Sunday, January 12, 2014

Mama's Boys-The Adventures of Davy and Bruce--Part 3


This was based on a Facebook joke I made over a year ago and the actual story was written for an anthology that may or may not ever come out at this point so I thought I'd share it here. Not saying it's great but I think it's kinda fun. Since it's a tad long for a blog post, I'm only sharing part one. If you want to see where it goes from here, let me know and I'll post the rest in two more parts. Enjoy!

(PS-Note that Vicki Lawrence's "Mama," although seen in the above illustration, does not appear in this final revised version of the concept)

MAMA’S BOYS-THE ADVENTURES OF DAVY AND BRUCE-PART 3
By Steven Thompson
© 2013, 2014

At quarter ‘til three, our heroes arrived at the giant hotel complex where a crowd of celebrity watchers had gathered. Bruce hopped out of the sleek red customized car and tossed the keys to one of the many young men who gathered around for the valet parking. “No joyrides, Junior!”

“Oh, no, sir, sir!”

Davy, meanwhile had lit up his million dollar smile for the crowd and was already signing autographs. Bruce signed a few on his way to catch up, eyeing everyone in the crowd as they worked their way through it. Both men were wearing dark suits and sunglasses but were nonetheless instantly recognizable.

Inside the door, Bruce wondered aloud how come security wasn’t tighter. “Anyone out there could be our assassin!”

“Let’s not get paranoid,” calmed Davy.

“It’s not paranoia when I’m right! If we don’t know who he is, then he could be any one of those people out there! Or all of them even!” Davy knew his partner was right. It made him nervous just thinking about it.

Soon enough, they found themselves ushered through upstairs security into the Royal Suite. To Davy, it all felt familiar. The throngs of beautiful people and expensive decorations reminded him of two things—the press junkets thrown for the Monkees in the early days and the plots of a couple of actual episodes!

Surveying the elaborate hotel room, Bruce looked for entrances and exits. Davy looked for the host. Expecting the Middle-Eastern Prince to be dressed in robes and a headdress, he was extremely surprised when he saw that he was wearing regular clothes, chatting away with Annette Funicello with whom Davy had shared a scene in HEAD. Sauntering over, he stood close by until Annette recognized him and introduced him. “Oh, your Majesty, this is my friend David Jones. He’s a recording star. Perhaps you’re familiar with his group, The Monkees?”

“No, I have not had the pleasure,” said the Prince in a thick but pleasingly musical accent as he extended his hand.

As he grasped it, Davy took the opportunity to immediately seize on their common ground. “Your Majesty, I can’t wait to see your horse tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes! Daydream Believer is my pride.”

“I...uh...actually had a hit record called ‘Daydream Believer.’”

“No...! You jest?”

“Oh, no! Really! It was one of the Monkees’ biggest hits! Written by a man called John Stewart but I sang the song on the recording.”

“I must hear this song named after my horse.”

“Well, it was actually written a few years ago so it wa...”

“Sing it for me!”

Davy looked around. There were no musicians anywhere. “But...but...”

“Honored guests, Mister David Jones has a song dedicated to my beloved stallion, Daydream Believer.” The Prince spoke loudly and began applauding. Everyone else began to applaud as well. Davy eyed Bruce, standing near the balcony watching for anything suspicious. His partner nodded his head.

Sighing deeply, the former Monkee stepped to the center of the room as the crowd opened to allow him a space. Clearing his throat, he said, “I haven’t sung this in a while. I hope I remember the words.” Then... Davy Jones began to sing. 

“Oh, I could hide, ‘neath the wings...” As Davy sang, he danced around the crowd, coming face to face with familiar ladies like Margaret O’Brien, Britt Ekland and Nichelle Nichols. So many familiar faces. In fact, they were all familiar. Every single one of the 50 or so celebrities in attendance was a known item. Not one of them could possibly have been the assassin! Davy cut the last refrain and finished to massive applause as he ran to the Prince’s side.

“Prince, tell me. How much do you love Daydream Believer?”

“Oh, I enjoyed the song very much, Mister David Jones.”

“No, no! The horse, man! Your horse. ‘Ow much do you love your horse?”

“That horse is like my equine son. Should anything happen to him...”

“It would cause an international incident, right?”

“Absolutely. My country would be forced to...”

“Bruce! Follow me. We ‘aven’t got a moment to lose!” Davy ran out the door quickly. Bruce ripped off his jacket and shirt and sprinted topless through the door right behind him.

In the elevator, Bruce asked, “What in the world are we doing? We’re supposed to be protecting the Prince.”

“Trust me,” said Davy. “I can vouch for every single person in that room. Don’t you see? It’s not the Prince who’s in danger. It's Daydream Believer! The horse is who they’re after. I’m sure of it!” 

When they got outside, Davy looked around at a loss. “Where’s our car?”

“Parked in some underground garage somewhere.”

“But how are we going to get to...”

At that moment, a Lincoln-Continental pulled up to the curb and as one of the valets approached the driver, Bruce nudged him out of the way. “Park your car, madam?” he said with an ingratiating grin.

“Why, yes, but make sure you don’t...”

“Oh, we’ll take perfectly good care of it, madam,” he said to the matronly driver before turning to Davy and adding, “Get in.”

“But...”

“Get in.”

