand new city for us with tons of coffeehouses to build our fanbase at! "Micky proclaimed.
"Okay, men! Here it is! Now's our chance!" Mike proclaimed as the mercurial San Francisco Bay fog cleared at that instant to reveal the toll booths framed by the gigantic international orange colored towers of the world-famous Bridge, and the awe-inspiring, blue-green Golden Gate strait with the Marin [County] Peninsula visible at the other end.
"WHOA!" All four of them gasped as Mike threw in the money for the toll and then started the drive.
"Now we can be like the Ricardos and Mertzes on 'I Love Lucy' !" Micky proclaimed as they were driving while Peter started strumming his banjo.
The four of them sang 'California Here I Come' with special emphases on the lines 'a sunkissed miss says 'Don't be late! That's why I can hardly wait!/(with Micky and Davy cocking their eyebrows)- then all four screamed/sang 'Open up that Golden Gate! California Here We Come!' while trying to hear themselves above the Gate's perpetually strong winds.
"Wait a minute!" Peter said as they finished the song and their drive.
"What's the matter? Are ya going to point on that the Ricardos and Mertzes sang it crossin' the Hudson instead of the Golden Gate?" Davy asked.
"It's not that but we just drove AWAY from San Francisco and I don't think we can pay the toll to drive back," Peter groaned –as the fog once again obscured the Bridge and the view of the rest of San Francisco Bay.
A few weeks later driving down the Pacific Coast Highway. ..
"Frisco was like I'd never imagined anywhere could be but you think LA could be a good change?" Peter asked.
"That Jack a-Go Go Club will surely be our ticket in LA these next two weeks!" Micky proclaimed.
"You think one day we'll actually play at a club where they won't pay us less if we play instead of just waiting and bussing tables?" Peter asked.
"Our sound's rocking more everyday!"Davy exclaimed.
"Yeah, but we can't keep staying in broom closet roach motels and flophouses," Micky sighed.
"Yeah, for one thing, every time we need to jam, we need to scramble with our instruments to find somewhere outside –or else the neighbors complain," Mike groaned.
"Yeah, who'd have thought a bowling alley would have gotten so upset?" Peter recalled.
"Gents, since there are four of us, that means we can each raise a spot of cash an' see about rentin' somewhere away from tone deaf neighbors," Davy offered.
"We can work that out after we get to the club," Micky insisted.
"We'd have bin there by now if you three hadn't kept havin' me pull over so you could keep swimmin' diff'rent beaches on this here highway!" Mike groaned.
"Come on, Mike! You liked them beaches,too," Davy shrugged.
"I never imagined there could be such beautiful spots. I mean we got to swim with sea otters!" Peter said in awe.
"Not to mention a few surfer chicks!" Micky said with an eyebrow twitch.
"That you lost the phone numbers of," Davy groaned.
"Could I help it if the paper got soggy in my trunks before that rogue wave washed the pulp away?" Micky protested.
"In any case, it's after one and the club won't even be open by the time we get there. We need to think of somewhere to crash," Mike pleaded.
"Relax, we can do that in the morning! What can possibly go … ?" Micky started to ask as suddenly the other three screamed. . .
"Don't say it!" Mike ordered while shaking his right fist.
"Say what? You don't really think bad things happen just because I happen to say what can possibly go. .." Micky shrugged.
BOOM! A loud clap of thunder was heard to crack the sky which immediately heralded a downpour of what seemed to be Biblical proportions.
"It's coming too fast and hard for me to see one foot in front of the windshield. We've gotta pull over," Mike insisted a few minutes later as the windshield wipers seemed to shred at that moment.
"We're no longer on the Pacific Coast Highway. Where are we?" Davy asked.
"I think I saw a sign that said a place called 'Malibu' a little bit back," Peter recalled.
"How many more miles to LA ?" Davy asked.
"Can't really say, Tiny, but we 're pullin' over until this monsoon's played out," Mike insisted.
"I don't see any lights on in that big ole house on the hill," Peter noted.
Micky looked at his watch. .
"We've been pulled over two hours now and that storm still is going strong! How long do we have to stay inside this car?" Micky asked.
