Monkees' Tails page 22

Green-Eyed Monkee

By: Larrysgirl, Mickys411 and Marmadas Rated G

It was a quiet afternoon at the pad; Mike and Davy were watching TV and Micky was reading the newspaper. Peter was out for a walk on the beach. After finishing the sports page, Micky folded the paper back up, and then picked up an insert that had fallen from between the pages.
"Hey, guys." Micky said, walking over to Mike and Davy, "The county fair is starting tomorrow."
"I haven't been to a fair in a long time." Mike remarked.
"We haven't been to a fair since we started one to raise money for Sir Malcolm Kibee's estate." Davy said, referring to the time he had inherited a castle in England.
"Admission is free, and look." Micky said, pointing to the insert, "They're having a baking contest. First prize is fifty dollars! Second prize twenty five, third prize ten dollars!"
"Groovy, but we don't bake." Mike said.
"Well, I bake a mean batch of chocolate chip cookies." Micky replied with a smile.
"When we can afford the chocolate chips." Davy added.
"We have some in the cupboard now." Micky replied, "I'm going to enter that contest." He walked away.
"Isn't baking kind of for, y'know, women?" Davy whispered to Mike.
"I helped my Aunt Kate cook and bake when I worked on her ranch during the summers when I was a teen." Mike said. "Never was too good at it though."
Just then, Peter walked in through the back door from the beach.
"Hi guys!" Peter said, "Anything happen while I was gone?"
"Micky's going to enter a baking contest at the county fair tomorrow." Mike replied.
"County fair? Baking contest?" Peter exclaimed, "Wow! I'm gonna enter that contest too!"
"Only thing you can do is that Cream of Root Beer soup, Peter." Micky said from the kitchen.
"No, my Mom sent me some recipes a while ago. I never got the chance to make anything though." Peter replied, looking though the cupboards.
Suddenly, Peter opened a cupboard door and a canister of flour fell on his head. Micky bust out laughing.
"You...you look like a ghost, Peter!" Micky laughed.
"Let's take it easy on the ingredients, guys." Mike said, walking into the kitchen too. "We do have a little money from the last gig, but let's not waste anything, ok?"
Micky and Peter nodded, and Micky helped Peter clean the flour off his head. Peter went upstairs to wash his hair and Micky began to work on his chocolate chip cookies.
While Micky was mixing the ingredients, Peter came back downstairs, his hair still damp. He looked through some drawers and finally found a small sheaf of papers.
"Ah ha!" Peter exclaimed, "I found them! There's gotta be something I can make."
Micky just shook his head while Peter went through the papers one by one. After a long time, Peter held a paper up and showed the others.
"Here's Mom's recipe for apple-cinnamon pie!" He said, "I remember her making this a lot when I was growing up. I'll make this!"
"Remember what Mike said, Peter." Micky said, putting his cookies in the oven, "We can't waste stuff."
"I won't waste anything. This is going to be great!" Peter said happily. He quickly got to work.

To everyone's surprise, Peter made his pie without a hitch. He didn't spill anything, nor make too much of a mess. On top of that, the pie smelled delicious. Micky's cookies came out great too. They were nice and round and just brown enough. With the pie and cookies, the pad smelled great too. Micky and Peter put their creations side by side.
"Well, they both look and smell terrific!" Davy said, reaching for a cookie.
Micky slapped his hand away. "Those are going to the judges, Davy." Micky said, wagging a finger at him.
"Not even one?" Davy pleaded.
"Alright, everyone can have 'one' cookie. I need enough for the judges to sample."
The guys each took a cookie and ate them. They all said the cookies were delicious.
"Too bad we can't sample Peter's pie." Mike said.
"I only had enough stuff for one pie." Peter said sadly. "Maybe, when I win that contest, I can bake another."
"You mean when I when that contest, Peter." Micky said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I hope you both win." Davy said, preventing a possible argument.
"Same here." Mike said, "C'mon, let's rehearse and go to bed. We gotta get the pie and cookies to the judges early."
The guys agreed and went to rehearse, but Micky kept goofing up. He was thinking of what he was going to do with the fifty dollar prize money.
"Micky, concentrate, will you?" Peter asked.
"Oh, sure sure. Concentrate." Micky replied.

