Author's notes: I want to say that, although I am still young and have never really been kissed, I find it very easy to write about love. I am not really in love with Davy Jones, but if I had to pick any Monkee it would be him. I'm just drawn to short, cute, men with accents -- hence, my attachment for Ensign Pavel Chekov of Star Trek.
It wasn't always this way, mind you. My very favorite Monkee used to be Micky. I'm not sure why...but he was. Ironicly, I'm a lot more like Peter. Sort of dumb, but I like to use big words and I like to think that I have a big heart.
To add something else, I think that Mike is the funniest Monkee. There's just something about the way his face looks when he talks. And in one of my favorite episode, "Monstrous Monkee Mash," Mike had me histerical with his Mummy-Man thing.
Bu-Bye!

Part One: July 4, 1968
Millions of butterflies flew about wildly in Mary's stomach. As she sat backstage, The Monkees were finishing up "Last Train to Clarksville." Mary was going to be singing in front of hundreds of people in just a minute or two.

She asked herself for the fifth time why she had ever let Davy Jones talk her into this.

"Maybe I'm doing this for him," Mary said aloud. Ever since she had met her small, but charming neighbor and his group of friends, things in her life were going crazy. The four boys always seemed to be around and sometimes Mary wondered if they had "lives." Within a few days, she and her three roommates had learned all of their little quirks and habbits. She had come to the simple conclusion that Micky Dolenz was totally crackers!

"I mean crazy," Mary corrected herself for falling on Davy's usual term for insane -- she had picked it up like everone else who hung around the British boy.

Peter Tork was conclusivly not the sharpest tool in the shed; that was now elementry. Mary had also found that he was not the best singer out of The Monkees. But, he made up for what he lacked with his many instrumental skills and his childlike innocence. He cried at the slightest thing that worried him and would believe you if you said that the world was flat.

The boys had a special nick name for Mike Nesmith: Papa Nez. It didn't make much sense to Mary and at the begining she had thought that Mike was an actual father. But, she dropped that notion when no child appeared in the boys' apartment.

Their apartment was something else; it was completely off the wall. Davy had explained why they weren't living in their "Pad" at 1334 N. Beechwood Drive. It turned out that Peter had gotten into Micky's "Mad Scientist" kit and caused a minor explosion. Their landlord Mr. Babbit had agreed to take care of the matter after the boys gave him all the rent money they had ever missed paying.

Their temporary apartment was mainly in boxes, except for what Mike had unpacked. Amung other things, there was a wooden Indian statue, a Totem pole, and a plaque with a stuffed bird being displayed.

Peter stuck his head through the curtain so he was only a few inches from Mary's face. "Ready?"

She shook her head from side to side. "No, but I can't back out now."

Davy was introducing her from the stage, "Well, we're getting down to the end, folks! We only 'ave a few numbers left to go, but I think you'll like this next one. I know you will. Please welcome a girl I know you will just love, Mary Starrs."

The gathered teenage crowd cheered loudly as Mary walked on-stage. She became even more nervous and worried that she would lose her voice. She looked at the four boys. Peter at the keyboard, Micky at the drums, Mike at the guitar, and Davy at the maracas. They looked so peaceful.

*How can they do this?*

Mike handed her his microphone. "Say something," he whispered.

Mary's eyes darted around the crowd looking for her friends, "Um...hi."

Davy chuckled a bit, "Doesn't say much, but wait till you hear her sing the song she wrote!"

Peter took his cue to begin playing his keyboard. Mary swallowed hard as Davy sang first. Although they had gone over the sang many times, she was still sure she would mess up. But, she couldn't back down now. Mary still wanted to try and start a band with her friends. She would need this experience of singing in front of people.

Her part came and Mary began to sing. She couldn't believe that the voice she was hearing was her own. Mary closed her eyes and put her heart and soul into the music. Unfortunately, she made the wrong choice of opening her eyes after her first part was over. Mary was directly facing Davy; her eyes were locked into his.

*Oh, his voice! I mean, Micky and Mike sing just as well, but...oh.*

Mary completely forgot the rest of the song. It was her turn to sing, but she didn't know what to do. The music was still playing. The Monkees' eyes were darting nervously around the stage.