"Until the storm passes. We still can't see anything in front of us," Mike proclaimed while the winds howled.
"At least let me crack open the window for some fresh air. It stinks!" Micky pleaded.
"An' whose fault is that, Mr. 3rd Black Bean Burrito?" Davy scoffed while glaring at Micky.
"Regardless, we could still use some fresh air," Micky insisted.
"No,no! Micky!" Peter, Mike and Davy all yelled.
"Come on, babies. What can possibly happen if I. .?" Micky asked as he squeezed his arm behind Peter's back and managed to roll down the passenger side window a crack which caused a great gust of wind to blow into the car. .
"Now the canvas roof's all torn! Great goin', Micky!" Davy boiled as he hit Micky in the arm.
"Oh, no! Our instruments will get all soaked and ruined! We've gotta get inside!" Peter pleaded.
"Not to mention the upholstery and, oh yeah, us catchin' pneumonia," Mike fumed.
Despite his years being on his own topped off with his wrestling gig, with all three of his fellow bandmates glaring at him, Micky felt decidedly threatened and outnumbered.
"Guys! We're right in front of a house! Why not see if anyone's home and ask if they'll at least let us in?" Micky pleaded.
" Would YOU let four wet strangers into your house?" Davy groaned.
"Micky's right. No point in us stayin' soaked inside the car. We need to at least see if we can try for a little shelter," Mike sighed.
They stepped out of the car slamming the doors as quickly as possible and were about to make a run up the hill to the front door when suddenly, their normal attire became yellow, rubberized rain gear- complete with hats and boots.
"You know, this ain't half bad a skill. You sure none of you could do this before Chicago?" "Mike asked while the other three shrugged.
"No one's answerin' the door. Try tappin' the window!" Davy pleaded.
"Wait! We can't go in! See that sign?" Peter groaned- as he pointed to a large sign posted on the right next to the front door.
Private Property No Trespassing Allowed
"Why so skittish? The first night we met in Manhattan, we had to climb the back alley fire escape and climb into your window to get into your flat," Davy recalled.
"But we weren't trespassing. I'd paid the first month's rent- two months later," Peter gulped.
"Relax. There's no way you can be sure the sign means we can't go inside," Micky smirked.
"No? But it says. …" Peter protested.
"Yeah, yeah, but don't you see that it needs punctuation perception?"Micky asked.
"'Punctuation perception'? Wasn't what that oddball outside that Haight Ashbury coffeehouse was trying to sell me?" Peter asked.
"The one with the braids?" Davy asked.
"More guys are wearing their hair like that these days. What's so odd. ..?"Micky started to ask.
"On his forearms?" Mike added with a gulp.
"Yeah, that's the one," Peter recalled.
Micky shook his head a bit.
" Err. Not to worry. It's not for you but for the sign. All we have to do is clarify what it's supposed to mean and we're in," Micky proclaimed as he took out a large black magic marker out of Peter's rain jacket right pocket.
"How did you know I had that?" Peter asked.
"Never you mind. By putting a question mark here, an explanation point there and a period there- viola!" Micky exclaimed as his attire suddenly changed to that of, striped-shirted, beret capped Parisian artist.
Private Property? No! Tresspassing Allowed.
"I see but you'd better change back to the raingear before your beret gets all soggy,"Peter sighed- which prompted exactly that to happen to Micky's attire.
"I ain't sure goin' inside's such a hot idea," Mike gulped.
"Got any other ideas how to keep from getting soaked with a ripped canvas roof during a downpour too strong to see to drive ?" Davy gulped.
"No, I can't say I do," Mike groaned.
After a few moments of pounding on the door and windows. ..
"There's no one home. Let's get back to the car," Peter gulped.
"Not so fast! All we have to do is find a rock and we can break upon a window and climb in," Micky pondered.
"But that would be vandalism along with breaking and entering," Peter sputtered..
"How is you've been on your own longer than me and you're still worried about. .?" Micky groaned.
"You think we should crowbar the door then? " Davy asked.
"Nah, just turn the knob a bit back and forth and push the door open," Peter shrugged as he did so to his stunned bandmates.
"How did you. .?" Mike and Micky gulped.