The next morning, the Monkees drove over to Spring Hill Park where the county fair was being held. It was already crowded with people eating, drinking and watching the acts. They looked at the sign to see where the baking contest was being held and went over to that tent. Once there, Micky and Peter quickly went over to the table and signed up.
"Can I have the names of the ladies who baked these nice things, gentlemen?" The lady said kindly as she looked at the pie and cookies.
"Oh, we did, Ma'am." Peter said.
"We baked these ourselves." Micky said proudly.
The lady looked surprised, but said nothing. She took down Micky and Peter's names and placed their items with the growing mound of other pastries being entered.
After registering, the guys walked around the fairgrounds, looking at the farm animals, eating food and watching the rodeo taking place in the main area. Micky kept looking at his watch, unable to wait until the time came for the contest to begin. He knew his cookies were sure to win!
Finally, it was time to head over to the main tent where the contest was being held. There were a lot of people already sitting there, waiting for the judges to sample each of the pastries sitting on the large table.
"They're eating my cookies!" Micky exclaimed as the judges each ate a cookie and wrote something down in their notepads.
"Shh, settle down, Mick." Mike said.
After what seemed like forever, the judges went behind the curtain that was behind the table to discuss which ones they liked.
"I hope they don't get sick from eating so many sweets." Peter said quietly.
Finally, a gray-haired woman came around and went over to the microphone.
"Attention, everyone! We have the results of the baking contest!"
Everyone applauded and cheered at that. The lady adjusted her glasses and continued.
"Third place goes to Mrs. Edna Whiplash for her Pineapple Upside Down cake."
Cheers went up as Mrs. Whiplash walked over to the side of the table, where another woman escorted her off to the side, presumably to give her her prize money.
"Second place goes to Mrs. Gladys Hornblower for her Coconut-cream pie."
People applauded and cheered as Mrs. Hornblower went up to get her prize.
Finally, the moment everyone had waited for arrived. Micky was practically bouncing up and down in his seat. Peter was much more calm, but chewing his nails. The lady spoke again into the mike.
"First place goes to...Mr. Peter Tork for his apple-cinnamon pie!"
There were some gasps as people were shocked that a man had won out over several dozen women, but all in all, people still cheered and applauded for Peter.
"I won?" Peter said, unable to believe it.
"You did, shotgun." Mike said, slapping him on the back, "Go on, get your prize."
In a daze, Peter walked up to the table to collect his fifty dollars. Micky sat there in complete shock, unable to believe that Peter had won. He sat there, mouth open, as Peter not only got a check, but a ribbon as well. On top of that, a photographer from the local paper came up and took his picture to be published for the next day.
Davy noticed Micky sitting there very quietly.
"You ok, Micky?" Davy asked.
After several seconds, Micky finally answered, his voice low and deep.
"I'm fine, Davy. Very fine." He answered, not looking over at his friend, but staring at Peter being congratulated by the judges.
Davy saw the expression on Micky's face as he looked at Peter and realized Micky was far from fine.

The guys were still quite proud for Peter for winning the contest.
"What a way to go Peter," said Davy, patting his friend on the back.
"Thanks Davy," Peter replied, still in a bit of shock but happy.
When Peter went to get his dish back, he saw that there was still a good amount of pie left.
"You guys can have a taste now."
He found some plates and forks, cut the pie into some pieces and handed them to the guys.
"MM, this tastes great," said Davy.
"Wow, it is.” said Mike, “This is much better than the one I made awhile back."
Peter saw Micky was just picking at his slice.
"You like the pie Micky?" Peter asked.
"Actually, I'm not really that hungry," said Micky.
The guys looked at Micky in surprise, usually Micky would had been finished and asked for a second slice.
"Micky, are you ok?" asked Mike.
"Yeah, I guess I'm a bit full from eating the fair foods," said Micky.
Davy quickly changed the subject.
"So Peter, what are you gonna do with your prize money?" he asked.
"I don't know, maybe I'll use the money to replace the items I needed for the pie," said Peter.
"You can buy anything you want Peter, remember you deserved it," said Mike.
"And your picture is gonna be in the paper tomorrow," said Davy.
Peter was beaming with pride.
Micky wished the guys could stop talking about all this.