"What's wrong?" she could hear Peter from behind. Mary whirled around, handed her microphone to him, and ran off the stage.

The four boys stopped playing. Micky muttered a bit of their song "Mary, Mary" into the speakers -- "Mary, Mary, where're ya' go'n to?"

Davy, with wide and confused eyes, excused himself form the stage and ran after her.

Mike walked over to Micky, "What are we going to do? Davy was supposed to close this with the 'Star Spangled Banner.'"

Peter overheard the problem and decided to do the solving, "I'll sing it."

Mike frowned nervously, knowing that Peter wasn't the best singer in the group, "Um, maybe Micky should do it."

"Just twang your guitar," Peter cleared his throat and began to sing a very off-key version the National Anthem.

Part Two: Hold On Girl
Mary ran from the back of the stage as fast as she could. Davy followed her, calling out, but she didn't acknowledge him. Mary dashed down the street and disappeared into the night. *That* was when Davy realized that she didn't want to be caught.

Something was very wrong. He had thought that Mary had told him everything under the pier a few days ago, but he must have been mistaking. Slowly, he walked back to the stage.

*Why does she run from me? Is there something wrong with me?* He didn't want to think like that, but it was possible. *Maybe she's uncomfortable being taller than I am.*

"For the l-land of the free! And the home...Of the BRAVE!"

One of Mike's guitar strings broke as Peter hit an awkward C# and Davy re-entered.

Micky's eyes were eager. "Dij'ya get her?"

Davy shook his head sadly. "Do you think I'm too short?"

Micky was taken back by the sudden question, but answered it smoothly just the same. "No, you're just short enough...which is pretty short...unless I compare you to Tom Thumb-"

Davy cut him off, "No, I mean: Do you think Mary doesn't like me because I'm shorter than she is."

Micky cocked his head, "It's possible...but it could be something else."

"Like what?"

"Well, she may not like you because of your weight?"

"I'm not 'eavy," Davy shot back.

"What about your face?"

"'Ey!"

Mike was listening in, "Yer really like that chick, huh Davy?" He took a spare string from his guitar case at set to work replacing the broken one.

He nodded vigorously.

"Well, have ya' told her yet?"

Davy frowned, "Kind of. I tried to kiss her, but she pushed me away."

Micky flinched, reflecting the word 'ouch.'

Mike spoke absent-mindedly for he was too busy with his inmjured guitar, "Ya' got two choices: Quit or Give up."

Davy rolled his eyes. "Come on, guys. I really need 'elp 'ere."

Peter, who hadn't spoken yet, finally piped up after a hard thought. "Remember when I was having trouble with that girl Valleri?"

"Yeah. What about it?" Micky asked.

"Well, what if Mary's more of that "high class type." You know: big cars, lots of middle names-"

"Petah, she lives in an apartment with three othah girls...she's in the same society as us. I'll bet you tha' they can hardly afford their own rent!"

Peter shrugged.

"Maybe she's the real romantic type," Mike thought out loud.

"I can be romantic." Davy stood as straight as he possibly could.

Micky shook his head dispondently. "Gee, Davy. You've never had this kind of trouble before. You're usually a chick magnet. Don't you think this Mary-girl would have warmed up to you by now?"

Davy opened his mouth to explian about Mary's previous relationship, but promptly closed it and his teeth clicked. In all likelyhood, Mary didn't want anyone else to know about *Matthew*. It had been enough trouble for even Davy to coax the sad story out of her. The tale of how horribly Matthew had treated Mary and then was angry at her for leaving him. He was so twisted; like a devil.

Davy's fingers curled into a fist -- an outward sign of the internal hatered he had for Matthew. How could he hurt such a sweet and beautiful girl? Didn't he have a conscious? A soul, even?

Micky's eyes were suddenly the size of golfballs -- a first for Micky's beedy-eyes. "Hey, she likes music, doesn't she Dave?"

"Well, yeah, I guess so. Who doesn't?"

"Why don't you serenade her?"

"Hey, that's a great idea, Shotgun," Mike chimmed in his approval.