"I picked this up only to use for emergency purposes and this counts," Peter protested.
The others quickly ran back to Mike's Frankenmobile to retrieve their suitcases and instruments from getting soaked then ran back to the newly opened door.
At first glance they seemed taken aback by the pitch black interior but then got startled when lightning struck and flashed two totem poles on opposite walls and a large stuffed eagle on a perch on one wall with two large, leafless trees outside the balcony alcove window.
"This place is haunted!" Peter gulped.
"Relax, there's no such thing as. .." Mike started to say.
"Being dry and haunted beats being soaked and not," Micky gulped- as the four of them took in the rather unusual furnishings inside this abode with each flash of lightning.
"Since it's got stained glass windows, maybe it's a church and can't be haunted," Davy offered as he pointed in that direction.
"WAIT! See that?! There is someone here!" Micky gasped as he pointed to the silhouette of someone sitting on a chair.
"Look at that goofy grin on his face!" Mike gulped.
"Sir, we're sorry to have . .come into your house but our car's roof has a tear and it's pouring outside," Davy sputtered.
"Maybe he didn't hear you," Peter offered.
"You want me to walk up to him?" Davy whispered.
"We'll do it together -all of us!" Mike insisted as he pulled Micky back with them whom he'd noticed had started to back up to the door.
"How come he's still grinning like that?" Peter asked while the three approached the individual on the sofa
"Maybe he's like the Joker in 'Batman' comics," Micky pondered.
"Maybe he's deaf," Davy considered.
"Did you say. .. DEATH?" Micky gasped.
"No, d-e. .." Davy started to say.
Suddenly an especially loud clap of thunder shook the entire darkened house.
"Let's get OUT of here! I don't care if we get pneumonia!" Peter pleaded.
The four of them tried running back to the front door but. .
"Peter! Come on!" Davy pleaded.
"I can't! I'm stuck here!" Peter shuddered.
"Stuck? How?" Mike asked.
"He's hooked my right keying finger with some kind of noose. I can't lose that finger!" Peter sobbed.
"Pull it loose!" Micky ordered while Peter pulled as hard as he could and got his finger untangled from the 'noose'.
"What are primates like you doing in a place like this?" a tinny man's voice was heard to ask.
"He's ALIVE!" the four Monkees shrieked.
"Hey, I freed my finger!" Peter gulped.
"Come on! Let's get out!" Davy pleaded.
"Wait! The raincloud's driftin' away and lettin' the moon shine," Mike pondered.
"Moonshine? " Micky asked.
"Now, let's not get in a panic. The man on the chair's a mannequin! "Mike started to laugh as the moonlight lit up the interior more clearly.
"A mannequin? " Peter gulped.
"Yeah, now that I think about it. There was one dressed up as a lady Gypsy fortune teller at the circus I ran off to. There's nothing to be afraid of, Peter," Micky laughed.
"You were almost out the door before the rest of us!" Davy snapped while Micky shrugged.
"Just pull the string and you'll hear a whole slew of different recorded sayin's, Shotgun," Mike offered as he patted Peter's should while he pulled the mannequin's string.
"My name is Mr. Schneider. I'm so lonely I could even use your company!" Mr. Schneider's recording recited.
"Maybe we've got a place to crash after all before the gig," Peter considered.
"Yeah, while the rest of ya were carryin' that last load of equipment inside here, I spied us a garage 'neath the main house and parked Frankenmobile there so she'll get a good chance to dry out before we fix the roof," Mike explained.
"And look at that window! It's floor –to-ceiling like Buckingham Palace with a smashin' view of the beach below this hillside," Davy said in awe.
"And where's there's beach, there are beach bunnies! We're staying!" Micky exclaimed with a smirk.
"I guess there's no harm in crashin' for the night but we gotta head to LA to see about our gig an' finding a flat to stay in first thing in the mornin'! "Mike proclaimed.
Having changed out of their soaked clothes and into dry ones, they each found spots to crash on the many chairs and sofas around the main living room and did so for a few hours.
The next night, they finished their gig at Jack-a-Go-Go and pondered their next move.
"Even with that advance, there's nowhere we can afford to stay near the Sunset Strip even the flophouses," Mike sighed.