Micky's resentfulness grew over the next few days as Peter's cooking skills became known all over Malibu.
First off, Peter spent a quarter buying a local newspaper the next day, the front cover plastered with a picture of himself holding his check and ribbon. Davy cut the article out and taped it to the wall in the kitchen.
"Too bad we can't frame it," he said, "But it's such an awkward shape, and we haven't got a frame that size."
"Yeah," Micky mumbled, "Big awkward. How come the picture had to be so darn large?"
The day after that Peter got three letters in the mail. Two were advertisements for other baking contests, and another was a request for Peter's recipe to be submitted to a local cooking magazine.
Enthralled, Peter typed the recipe on the typewriter, so as to make it more official-looking and titled it "Peter's Cinnamon Apple Pie".
"Hey, babe, you forgot to put Prize-Winning on the recipe," Mike pointed out.
"Well, they already know that," Peter insisted.
"Yeah," Davy agreed, "But not everyone else does! It should be titled Peter Tork's Special First Prize-Winning Cinnamon Apple Pie!"
"Or how about Peter the Best Chef In the Whole World's Super Duper First Prize Apple Pie Which Beat Micky's Chocolate Chip Cookies?" Micky added sarcastically.
"Man, what's been eating you lately?" Mike asked, "Peter's finally found something he's really good at and you keep putting him down! What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing," Micky said, and walked out the back door onto the beach.

As Micky walked along, he thought. 'I can't believe Peter's pie won out over my cookies! Mine were ten times better... a hundred times better.' And, as often happens when one lets oneself fume over the past, Micky's thoughts turned more and more sinister. 'Perhaps there's something I can do to get my cookies noticed, and Peter's pie forgotten...'
Micky walked along the beach for several minutes, his mood very dark. He was very jealous of Peter winning the baking contest and felt that now everybody liked Peter instead of him. Nothing could be further from the truth, but as Micky continued to walk, he kept imagining himself being pushed to the background, forgotten and ignored. Well, he wasn't going to let this go with out a fight. Micky sat down on a large rock and thought how he could sabotage Peter and help himself at the same time. He thought about the letters Peter received and the recipe Peter was going to send to the magazine...
The recipe!
With an evil grin, Micky jumped off the rock and raced back to the pad, other evil plans forming in his head at the same time.

Micky arrived back at the pad just as Peter was sealing the envelope with his recipe inside. Putting a smile on his face, Micky slowly walked back inside the living room. Mike and Davy were watching TV.
"Have a nice walk?" Mike asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, I did. I was doing some thinking." Micky said, lowering his head, "I just want to apologize for my actions, guys. I shouldn't be jealous of you, Peter, you're a groovy guy and I'm glad you found something that you like to do."
"It's ok, Micky." Peter said, "Your cookies were good, but the judges just liked my pie better."
Micky kept the smile on his face. "Yeah, well, I'm going into town for a while. Want me to mail that letter for you?"
"Yeah, could you?" Peter asked, "The mailman already passed by and I want to get this to the magazine before the deadline."
It won't make the deadline, Micky thought to himself, because it won't get to the magazine. But Micky simply took the letter from Peter's hand.
"Sure, I'll get it to the post office in time, Peter." Micky said.
"Thanks again, Micky. I'm glad you're not mad anymore."
Micky just smiled as he grabbed the car keys and started towards the door, but Peter's voice stopped him.
"Micky?" Peter asked.
"Yeah, Peter?"
"Could you get some eggs and sugar at the store? I'm entering a contest I learned about from the mail and I'll need those ingredients."
"Sure, Peter. No problem." Micky smiled and left the pad.
Peter sat down next to Mike and Davy.
"Well, that's that." Peter said happily.
Mike and Davy just looked at each other. Both were suspicious of Micky's sudden change in attitude, but said nothing to the trusting Peter.

Micky drove the Monkeemobile to the other side of town, far away from the post office. When he found a garbage can, Micky got out, tore up Peter's letter and threw it in the garbage. Chuckling to himself, Micky got back into the car and drove away.

