Mirror, Mirror

Chapter 3

Meanwhile, in Looking Glass Land, here's what happened after the mirror broke off the connection:

Michelle was still holding the gun on Micky. She asked him sharply, in a heavy San Antonio drawl, "Who are ya?"

"M-M-M-Micky D-Dolenz."

"Dolenz?!" all the girls said as one. Michelle's grip on the shotgun relaxed a bit.

"What's your full name?" asked Gina.

"Uh... uh..." Micky couldn't think with the gun pressed against him. Flashing an apologetic smile at Michelle, he used his index finger to push the gun barrel off to the left. "Um... G-George Michael Dolenz. Uh... Jr."

The three girls looked at Gina. Petra commented, sticking her finger in the corner of her mouth thoughtfully, "Gee, that name sounds kinda familiar."

Michelle asked Micky, "Where did you come from?"

Micky chuckled nervously. These girls couldn't possibly believe the story about the mirror. "Where did I come from? Oh, well, ah... See, there's a kind of a bird called a stork, and-"

Michelle put the mouth of the gun over Micky's nose.

Micky squealed and started talking at lightning speed. "Okay, okay! I was lying in bed last night and this unbelievably gorgeous girl came to me and asked me to help her and then she disappeared and I didn't know where she went so I came downstairs-" He gasped quickly before continuing. "-and the mirror said she could help me so I crawled through and fell out the other side and hit my head so I crawled up on the couch and fell asleep and then you found me this morning and made me tell you this crazy story that I swear really happened even though I know you'll never believe it!" He was panting like a hard-ridden horse by the time he was done.

Michelle pulled the gun away from him. "I believe you."

"I believe you," Gina said.

"I believe you," Devona said.

"I believe you," Petra said.

Micky blinked a couple of times in surprise and said to himself, "You know, I'm not sure, but I think they believe me."

Michelle stood her gun on end in a corner by the door. The other girls led Micky back to the couch and had him sit down. Only now was Micky beginning to notice the contrasts between this house and the Monkees' pad. It was still a broken-down scrap heap, decorated with a mish-mash of assorted, collected items. Some of the decorations were still familiar, like the movie and circus posters on the walls, the stained glass overhead lamp, the psychedelically-painted refrigerator, and the dark red chair with the coat of arms embroidered on the head-rest. But the Mesoamerican mask had been replaced with an Impressionistic painting of an orange and pink unicorn. A plastic, potted tree with purple leaves and green flowers had replaced the totem pole. Throw pillows and flowers, both real and fake, were tucked in every corner. The table was covered with a blue tablecloth. The couch that Micky sat on was not the Monkees' black chaise, but beige with little pink roses on twirling vines. It still resembled the Monkees' beach house, but the overall effect was much softer, more feminine.

Then he looked over at the stage. The instruments, at least were all the same: keyboard, maracas in various colors to match whatever Devona was wearing that day, blonde twelve-string, black-and-orange six-string, drums. The bass drum was still imprinted with the guitar-shaped logo, but the band name that it proclaimed was "Kockatoos."

Micky turned to Gina. "Kockatoos? Is that your band name?"

"Yeah," Gina answered. "Groovy name, isn't it?"