As her car roared off down the boulevard with Bruce at the wheel, the woman turned to one of the valets. “Why was that Asian man shirtless?” The valet just shrugged.

It didn’t have the coolness factor of the Brucemobile nor did it have the enhanced speed. Still, the black Lincoln reminded Bruce of his days driving Black Beauty. “Hurry!” yelled Davy.

“What? You don’t think 50 MPH on a main thoroughfare in the middle of a Saturday afternoon is hurrying? We’re lucky we haven’t picked up a police escort.”

“I’m sorry, man. It’s just I’m convinced I’m right. They’re going after that horse.”

It was only about a 15 minute trip and as the car pulled into the backtrack area by the stables, Davy opened its door and bolted, only to have a very large man step in front of him, stopping him cold. “It’s all right, sir,” said Bruce. “We’re here to inspect the premises to make sure the Prince’s horse is safe.”

“Where’s your shirt?”

“I told you, man! I told you in the car that was stupid idea!” Davy ran past the security man who turned and reached into his jacket. “HA-KAAAA!” yelped Bruce as he kicked the much larger man in the chin until he fell! Then he ran on after Davy. When he caught up with him, he had already found Daydream Believer.

“I swear to you, sir, this horse is as protected as His Majesty himself. The only strange men to come anywhere near him today are you and your shirtless friend there.” Davy turned to see Bruce approach. He glowered at him. Bruce shrugged.

“ But...Are you sure? Maybe they’ve just not...Hey! Who’s that going in to the stable with a doctor’s bag?”

“That is Dr. Draiman. He is the official track doctor who has to sign off on Believer before he will be able to race tomorrow.”

“Stop that man!” yelled Davy suddenly and loudly. Bruce started to run toward him when an Oriental man dressed in black jumped out of the tree under which they were standing.

The man surveyed Bruce while Bruce walked around him, sizing him up. “This is no time for a dance, you two!” Davy cautioned. “Oh, I’ll do it myself!”

As Bruce and the other man began to yelp and exchange blows, Davy ran at the man he had been told was a doctor and tackled him. The two struggled and a lucky kick sent the older man back over and through a stall window. At that point, Davy mounted the horse bareback and made a clicking noise with his mouth. “Giddyup, boy! Go!” Daydream Believer kicked open the stall door and burst through with Davy, although an experienced jockey, having to hang on tightly. Behind them, the supposed Doctor had pulled a gun and started firing, spooking the horse. He whinnied and reared a bit but Davy held on and encouraged him to keep running by nudging his sides with his feet.

Meanwhile, Bruce was making short work of the would-be assassin. After tossing him around a bit, Bruce flipped the darkly dressed man over his shoulders and ran screaming at the man with the gun. “Yiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!” The man was momentarily confused and stopped firing just in time for Bruce to spin around and toss his cohort at him.

By that point, the security people had arrived including the one Bruce had earlier gotten around. They held the would-be assassins at bay. Bruce patted the man on the shoulder and smiled. “No hard feelings.”

It was at that point that Prince Achmendat came screeching up in a police car. “My horse! Where is my beloved horse??!!” Bruce pointed at Davy who came trotting peacefully back up the roadway with the beautiful steed. Bruce smiled and gave him a thumbs up!

Davy dismounted and breathlessly said, “I can explain, Your Highness.”

From behind him, he heard a familiar voice. “I explained it to the Prince on the way over.”

“Cass?” exclaimed Bruce in surprise.

“Yeah, I was invited to that party, too, fellas. I was just fashionably late. Sorry I missed your song, Davy,” she said as she touched his cheek. “ I figured out the same thing you must have figured out and so I updated His Majesty and we headed on over here.”

“That’s great,” said Davy. “Whew! That was almost fun!”

“I have to know, though, partner, how did you spot the phony doctor?”

“You forget. I love horses. I’ve been out here enough to know Dr. Draiman and I know he is NOT Chinese! When I looked at this man walking directly toward the stable even while we were all arguing over the possible dangers, I could see he wasn’t the real doctor. ‘E probably has the real doc tied up at his office.”

“We’re already checking on that, fellas,” assured Mama Cass. 

“This should get us some great publicity in tomorrow’s paper, too!”

“Uh-uh, Davy.”

“What? Why not?”

“Yeah! Why not? Actors can always use good press!”

“Come on, guys. Be realistic. If word got out that the government was using out of work actors to fight spies and foreign assassins, then where would we be? Naw, your involvement in this will be limited to a curious incident where Davy sang at the celebration and then ran out, while Bruce ripped off his shirt and followed him.”

“What?” yelled an outraged Bruce. “That will make us look ridiculous!”

“Cookies. Crumbling. You know how it is. But...Say, you guys DO make a pretty good team. Maybe we can use you again sometime. Whaddaya say?”

Bruce and Davy looked sternly at each other, then burst out laughing and gave each other a high five.

“Freeze frame! Then the closing credits roll by while I sing ‘Daydream Believer.’ So what do you think?”

“Hahahhaa...I’m sorry, Davy but it’s too...outlandish. Too unrealistic! It was fun to listen to but it would never sell. I mean, come on. It’s more like a cartoon than a real show!”

With that, Davy Jones gathered up the pages of his proposal and headed for the office door, crestfallen. “Well, thanks for listening at least.” Before he stepped out, he turned and asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have the phone number of Hanna-Barbera handy would you?”

The End


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