Later on, Micky came back to the pad. He had stopped at the music store and bought another pair of drumsticks, so the others wouldn't wonder why he had gone to town, and also the eggs and sugar too. In the kitchen, Peter was once again mixing ingredients. Watching him was Davy.
"Did you mail my letter?" Peter asked.
"Your letter?" Micky asked, then caught himself. "Yeah, I mailed it alright." Mailed it in the garbage, Micky thought to himself. He placed the food on the table.
"Thanks Micky." Peter said.
"What are you making?" Micky asked.
"Blueberry pie, it's another of my favorites."
Mike walked over to them.
"We gotta get ready for the gig tonight." He said, "You'll have to finish your pie later, Peter."
Everybody went into their bedrooms to change for the gig. Micky, however, hung back a little until the others had gone. When he was alone, Micky went into the cupboard and brought out the salt. Working quickly, Micky added a lot of salt to Peter's recipe.
"See if the judges will like that." Micky laughed to himself as he quickly went up to his bedroom to change.
After the gig, even though he was tired, Peter finished baking his pie, unaware of Micky's sabotage. He placed it on the table to cool and went to bed, dreaming of perhaps winning another prize. Micky went to bed, too. But he was thinking of others ways to ruin Peter's reputation.

The next morning, Peter was up dressed and headed downstairs to check on his pie.
"Looks perfect," he said, admiring the pie.
A few moments later, Mike and Davy came downstairs.
"Hey, that's a groovy looking pie there Pete," said Mike.
"Thanks," said Peter.
"Do you think I can have a taste?" asked Davy.
"I was just about to ask you guys to try some."
Peter cut the pie into some pieces, placed the slices on plates and handed them to his friends and had a slice for himself.
The guys took a bite of the pie, and they all made faces.
"You know Peter, I hate to say it, but I think you over did it with the salt," said Davy, putting his plate down.
"I'm sorry you guys," said Peter.
"It's ok buddy, all chefs make mistakes," said Mike.
Awhile later, Micky came downstairs.
"Morning guys," he said, with a grin on his face after noticing that the guys tried the pie.
"I didn't think I used that much salt, I only added a about a pinch or two," said Peter, sounding a bit down.
"What's wrong Peter?" asked Micky.
"My pie came out too salty,” said Peter, “But I hardly used any salt at all."
"That's a shame Peter, too bad; you can always make another one."
"That's what I'm gonna do."
"Really?"
"Yep, if at first you don't succeed, try again."
And Peter decided to work on his replacement pie after breakfast.

