Our Hearts' Desire (The Monkees Family Vol. 2)

Chapter 1

Racing up Pacific Coast Highway, Micky drove his newly refurbished motorcycle into the wind with Gabby snuggled behind him, pressing herself into his back, wrapping her arms around his front, molding herself to him, making him think of her special way of expressing her love for him: "We are one." He paused at the corner of PCH and Mulholland Highway, turning around to inquire, "Ready to take those curves on the road that I compared to your gorgeous body, my Gabby, the ones that are exciting, enticing, challenging, memorable, exhilarating and unrepeatable? The ones that make the ride worthwhile?"

"I'm ready, Captain. Full speed ahead," Gabby confirmed, falling back into their habit of talking in Trekkie geek speak.

"On our way down we'll be in Warp speed," Micky enthused. "Assuming Scotty hasn't been toking on the job and let us down on this engine."

"Wait a minute, Kirk," Gabby interrupted, "you fixed this bike up, so that would make you Scotty. Either that or you snuck in while he was trippin' out, did his job and now you're looking for a scapegoat in case your mechanical skills turn out to be not so hot. Leave my Scottish comrade alone. The success or failure of this mission is on you alone."

"Who are you while you're lecturing me, Spock or Uhura?" Micky asked, since Gabby liked to toggle between the two characters depending on her mood, mostly based on her libido.

"Oh, I'm definitely Uhura right now. So let's get underway and start this adventure, Captain."

Micky reached back for a kiss, revved the engine, turned the wheel to the right and they began the steep ascent up the winding mountains of Malibu that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. It was an odd contrast — sand, then road, then steep mountains, like the world's creator just got bored and decided to go ahead and mix and patch two magnificent types of topography together like a crazy quilt, with the road as the jagged, nonsensical dividing line.

Up, up and up they drove, on a precipitously winding hill that at certain points was more like a switchback where they could see the curve they had just left almost parallel to them. There were large swaths of private property on their left and canyon on their right. Trees dominated, but there were also wild fennel and mustard plants, as well as cactus plants of various species and sizes. Hawks floated above the canyons, searching for their next meal.

Eventually they crested the top of the mountain and it turned into meadowland, with fields of wildflowers, weeds and trees, with no real apparent markers of ownership or habitation. They found a place that looked fairly secluded and shady and stopped the bike, hopped off and removed the picnic basket that they had brought along. They spread out a blanket and flopped down upon it, glorying in the sunshine and the warmth of its rays.

It was the end of summer, just before Labor Day, and Gabby had finally mended from the injuries she had sustained as a result of being attacked by numerous police officers who had scapegoated her in her role as a protest monitor at an anti-war rally when President Johnson had been in town for a fundraiser in late June. She had received a concussion, bruised ribs and kidneys, a broken finger and various other injuries. This of course excluded the psychological damage she sustained and that, combined with some past trauma she had suffered as a result of an abusive boyfriend, finally prompted her to seek help from a therapist. She spoke with a psychologist at a new women's clinic that had just opened up recently. She also was pursuing a lawsuit against the city and the cops who beat her, with help from the American Civil Liberties Union, which had issued a detailed report about the protest that laid out a gruesome blow-by-blow timeline and description of the police department's dereliction of duty to protect and enforce the law, and how it created the conditions for the confrontation that led to utter chaos and so many injuries.