"And the award goes to…The Monkees!"

Mike had a look of surprise on his face. He couldn't believe that they had actually won the award. He took the Grammy and clutched it to his chest. He slowly blew out air before he began speaking.

"Wow best new artist," Mike began with the nervousness showing in his movements, "I'm not much one for giving speeches but here it goes. We appreciate this so much. It's been a long road with hard work and perseverance. We wouldn't be here today without the help of numerous people…"

"Don't forget to thank me, Mate," Davy interrupted.

Mike shook his head and looked over at the Brit. "Does anyone knock anymore?"

Davy shrugged, "It's your fault for deciding to practice your acceptance speeches in the bathroom. I myself would use a cologne bottle. That's closer to the shape of a Grammy than that shampoo bottle. That's more like an Oscar."

"What did you come in here for?" Mike asked irritably.

"I needed to brush my teeth for my date tonight."

"Okay, well do it and then leave."

Davy lifted his hands in surrender. "Wow, you're very touchy when you're accepting fake awards."

Mike gave him a steely eyed stare.

Davy grabbed his toothbrush and vigorously scrubbed his toothy grin. He spit out the toothpaste and admired his reflection in the mirror.

"Ahem!"

"Sorry I forgot that they only give you so much time to make these speeches," Davy joked. "Don't want the orchestra to interpose." He lightly slapped Mike on the back and headed out the door.

Mike shut the door behind Davy and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Now where was I?..." he wondered aloud exchanging the shampoo with a large square bottle of cologne.

He settled himself again, "We wouldn't be here today with the help of numerous people. Firstly, I'd like to thank my mother for buying me my first guitar and always believing in me. She could have told me to get my head out of the clouds and instead she encouraged me to follow my dreams. I'd like to thank my bandmates without who this wouldn't be possible. Davy Jones is the best tambourine man in the business. He is charming, confident, and outgoing. Our front man that makes us what we are. Micky Dolenz is full of creative fun…"

Mike heard snickering on the other side of the bathroom door. He opened the door abruptly and Micky tumbled inside. The drummer was still rolling with hysterics on the floor.

"What are you doing, Mick?"

"What am I doing!? What are you doing?" Micky gasped through his chuckles.

"I'm trying to have a personal moment and I would appreciate it if everyone could respect a man's privacy."

"Mike, you can't expect to be doing something out of the ordinary for your character and think that I won't come and check it out."

Mike rolled his eyes. "How long have you been listening?"

"Long enough to know that you think very highly of Davy and that I'm 'creative fun'," Micky started howling again.

Mike started to lightly kick the drummer towards the door. "Well, it's been a real riot, Mick, but I'm sure you have better things to do."

"I really don't. I thought you could use an impartial audience."

"Goodbye, Micky."

Micky got up and brushed himself off as Mike pushed him out the bathroom door with resistance. "Alright, alright. I have one tip though…"

Mike stared at the drummer skeptically.

"I'd use the tissue box it is closer to the shape of a Grammy. That cologne is not big enough."

Mike gave Micky one last shove out the door and made sure the drummer went upstairs. He left the door open so that he would be more prepared for any interruptions. He replaced the cologne for the box of tissues. He took his hat off for a moment and ran his hands through his hair before continuing.

"Micky has the most powerful voice I have ever heard…even if he's a handful at times. And then that leaves Peter. The kindest soul that I have the pleasure of knowing. He is the most talented musician of us all and being around him makes us all better…"

Mike was interrupted once again by the sound of sniffling. He turned towards the door to see Peter sitting in a chair outside the door dabbing his eyes. When he saw that Mike had noticed him, Peter got up and took some tissues out of the box Mike was holding and wiped his eyes.

"That was beautiful, Michael," Peter blew his nose.

Mike smiled. He couldn't be mad at Peter for innocently eavesdropping. "Thank you, good buddy."

"Do you think we'll really ever make it that far?" Peter asked with eyes glistening.

"I hope so, I hope so."

"Remember if we ever do, we'd be nothing without you too."

Mike blushed. "Peter, you're a good friend."

Peter smiled. "I didn't mean to disrupt you. I'll let you finish. Oh wait though!"

Peter walked away for a moment and returned with a bookend. "Use this instead."

"Thanks, Pete," Mike said replacing the tissue box with the bookend.

Peter walked out and shut the bathroom door leaving Mike to finish up his speech. Mike closed his eyes and imagined a ballroom full of well-dressed people. He felt the weight of the "award" in his hands and started to say his final words.

"We'd like to thank everybody, for making it a great stay. We'd like to thank The Rolling Stones for being a great group. We'd like to thank The Mama's and Papa's for making it good. We'd like to thank Lovin' Spoonful for making it happy, but most of all we'd like to thank the Beatles for starting it all up for us."

Mike set the bookend down on the edge of the sink. He took one more look in the mirror and smiled at himself before leaving the room.