"Well, do you need any help with your pie?" Micky asked, hoping he could somehow sabotage this new pie. "Maybe I could get some tips from an award-winning chef!"
"Sure, Mick," Peter beamed, happy that Micky wasn't resentful anymore, or so he thought. "Would you grab the flour for me?"
Micky grabbed the flour and handed it to Peter, saying, "That was a really strange gig last night. What was with all those old ladies rooting for you? I've never seen so much grey hair at a discotheque before!"
"Oh, yeah," Peter blushed, "They talked to me afterwards. They're part of an old lady baking club and wanted me to join for some reason."
"Did you?"
"I told them I'd think about it, but just so that I wouldn't hurt their feelings. I enjoy cooking, but I'd rather hang with people my own age!"
"Well, I hope they don't come back, they were screaming so loud I couldn't hear myself sing!" Micky stated.
Peter rolled out the pie crust and laid the bottom part in the pie pan. "Now for the filling. Micky, will you hand me the blueberries on the counter over there? I think we have just enough left over for this pie."
Micky grinned and grabbed the blueberries. As he was walking past the sink, he pretended to slip and the berries flew out of his hands. Most of the berries landed in the sink and rolled down the drain.
"My blueberries!" Peter gasped.
Peter quickly reached into the sink, trying to save the blueberries. Unfortunately, he only managed to grab the last one before it went down the drain. He held it up between his fingers.
"I saved one at least." Peter said sadly.
"Sorry, Peter, I slipped." Micky said, not really sounding sorry at all." He looked at the blueberry in Peter's fingers.
"Can't bake a pie with that, Pete." Micky laughed. "Looks like you won't be able to enter that contest now."
"I guess not." Peter said quietly.
Davy and Mike saw the whole thing. They knew it was no accident and was about to yell at Micky when there was a knock on the door. Mike went over to answer it. Standing in the door was their neighbor Mrs. Purdy. In her hand was a small bowl covered with a cloth.
"Hello, Mike. May I come in?" She asked.
"Of course, Mrs. Purdy." Mike said as he stood aside to let her in. "What brings you here?"
"I just got done picking the strawberries from my garden and I realized I have more than enough for my canning. So I thought you boys might enjoy some fresh strawberries!"
Mrs. Purdy lifted the cloth off the bowl to reveal a bowl of juicy red strawberries! All the guys, except for Micky, were very happy about this turn of events.
"Thank you very much, Mrs. Purdy!" Peter exclaimed, giving a big hug. "These strawberries will come in handy!"
"Yes, I had heard about you winning the baking contest at the fair!" Mrs. Purdy replied, pinching Peter's cheek, "I'm so proud of you! Well, I must be going. I hope you boys enjoy the strawberries!"
"We will, Mrs. Purdy." Davy said, "Thanks again."
"We'll return the bowl when we're done with them." Mike added.
"Bye bye now." Mrs. Purdy waved as she left the pad.
"Bye." Micky said sourly as the front door closed.
Mike looked smug at Micky, but addressed his comment to Peter.
"Well, shotgun, it looks like you'll be making a strawberry pie instead of a blueberry one."
"Yeah, I haven't eaten Strawberries in a long while." Peter said, "I wonder why?" He happily went back into the kitchen with the bowl. "I better get going, the contest is this afternoon."
"We'll stay out of your way, Peter." Davy said as he and Mike took Micky's arms. "All three of us are going for a walk on the beach."
"We are?" Micky asked.
"Yes we are, Micky." Mike stated firmly as he and Davy took him out the back door and down onto the beach.

