Chapter 1-Behind the Club

Four young men trotted down the dark street of a cold November night. They walked with their heads low and hats tilted, hoping no one would see through their disguises. One of them was unconsciously itching at his fake mustache.

"Paul, quit scratchin' it. It'll come off." One man warned him.

"Sorry, I just can't help it. It itches." The man named Paul complained.

"Oi, knock it off or I'll scratch you both into next week." Another one threatened, tilting his hat forward.

"Come on John, admit it. It itches, doesn't it?" Paul asked.

The man name John grimaced, not wanting to admit to it. The fourth man shushed them all. "You hear that?"

"I don't hear nothin' George." The first man put in.

"Listen Ringo, and maybe you will." The man named George ordered. Then they could hear it. It was muffled, probably meaning it was coming from one of the nearby bars or clubs. It was rock and roll music for sure, but they had never heard the particular sound before. "Come on fellas, we were lookin' for a bar, were we not?"

"Norm's gonna flip his lid when he finds out." Paul complained, following George. John and Ringo followed. They entered a club called the Vincent Van Go-Go, a bright purple club. They took a table and ordered some drinks. Once the waitress had gone, they all looked up at the band performing.

"Aye, knock off Beatles." John snickered.

"Be nice." Paul frowned. "I'm tryin' to listen."

The band on stage all wore the same outfit: a bright blue eight-button shirt, black pants, and black suede boots. There were four of them. Their drummer had straightened and somewhat controlled brown hair and always seemed to sing lead. Their bassist had long blonde hair and danced when he played. Their lead guitarist had pitch black hair, some progressing sideburns, and a green wool hat atop his head. He seemed controlled during their playing, but smiled every now and then when the band must have done something right. They also had a singer who played a tambourine and maracas. He stood next to the bassist. The percussionist also had brown hair with large, bushy eyebrows.

"Take the last train to Clarksville, and I'll meet you at the station. You can be be there by four thirty, 'cause I made your reservation be slow, oh, no, no, no! Oh, no, no, no!" The drummer sang.

"They're not bad." George commented, tasting his drink.

"Oh come on! It's a knock off of 'She Loves You.'" John complained.

John's three bandmates gave him a quizzical look. Dismissing John's pessimism, they continued listening to the band. The band had ended their 'She Loves You' knock off and started singing another song about falling in love with two women. This was sung by the short percussionist. John crossed his arms with judgement while the other three listened intently, falling into the beat. When the band got the audience to clap, all but John clapped.

Their next song took John by surprise. He noted that the band seemed unsure of themselves before the song began, but once they dove into the lyrics, it was amazing. It was the guitarist who sang the song.

"Hey, hey, mercy woman plays a song and no one listens, I need help I'm falling again. Play the drum a little louder, tell me I can live without her, if I only listen to the band. Listen to the band!" When that song ended, the band bowed and left the stage. This time John clapped with the rest of the audience.

"Come on, mates. Let's go say hi." Paul inquired, standing.

"I'm game." George stood as well.

"Come on John." Ringo said, standing as well. John rolled his eyes and stood up, following the others backstage. He had a happy smirk across his lips.

They spotted the four young men packing up their instruments, mingling about that night's performance. John walked up behind the curly-haired drummer, gently placing a hand on his shoulder and saying in a low voice, "Excuse me, sir?"

The drummer jumped five feet into the air, spinning to see who startled him. "Don't do that!" He exclaimed.

"Um, we'd like to compliment you boys on tonight's performance." Paul said in a similar low voice, stepping forward.

"Oh," the drummer said, trying to calm down. "Well, thanks. Hey, you sound English, you from England?"

Before the word 'yes' could come from their mouths, the drummer called over one of the bandmates, yelling to him about England and home. The petite percussionist walked over to the five men, asking what the drummer was yelling about.

"Hi," Paul said. "My name is, er, Paul Ramone."

"Davy Jones." The percussionist introduced himself. He held out his hand to Paul. "Say, Micky, you're onto something here. What part of England are you guys from?"

"Liverpool." Paul said, accepting the handshake. "You?"

"Manchester." Davy smiled. Then the other two musicians came over.

"Davy! Micky! Come on you guys, we need to pack up." The tall man wearing a wool hat yelled with a Texas drawl.

"Sorry Mike, we were just talking to these guys. They liked our performance." Micky apologized, turning back to his drums. The four Beatles smiled at the two musicians.

John held his hand out to the tall guitarist. "The name's John Lennon-ow!" Paul hit John upside the head.

The guitarist named Mike laughed. "John Lennon? I don't believe it. If you're John Lennon then I'm the President of the Texas Prairie Chicken Association."

Paul, George, and Ringo sighed. They all knew John was going to take offense to that, hence their cover was blown. John grabbed his fake beard, glasses, and hat from his head, throwing them on the floor. Announcing that he was, in fact, John Lennon, he stepped forward to be inches from the Texan's face, steaming with anger. The four musicians looked at John, aghast at the realization that it was John Lennon. Mike quickly apologized, taking a step back.

"So does that mean you three are…" Davy asked, rubbing his temple.

Paul, George, and Ringo all took off their disguises in response. "We were trying to not attract attention to ourselves… until Mr. Vanity Issues right here took offense to your friend's comment." Paul explained, picking up the discarded disguises. "So, no introduction is necessary on our end, I assume, but we don't know who you are. We weren't here for the whole show, you see."

"You guys really were great though." George added, taking half of the disguises from Paul. The band muttered their thanks before introducing themselves.

"Well," Mike began, "We're the Monkees. I'm Mike, this is Davy, Peter, and Micky." Mike said, pointing to each member when called.

"Monkeys?" John laughed.

"Says the man who named his band after a bug." Ringo scoffed, receiving a death glare from John.

"It wasn't my first choice!" John defended.

"But it's what you went with!" Ringo added.

"Mates!" Paul yelled. "Be quiet."

"Right…" Mike said, looking at each Beatle with a slight smile on his face. "Our name is mainly ours because of you guys. It's spelled, M-O-N-K-E-E-S."

"Ah." The Beatles chorused into an awkward silence. After a minute of awkward stares and looks, Paul broke it by asking, "So you lads famous 'round here?"

The Monkees looked at each other awkwardly. Mike gave a shy laughed. "Well, um… sort of… kind of…"

"Not really." Davy finished. "I mean, the people who've hired us know who we are, but usually at the mention of 'we're the Monkees,' they just kind of assume we're long-haired weirdos."

"That's a shame." Ringo said, scratching his head.

"Yeah, so what are you guys doing in Malibu?" Micky asked.

"Vacation." Paul said.

"From Norm." John added slyly.

"No, not from Norm." Paul rolled his eyes. "Norm's our manager. He drives us up walls a lot, but we need him to function most of the time. He's back at the hotel, probably worried sick. No one knows were out."

"Oh, well shouldn't you get back then?" Peter asked.

"Probably." Paul sighed, applying the fake beard and mustache to his face. "Say, it was nice meeting you, mates."

"Will you be here again tomorrow?" George asked, fixing his mustache.

"Yeah, we're here all week from six to eleven." Mike said, giving glances to his bandmates.

"Right then." John added. "We must be off, boys."

"Have a good night." Ringo added.

"Good night!" The Monkees said, grabbing their instruments. The four members of the Beatles left the bar and headed back to their hotel, all knowing what the other had planned.