"Why not get back to where we crashed last night in Malibu?" Davy suggested.
"Tiny, we were only there cos it was a port in the storm. We can't do that again," Mike groaned.
"Why not? It won't cost us anything and it has more room for us to spread our stuff and practice than anywhere we've been since we started this venture," Micky pleaded.
"But, didn't you read the sign next to the one you altered? It's condemned. And remember, it's got no juice or plummin'," Mike groaned.
"There's a petrol station a mile down the road we can use for the WC," Davy suggested.
"Is that near the gas station with the bathroom?" Micky asked.
"Micky, that's what he meant," Peter scoffed.
"I'm not so sure, Davy," Mike groaned.
"And we could get enough extension cords to hook up the amps and guitars to that gas station's outlet so we could practice," Micky added.
"That may be but wouldn't that be stealin' it?" Mike asked.
"We're paying for the gas so we're helping to pay for the juice," Micky reasoned.
"And there's a public beach two miles down the road with public showers we can use to keep clean and wash our clothes in," Peter added.
"Public beach with public showers? Man, think of all the chicks we could meet there!" Micky beamed.
"None of us have lived in a real house for the longest time- and two weeks there would be awesome. Please Mike," Peter pleaded.
"Man, y'all are worse than newly weaned puppies at a steak house. OK, we'll stay there but just through the gig!" Mike insisted.
Although, they had to commute back and forth from Los Angeles to the club, they spent a great deal of time at the North Beachwood Drive address dusting the abandoned abode, scrubbing the windows and walls ,revamping the Frankenmobile while practicing and jamming –despite the nonfunctioning plumbing and 'borrowed' electricity courtesy of the gas station a mile down the road- with Davy taking 'instant' Polaroids showing the progress as they went along.
"Now that we've fixed the canvas roof, we need to settle on a color for her. Joseph may have had a Coat of Many Colors but that's no good for a car," Mike insisted.
"How about blue like the sea?" Davy suggested.
"Or yellow like the sun," Peter offered.
"Maybe black like a cool cat," Micky suggested.
"Those ain't too good. I GOT it!" Mike insisted.
After several coats covering up all traces of the former colors. ..
"Awesome! It's got the color of the Union Jack!" Davy said in awe the next morning.
"You mean the Lone Star Flag but I ain't arguing with you," Mike laughed.
"Or my favorite fruit- the tomato," Peter enthused.
"Tomatoes are vegetables not fruits. Besides, it reminds me of the color of passionate girls'. .. lipstick when they show interest," Micky said with a leer.
"Well, it's almost finished. We just need put our name on it!" Mike insisted.
"Can we do that later? I'm hungry and we need to get some supper," Peter groaned.
"Too late for supper, Shotgun. We need get some breakfast and I know just the spot," Mike enthused.
" At that diner where our pants stuck to the chairs?" Davy gulped.
"No, but we got that foldin' picnic table so we can stop at a grocery store on the way to. .." Mike insisted.
Death Valley, California-
"Got enough cereal with your sugar, Davy?" Peter laughed- as they finished unfolding the picnic table and sitting down to breakfast
"Come on. We need the boost," Davy insisted.
"Yeah, at least we were able to see the sunrise on the way out here. Why are we having breakfast in the middle of Death Valley again?" Micky asked- as he poured the milk over his bowl of cereal.
"Because it's 200 feet below sea level and what better place to try out our baby's new paintjob? " Mike laughed.
"To say nothing of hearing that snap-crackle and pop over the desert winds," Peter laughed.
"You mean, we'd be under 200 feet of water if the mountains didn't seal off the ocean?" Davy gulped.
"You got it! And if this paint job can survive bein' under 200 feet of water, it has to be perfect so we can get ready to put our name on it!" Mike laughed.
Later that afternoon, after they drove it back to Malibu, Peter called everyone to the garage.
"Hold your horses, Shotgun. We're almost there!" Mike insisted as they ran in from the house.
"I didn't think I could finish it before our gig tonight but I did it!" Peter beamed.
"There's something off, Peter," Micky groaned.