When they were far enough away from the pad, Mike and Davy stopped and released Micky's arms. Micky didn't say a word to them, just kept his head down.
"What's going on, Micky?" Mike demanded, folding his arms.
"I slipped and the blueberries went down the drain, that's all." Micky lied.
"Micky, I've been around actors for a long time." Davy replied, "And that 'slip' was the worst bit of acting I'd seen in quite a while."
"You've been acting hostile to Peter ever since he won that contest." Mike continued, "You put that extra salt in Peter's pie last night, didn't you?"
"I don't what you're talking about." Micky retorted.
"When we went to change for that gig last night," Mike replied, "You were the last one to come upstairs. There was plenty of time for you to put the salt in the pie."
"You can't prove anything!" Micky shot back, getting angrier by the minute.
"True, but ever since Peter won that contest, he hasn't had much luck with his pies." Mike replied.
"I don't have to listen to this." Micky said, starting to walk away. Mike grabbed his arm again.
"Micky, talk to us. Why are you jealous of Peter?"
"I'm not!" Micky shouted at him.
"Peter thinks the world of you, Micky." Davy said, "He thinks you're the world's greatest drummer."
"Yeah, sure." Micky said with a scowl. "World's greatest drummer. What's that ever gotten me?"
"The love and respect of your friends." Davy said quietly, but Micky was too angry to listen.
"I finally had a chance to do something on my own, to make my own mark, and Peter blows it for me!"
"No one's stopping you from entering more contests." Mike said, "Enter another baking contest if it means so much to you."
"I am." Micky said, "I'll show you that I can bake too. That I'm not a loser."
"Nobody said you were, Micky." Mike said, but Micky was heading back towards the pad. Davy and Mike caught up to him.
"What are going to do, Micky?" Mike asked.
"I'm gonna enter the same contest as Peter." Micky said, "I'm going to win this time."
Mike grabbed Micky's arm once again and forced the drummer to look at him.
"Go ahead and enter. But no tricks this time, or you're outta the group!"
Micky stared back at Mike for several seconds before answering. "Ok, Mike. No tricks."
Mike released Micky's arm and the three of them went back to the pad. When they got back, Peter already had his pie in the oven. Micky went straight into the kitchen and began to work on his cookies. Peter noticed the somber looks on Mike and Davy's faces and the sullen attitude of Micky.
"What's the matter?" Peter said quietly to Davy as he watched Micky make a racket in the kitchen.
"Oh, nothing, Pete." Davy replied, "Micky just decided at the last minute to enter the same contest as you are."
Peter continued to watch Micky as he prepared his chocolate chip cookies once again. Finally, Peter turned to Mike and Davy.
"He's jealous of me, isn't he?"
Mike and Davy didn't know how to answer Peter's question, since they didn't really know themselves. They were saved by the bell as the kitchen timer rang and Peter went back into the kitchen.
Peter took his pie out of the oven under the watchful eyes of Mike and Davy. Micky didn't pay attention as he was busy with his own work. Mike indicated to Peter that he should place his pie someplace else to cool-someplace far away from Micky.
Later on, Micky too was done with his baking and looked with pride at the round cookies.
"Perfect." Micky smiled, "Even better than the last batch." He looked at the kitchen clock and called to the others.
"It's almost time for the contest." He said, "Let's get ready."
"Ok, let's 'all' go to our rooms together." Mike said slowly.
Micky just shrugged and preceded Mike up the stairs to their room. Peter and Davy went into their own room and Peter turned to his friend.
"You never answered my question, Davy." Peter said quietly, "Why is Micky jealous of me?"
"He thought his cookies would win." Davy replied, tying his shoes.
"I thought they would too." Peter said. "I..."
"C'mon guys!" Micky said from the living room, "We gotta be early to submit our stuff!"
"Coming, Micky!" Davy called back, relieved that the conversation was cut short.
Peter and Davy came back into the living room to see Micky and Mike standing there. Micky had his cookies wrapped up on a plate. Peter walked over to the end table where his pie was sitting, and picked it up. When he came back over to Micky, he stopped and looked him in the eye.
"I hope you win, Micky." Peter said sincerely.
Micky stared in shock at Peter. He didn't expect that!
"Thanks, Peter." Micky stuttered.
He was quiet the whole way to the convention center.
Mike parked at the Malibu Convention Center and the guys went inside. The contest was being sponsored by the Always-Good Flour Company. There looked to be hundreds of people there. Peter recognized some of the women as those who had entered the county fair contest a few days back. Micky and Peter went over to a table off to the side and registered their creations. Once again, the lady at the table looked surprised that two men were entering the contest, but cheerfully accepted the pastries.
While everyone waited for the judges to decide, there were cooking demonstrations and lectures on how to clean up your home. Finally, an old lady with wire-rimmed glasses came up onto the main stage and spoke into the mike.
"May I have your attention?" She asked, "After gaining a few pounds, the judges have made their decisions."
Several people laughed at the joke.
"In ten minutes, we'll let everyone know the results."
Everyone quickly came over to the stage and sat down in the metal chairs around the stage. The Monkees found four seats together and sat down as well.