"With what? My maracas?" Davy asked sarcasticly.

"Naw, man. Yer can borrow my guitar." Mike picked the new string once and tuned it to its correct note. He handed it to Davy. "Just be carful with it, ya' hear?" Mike added with an apprehensive look in his eyes.

Davy craddled the instrument in his arms like a small child. He knew how important Mike's guitar was to him and he would be extra carefull with it.

"Do you know how to play it?" Micky asked.

Davy nodded. "I know a few good songs."

Micky bit on his tongue, his own way of saying "Okay."

Davy, with Mike's guitar hanging over his back, traced the gravel at the curb with his index finger. He batted a group of small pebbles and filled his fist up with them. Above him was Mary's bedroom window. He craned his neck to see if there were any lights on inside, but it was hard to see five stories up. He took in a deep breath for luck and pitched one of the stones against the window.

*Tap!* it went.

*Tap!* went another one.

Davy took in another deep breath and *Tap!* went the third.

Finally a light could definitely been seen along with the silhouette of someone. A rather large woman with curlers in her hair. Davy's face turned bright red as he realized that he had made a mistake in where Mary's apartment was.

She threw up the window and stuck her head out, looking franticly for whoever had summoned her. But, she could not see Davy. He had pressed himself up against the building in order to become invisible.

Above him, the lady was becoming irritated. "Max, is that you?" she was calling. "Max, where are you hiding?"

Then a man's voice was there. "Charline? Who are you talking to?"

"Er...nobody, Fred."

She shut the window -- Davy's cue to come out of his hiding place. He looked up and saw the light go off. Now he could safely laugh at the recent events. He doubled over with hysteria and mimiced the lady between hicups. "Max? Max? Oh, is that you?"

It took him a few minutes to settle down. Davy collocted himself and took another handfull of pebbles. With short strides, he walked to the east side of the house. Surely Mary's room was on this side.

Davy pulled his arm back and unleashed as stone. It hit the wall just next to the window. Davy inflated his cheeks and blew outward, his eyes still foused on his target. Mary's darkened window or at least he hoped it was.

He tossed another rock upward and hit one of the glass panes. Right away a light went on. A younger girl opened it a peered downward. It wasn't Mary, but Davy could identify the girl as Mary's roommate Bridget.

"Hello?" she called to the ground bellow.

"It's me, Davy." His voice was a whisper.

"Davy it's...one in the morning!"

Davy ignored the fact that it was very late. "Is Mary up?"

Bridget nodded. "Yeah, she's in the kitchen, but-"

"Can you get 'er for me?"

Bridget didn't move for a moment. She was like a statue for ten seconds, not even a lock of her timber wolf colored hair dared to blow with the night breeze. Then, she disappeared back into the house.

Davy brought the guitar in front of him and strummed a few chords of "Hold on Girl," a song that he and his friends preformed. It was perfect for Davy's purposes. It spoke the words he longed to say to Mary, but couldn't form.

"I know about the guy who treated you so bad. He took your love and then just walked away. I know that you have got a reason to be sad, but help is on its way." He mumbled the words to himself to make sure he remembered them. Pleased, Davy looked back to Mary's window, but she wasn't there yet.

"What's taking 'er so long?" he asked himself.

"I'm right here, David."

Davy jumped. Mary was right next to him -- apparently Bridget thought he wanted her to come outside. How long had she been there? Long enough to hear him sing?

"I didn't know you played the guitar."

That answered that question.

"I don't." Davy smiled bashfully. "Well, not much, anyway."

Mary smiled. She had changed her clothing since the concert, Davy noted. Instead of her pinkish sundress, Mary was now wearing bell-bottomed blue jeans and a baby-blue tank top -- the kind with spaghetti straps.

Davy could hardly keep from smiling as he swung the guitar over his back again. He reached out to take her hand. "Would you like to go for a walk?"

Mary lowered her brows. "Davy, it's 1 a.m."

He kept his hand outstretched. "I know, but I'd like to talk to you."

"About what?" she asked as she placed her frail hand into his.

Davy could feel a warm surge go through his body, starting at his fingertips. He stared into Mary's eyes for a moment before they started up the street, towards the beach.