"Yeah, don't you know that 'monkeys' has a 'y' before the 's' instead of a 2nd 'e'," Mike groaned.
"Really? I thought it had two 'e's," Davy gulped.
"But we need something to distinguish us from other primates! Besides, you know how hard it is to get paint dry without it running on angled letters? It was tough enough to get the 'k' right," Peter explained.
"I gotta admit, it does seem more appealing with the altered spelling," Mike pondered.
"And it's a far sight better than 'Micky and the Minnies'! " Davy scoffed.
"Oh, yeah like 'Delightful Davy and the Duds' would have caught on," Micky protested.
"Guys, our gig's about up and we need to see about findin' somewhere else to crash until we can get a new one," Mike sighed.
"A new place? But I like it here. I can't imagine not having Mr. Schneider's advice when trying to come up with a new song line," Peter sputtered.
"Yeah, to say nothing of being inspired by all the surfer chicks running around," Micky groaned.
"Well, we just were stayin' here for the gig but now that the gig's over an' we've put the final touches on the Monkeemobile, there's no point pressin' our luck here," Mike groaned.
"Cheer up, Peter. We've been thrown outta much worse places before. So it's a step up we're leaving this good place on our own," Davy sighed.
"But it reminded me of my home with Mama Buchanan- minus the beach, Mr. Schneider, the totem poles and the eagle," Peter sobbed.
"Cheer up! At least we got to be in a good spot for a time and nothing bad happened," Micky sighed.
"MICKY!" the others shouted.
"What?" Micky scoffed as they started to go back inside the main house.
"Why's the door open?" Davy gulped.
"And why is there a police car parked in the driveway," Peter shuddered as they walked through the front door
"THERE they are! Arrest them! No good squatters!" a middle aged man in a suit snarled from inside the pad with two police officers at his side.
"Who are you?" Mike asked.
"I'm Mr. Bartholomew Babbitt but you can call me 'Mr. Babbitt' and I'm the landlord for this flat! Officers, arrest these longhaired weirdos!" Mr. Babbitt ordered.
"Wait! There was no one livin' here when we got here!" Mike protested.
"Go with us, quietly or we'll have to use the cuffs," a 30-something Latino officer named Sgt. Juarez insisted.
"Yeah, and the place is 'condemned'! We weren't doin' no harm!" Davy sputtered.
"Tell that the judge! Officers, I'm pressing charges against these vagrants!" Mr. Babbitt snarled.
"Vagrants?" all four Monkees protested.
"We're hardworking performers!" Peter scoffed.
"The plumbing's not hooked up and there's no juice! Look at the Polaroids Davy took, we improved the insides!" Mike protested as he took some photos out of Davy's shirt pocket.
"That's doesn't matter in the eyes of the law," a 40-something African-American officer named Sgt. Timmons sighed.
"But, the place was deserted and condemned. What did you have in mind for it?" Mike asked.
"If you must know, I was hoping to have the city tear it down and sell off the lumber then pay for a new roof for my and Mrs. Purdy's basement flats," Mr. Babbitt explained.
"Basement flats? But you have this entire two story beachhouse above ya. Why live there?" Davy asked.
"Because I hate stairs. I hate beaches and I hate sun," Mr. Babbitt snarled.
"What do you like?" Micky asked.
"Evicting tenants and sending vagrants to jail! Heh! Heh!" Mr. Babbitt gloated.
Suddenly, all eyes focused on a 8th man entering the front door who was in his 60's, almost as tall as Mike, bald wearing a white suit and white gloves, black knee boots and carrying a large suitcase.
"Excuse me, Bartholomew vat iss der meaning of diss!" the 8th man hissed.
"Mr. Strudelgruber!" Mr. Babbitt gulped.
"Sir, we're about to assist a squatter eviction so you'll need to. .." Officer Juarez sputtered.
"You can't evict zem," Mr. Strudelgruber scoffed.
"But the owner. .." Sgt. Timmons protested.
"Bartholomew Babbitt's not the owner of this property," Mr. Strudelgruber protested.
"He's not?" the Monkees and police officers shouted at the same time.
"No, he's only the landlord and caretaker for the owner," Mr. Strudelgruber scoffed.