Ten minutes later, the lady came back up onto the stage. Behind her was a table filled with all the pies, cakes, cookies and donuts the people had entered. The place smelled delicious! Off to the side, on another table, was a gold trophy of a star; the first place prize.
"Look at that trophy!" Micky told the others.
"It's just a trophy, Mick." Davy said quietly, "Not a final judgment of how good a baker you are."
"You didn't enter the contest." Micky replied sternly. "There's also a prize of one hundred dollars this time." He turned away from Davy.
Davy just looked at his hands, saddened that his friend was becoming obsessed with trophies.
Mike leaned over and whispered in Davy's ear. "I hope neither of them win." He said, "I hate to say that, but if neither of them win, it might end Micky's jealousy."
Davy nodded in agreement.
"It was such a hard job deciding this contest." The lady at the mike said, shaking her head. "But we've gotten it down to these four:" She cleared her throat.
"Honorable mention: To Mrs. Katherine Bottlecap for her Lemon Meringue Pie. Third Place: To Miss Jennifer Halftrack for her Jelly donuts."
The lady waited until the applause died down before she continued.
"Second Place: To Mrs. Jane Ribbonsnip for her Lemon Pound cake." The lady paused and took a deep breath.
"First Place: To Mr. Micky Dolenz for his Chocolate Chip cookies!"
Micky jumped up in the air. "I won, I won!" He shouted.
There were some disbelieving faces in the crowd, but most everyone joined in the cheers and applause, including Micky's three band mates. Peter applauded too, glad that Micky got the award he deserved.
"Thanks to all who entered and thank you for coming today!" The lady finished and left the mike.
The crowd began to disperse. Several people came over and shook Micky's hand and congratulated him. His three band mates did the same.
"Congrats, Micky." Peter said, shaking Micky's hand.
Micky slowly took Peter's hand. "You're not...mad?" He asked.
"No, I'm glad for you." Peter said, "I thought your cookies should've won in the first place, besides, I've already won an award, now you have one too."
"Go up there and get your trophy, Mick." Mike said, patting him on the back.
Micky quickly went up onto the stage with the other contest winners and gave a smile that lit up the stage when he was presented with the star trophy and a check for one hundred dollars. After his picture was taken, Micky gathered up his trophy, the remains of his cookies, Peter's pie, some plates and forks and brought them back over to his friends.
"C'mon, let's eat!" He said, "I want to taste Peter's pie this time!"
The guys found an empty table and chairs and tore into Peter's pie. Other people were doing the same to the leftover treats as well. About half-way through his piece of strawberry pie, Peter suddenly put his fork down. His face had gone white.
"What's the matter Peter?" Davy asked.
"Remember back at the pad when I said I wonder why I hadn't eaten strawberries in a long time?" He asked, his voice sounding funny.
"Yeah, what about it?" Mike replied.
"I just remembered why." Peter whispered.
"Why?" Micky asked, not liking the look on Peter's face.
"I'm allergic to strawberries." Peter said before he slid off his chair and fell onto the floor.
"Peter!" Mike yelled as his friend slid to the floor. Several others saw what happened and ran over too.
"Want me to call an ambulance?" A man asked.
"No, we'll get him to the hospital." Mike replied as he picked Peter up off the floor and began to carry him out the door. A stunned Micky and Davy ran after him.
Mike placed Peter in the back seat of the Monkeemobile, but before he could get to the driver's seat, Micky had already jumped in and was starting the car. Mike stayed in the back with Peter and Davy as Micky floored the gas and raced out of the parking lot.
Peter opened his eyes during the trip, but his face was pale and it looked like he was having trouble breathing.
"Hang on, shotgun." Mike said, taking his hand. "We're getting you help."
Fortunately, Malibu General Hospital was only a few minutes away. With a screech of rubber, Micky pulled the car into the ER lot. An orderly with a wheelchair came out and Mike helped him put Peter in it. The three Monkees followed the orderly inside and a doctor came over to them.
"What's the problem?" He asked.
"He's having an allergic reaction to strawberries, Doc." Davy said quickly.
The doctor turned to the orderly and ordered him to take Peter inside the ER. Then he asked the three Monkees several questions about Peter's health and any other medical problems. When he was done, the doctor told them to wait in the waiting room while he treated Peter.
Mike and Davy began to walk away. Micky just stood there, looking at the ER doors.
"Come on, Micky." Mike said, "We can't do anything now."
Micky slowly followed the other two into the waiting room. Once inside, Micky paced the floor, refusing to sit down.
"He's gonna be ok, Micky." Davy said, "The doctor will get those strawberries out of him and he'll be as right as rain."
"It's my fault." Micky whispered, "All my fault."
Mike stood up and walked over to him.