"Why did you run off tonight?"

Mary stalled for a minute or so before answering. "I guess I just got stage fright."

"Ah. But you were doing so well." Davy nudged her jovially with his elbow and waited for her smile at him, but there was no smile. In fact, Mary looked downright sad and Davy's thoughts were confirmed when one solitary tear rolled down her cheek.

Mary's unending sadness was eating at Davy inside. As hard as he tried, Davy couldn't seem to end it. Oh sure, at times Mary would laugh and joke with her friends, but as soon as the fun times were over she would sink back into a deep state of depression. Many times Davy would see her sitting on the beach alone and crying. She would always be at the spot Davy had showed her weeks ago when she first arrived on Beechwood Drive -- under the pier.

It was a wonderful thinking spot. Late in the afternood, the shadow of the pier overhead would make it dark enough to imagine that the world was a thousand miles away. The rolling waves were a sight and sound that Davy had found to be the most peaceful thing in the world. He could spend hours there, as could Mary. Everyday he would go at four o'clock in the afternoon and he'd see Mary there. He would never approach her. He would rather watch Mary as the breeze swirled around her like a halo. Davy would go into a dreamy daze that prevented him from moving.

Sometimes he would lean against one of the pillars that supported the pier and fall asleep smiling. He would always have good dreams then. Dreams filled with heavenly thoughts that Mary was his own girl. He would hold her a kiss her and she would never cry.

"Don't cry, Mary."

It was then that Davy realized that he had been unconsciously leading her to the pier and it was now just a few feet away.

Mary wrapped her arms around Davy and weeped on his shoulder. Davy was a bit suprised at Mary's actions but soon fell into ecstacy. He curled his arms around her waist.

"Is there anything you 'aven't told me? Anything I should know so I can 'elp you."

Mary turned away. "Why do you care so much? Why are you so concerned with how I feel?"

Davy had to choose his words carefully. Saying the wrong thing might scare Mary off and then he would never have a chance with her.

Davy brought the guitar back in from of him. He strummed a few chords to get Mary's attention and then finished the song her had started earlier.

"I know as though you feel as though your world is at an end, but you don't have to live with yesterday. I promise you the sun is gonna shine again and help is on its way.

"Hold on girl. Now that we are to together, things are gonna be better. Help is-"

Davy stopped. He had made a terrible mistake. He had wanted to sing the first refrain instead of the second one so se would know that he was in love with her.

Davy bit his lip. There was no way he could correct his mistake now.

Mary was staring at him, her expression unreadable.

"Mary I-" Davy swallowed hard as he swung the guitar over his back. *If there's no way back...keep pushing forward.* "I care about how you feel because I care about you."

Still no response from Mary.

"I love you."

There! Davy said it. He felt as though a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, so he left out sigh of relief.

But Mary had turned a ghostly white.

*Probibly out of shock,* Davy decided. *She wasn't prepared for me to say that.*

He took a step towards her, ready hold Mary in his arms. She still had not moved and her face was even whiter than before.

"Are you alright?" Davy asked, concerned for her health.

Finally, Mary let out the breath she had been holding since Davy had last spoken. He took both of her hands and held them tightly. She didn't pull them away -- a good sign -- and at last, she nodded.

*Dare I go even further?* "...And I was wondering if you'd be my steady girlfriend."

He waited for Mary to go white again, but she didn't. Instead she smiled and this time all traces to her sadness were gone. Davy had done it! He had unlocked the door, freed the prisoner, broken the spell! All he needed to do now was...

Davy placed his hands on Mary's hips and brought his lips to hers. Mary took a moment to wrap her arms around his neck and then it was complete. They were absorbed in a chain of impassioned and tender kissed, each one ensuing the last.

Davy's body filled with a surge so powerful that it was hard not to pass out. In his mind were a million thoughts -- all jumbled and mixed up in a beautiful, new, and exciting way. He was dizzy on passion; high on desire.

Mary broke away for a moment, taking just enough time to say "I love you, too."

Davy grinned and they kissed again, under the stars, in the moon light, listening to the tumbling waves.