"So you're the owner?" Mike asked.
"Of course not . I'm only the Executor of the Estate of Hatshepsut Swansong," Mr. Strudelgruber explained.
"Hatshepsut Swansong?" the Monkees asked.
"Come on. How could a court of law find that will valid?" Mr. Babbit sputtered.
"It happens to have her signature!" Mr. Strudelgruber sniffed as he pulled out the will for all to see.
"But that's a paw print!" Davy gasped.
"Yeah, Hatshepsut Swansong was the opera singer/ character actress Madame Ophelia Swansong's CAT!" Mr. Babbitt groaned.
"Cat?" Peter gulped.
"Yes, the late great Ophelia Swansong amassed a fortune in opera as well is a movie performer before her demise in 1945 but none of her family or eight husbands did her right so she left her entire estate including this beach retreat to the one individual who did," Mr. Strudelgruber explained.
"Her cat, right," Micky gulped.
"You catch on, fast. Swift," Mr. Babbit snarled.
"But alas poor Hatshepsut's nine lives were no more by 1953. However; she left her entire estate to. .."Mr. Strudelgruber explained as he walked behind Mr. Schneider's back and pulled the string.
"Mine! ALL MINE!" exclaimed the voice of Mr. Schneider.
"Wait a minute? You're telling me that this beach house was originally built by an opera singer who left it to her cat who left it to a mannequin? Why?" Davy asked in puzzlement.
Mr. Strudelgruber pulled Mr. Schneider's string again.
"Pussy loves warm milk. Pussy loves to be stroked and petted!" Mr. Schneider's voice recited.
"Can't argue that!" Micky laughed said with a leer with Davy laughing with him while Mike rolled his eyes and Peter blushed.
"In any case, the terms of the vill made it clear that this house was supposed to be kept in good condition- as how to the heir had become accustomed." Mr. Strudelgruber proclaimed.
"But. .. but a mannequin has no need for electricity or plumbing," Mr. Babbit protested.
"Ach! Those conditions were vat Herr Schneider had become accustomed to during the lifetime of Fraulein Hatshepsut Swansong. Am I wrong, Bartholomew? "Mr. Strudlegruber fumed.
"No, Mr. Strudelgruber,"Mr. Babbit sighed.
"These occupants have made Madame Swansong's abode glow once again. So, if you want to keep your position, you vill need to haf die charges DROPPED, reconnect the plumbing and electricity then draw up a lease for them to compensate the estate on a monthly basis," Mr. Strudelgruber ordered.
"But, but. ." Mr. Babbit sputtered.
"Look, the will's valid and the dummy owns the place, these dudes are gonna pay, so there's really no reason for us to hang around," Sgt. Juarez scoffed while he and Sgt. Timmons started walking away.
"But, Officers. .." Mr. Babbitt pleaded.
"Sorry, but we've got parking tickets to issue and jaywalking citations to give out in town," Sgt. Timmons scoffed as they walked out the door.
"Mr. Strudelgruber, I don't know how we can thank . ."Mike gulped as he started to shake the lawyer's hand.
"Don't thank me. Thank, Herr. Schneider. He's the one who smiles when you are around!" Mr. Strudelgruber scoffed- as he walked out the door.
"He IS smiling!" Peter proclaimed.
"Okay, you longhaired weirdos! Here's the lease contract. Sign away your lives, don't make a racquet, no pets and pay every month or I'll make you wish you were REAL dummies like Mr. Schneider," Mr. Babbitt fumed later as the four signed the lease then stormed off.
As soon as Mr. Babbitt walked off .
"YAY! We DID IT!" the four cheered while dancing a jig.
"Guys, you heard him. We may have a nice pad to hop to but we've still got to make sure to pay every month and our gig at the Jack-a-Go-Go's done for," Mike cautioned.
"Yeah, we know but at least for a little while we have a home and that could make all the difference! Maybe I'll find me dad and it would be good to bring him here to show this off!" Davy enthused.
"Meantime, let's catch some waves!" Peter urged while taking off his mocassins.
"And maybe get to know some surfer chicks!" Micky added while taking off his shirt while the four soon ran climbed down the hillside before running into the surf to celebrate.