"It's not your fault Peter's allergic to strawberries, Mick."
"It's MY fault Peter ate those strawberries in the first place!" Micky shouted at him. "If I hadn't dumped those blueberries down the drain, Peter wouldn't have made a strawberry pie and he'd be ok right now!" Micky put his head in his hands and began to sob. "All over a lousy trophy."
Davy joined Mike and the two of them held Micky until Micky's sobs lessened. Finally, Micky wiped his eyes.
"I'm so sorry, guys." He said, "I caused so many problems."
"We forgive you, Micky." Mike said, "But it's Peter who you'll have to ask forgiveness to."
Micky nodded his head. "I was so mean to him, and yet he congratulated me when I won." Micky said, "I don't deserve a friend like him."
"None of us do, really." Davy answered, "He's quite special."
The doctor came into the room and the three men practically jumped him.
"Is he gonna be alright, doc?" Micky asked.
"Yes he will." The doctor replied, "Fortunately, he didn't eat very much of the strawberries. I pumped his stomach out and gave him a shot to help him breath normally again. The speed in which you gentlemen got him here also helped a great deal."
The three Monkees especially Micky, were very happy to hear that Peter would be ok.
"Can we go see him?" Davy asked.
"Sure, he's doing a lot better now that the strawberries are out of his system." The doctor replied, "His voice might sound a little raw because of the tube I had to put down his throat, but otherwise, if everything checks out, he can go home later this evening."
"Thanks a lot, doc!" The guys said, shaking his hand.
The doctor left the room and Mike, Davy and Micky went over to Peter's room. When they got to his door, Micky hung back.
"I don't know if he's gonna want to see me." Micky said.
"You're gonna have to face him some time." Davy said.
Micky nodded and the three of them went into Peter's room. Peter was lying quietly in bed, his face was getting its color back and he seemed to be breathing normally again. His eyes lit up when he saw his friends.
"Hi guys!" Peter said, his voice a little raw. "The doc says I'm gonna be ok."
"That's great, Peter!" Davy exclaimed, "You had us worried there for awhile."
"Yeah, it's my dumb fault I had forgotten about my allergy." Peter said, shaking his head, "The last time this happened I was about three, too young to remember what happened, just my Mom making sure I never ate strawberries."
Micky walked over to Peter's bedside.
"It's not your fault at all, Peter." Micky said firmly. "It's mine. I purposely spilled your blueberries down the sink so you couldn't enter the contest." Micky looked down at the floor. "So then you had to use the strawberries."
"I kinda figured you did that on purpose." Peter replied, "I thought I was the one who did things like that. You also added all that salt to the other pie, right?"
Micky didn't answer him, just continued to look at the floor. Peter took his hand.
"Why were you jealous of me, Micky?"
"I've always like being the center of attention." Micky said quietly. "When you won that contest, getting all that attention, plus your picture in the newspaper...well, I thought people would ignore me and pay attention to you from now on. I thought I had lost everyone's..." Micky's eyes welled up once again and his voice choked. "...love."
Peter looked sadly at his friend. "Nothing could be further from the truth, Micky. Anyone who didn't love you anymore just because you lost a contest wasn't your friend in the first place."
Micky looked Peter in the eye. “Remember that recipe you gave me to mail to that magazine?”
Peter nodded his head, guessing what Micky would say next.
“You didn’t mail it, did you?” He asked.
“I tore it up.” Micky said softly, “Then threw it in the garbage.”
Davy gave Micky a rueful smile. “Mike and I were suspicious of your sudden change in attitude, so while you were gone, I typed up another copy for Peter.”
Micky looked at Davy with a sad smile then at Peter once again. "I'm so sorry Peter.” Micky whispered, tears coming down his cheeks once again. "I won a contest, but almost lost a friend."
Peter sat up and gave Micky a big hug as Micky cried again.
"I forgive you, Micky." Peter said, "Your friendship is worth more than any trophy."
Mike and Davy joined the two in a group hug that lasted a long time.

Later that evening, Peter was released from the hospital. He would have to be careful what he ate for a few days while his stomach recovered, but otherwise, he was fine. Mike slowly drove the group back to the pad.
When the guys got back to the pad, Micky turned to Peter.
"Here Peter." Micky said, holding out his hands. In them were the trophy and his check for one hundred dollars. "You deserve these more than I do."
But Peter just shook his head. "No, you won fair and square, Micky. They’re yours."
"Perhaps instead Micky can use some of that money to take us out to dinner and help pay the rent." Mike said, looking at Micky, eyebrows raised.
"That's a great idea, Mike." Micky agreed, "When Peter's stomach is better, we'll go out to the best hamburger joint in town!"
Micky had to duck as his band mates began throwing pillows at him.

THE END