There’s boxes scattered around the pad. Everyone is sprawled out, looking exhausted, except Lauren, who’s standing in the middle of the room, hands on her hips.

"Awe, come on, guys! You’ve got everything packed. It won’t take that much to take it over to Mrs. Purdy’s!" Lauren said.

Micky waved a hand, slumped in the chair. "Babe, we’re worn out! We’ll haul it over when we can pick ourselves up!"

"Mick’s got a point, Laur," Mike began, his arm draped around Emma, propping each other up on the psychiatrist’s couch.

Lauren sighed. "Okay, I guess I am pushing you guys too much, but it’s only because all I’m doing is directing traffic!"

As if on cue, the sound of a very large engine running could be heard.

"What the heck was that?" Micky asked.

Lauren went to the door, opened it, and leaned out. "Wow!" She turned to face the others. "There’s this shiny red Dodge parked out on the street! Looks like a drag racer."

Both Micky and Mike jumped up to take a look, followed more slowly by Emma, Davy, and Peter. All six stood just outside the door, staring at the car.

"I wonder who owns it," Micky asked.

For his answer, they saw a little old lady leave Mrs. Purdy’s house and get into the red Dodge.

"That sweet little old lady is driving that car?" Peter questioned, scratching his head.

"Looks like it to me, mate," Davy confirmed.

"I’ll bet she races it," Emma commented, smirking.

Lauren caught the look. "I’d take that bet."

They watched as the "little old lady" peeled out, leaving a trail of burned rubber on the asphalt in her wake.

Mike let out a low whistle. "I think you ladies are right."

Micky folded his arms. "I think I could win a drag race against her."

Lauren chuckled. "Sure, Mick. After that peel out, you’d be nuts to try it."

Five of them returned inside the pad, leaving Micky standing at the door, still facing the street.

"So, what?" Micky said, turning and going back inside. "I still think I could win!"

"Then why don’t you find ‘er and challenge ‘er to a drag race?" Davy suggested, smirking.

"Don’t give him ideas, Davy," Mike warned. "As tempting as the thought it, no one could outdrive her with that car she’s got."

"How do you know that, Michael?" Peter asked.

Mike smirked. "I don’t read car magazines for nothin’, Pete."

"I don’t believe you," Micky said, shaking his head. He moved over to the phone and picked up the receiver. "I’m calling Mrs. Purdy to find out who that lady is and challenge her to a drag race." He dialed the number. "Hello, Mrs. Purdy, it’s Micky..."

* * * * *

The inside of the apartment was littered with open cardboard boxes. Lauren leaned out the door, waving. "Thanks for the help bringing the boxes in!" She turned back inside and closed the door. She quirked an eyebrow, turning her attention to the small, beat up couch.

Micky was sprawled on his stomach on the couch, his left arm dangling over the side and dragging on the floor. He snored lightly.

"I swear he could fall asleep standing up..." Lauren commented, then sighed. She went over and nudged him. "Mick..."

"...zzz...Few more minutes...zzz..."

She leaned down, right in his face. "Micky!"

He jumped, then remained propped up against the back cushions. "Babe, don’t do that!"

"Sorry." Lauren paused. "Mick, you aren’t really gonna race that little old lady, are you?"

Micky nodded. "Yes, I am. Mike’s gonna be my second."

"You talked Mike into being part of your pit crew?"

He grinned. "I like a girl who knows about cars."

"It’s too late to suck up. Just where do you plan on holding this race, anyway?"

"I don’t know." Micky shrugged. "Grace is gonna pick it."

"Grace?" Lauren quirked an eyebrow.

He nodded. "Yeah, her name’s Grace. I didn’t wanna keep calling her the lady from Pasadena."

"You do realize this whole thing is stupid, right?"

"Babe," Micky paused, leaned forward and kissed Lauren’s forehead, "don’t worry. It’s just a friendly race. Nothing could possibly go wrong." He smiled.

She chewed her lower lip for a moment, then sighed. "Okay."

"Good." He paused, then made a production out of stretching and yawning. "Well, think I’ll hit the sack. Comin’?" He gave her a half grin.

"You go, I’ll be in in a moment."

Micky nodded, then got up, headed for the bedroom.

Lauren watched him go in, then sighed again... and realized her right hand was resting on her lower stomach. She shook her head. It’s just a friendly race, she thought.

* * * * *

The next morning, Mike and Micky worked on fixing up the MonkeeMobile, preparing it for the race. Micky worked on the wax job, while Mike sat in the driver’s seat, working on this and that.

"Mike, you ever gonna put in that smoke screen and oil slick?" Micky asked, grinning.

Mike looked up, expressionless. "I’ll consider it, shotgun."

Micky quirked an eyebrow. "Uh oh, he called me shotgun."

Mike sat back in the driver’s seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "I realize, Mick, that this is a friendly race. Have you considered the danger in it, though?"

"Michael, I am an excellent driver." Mike raised an eyebrow at him. Micky put his hands up. "Okay, I may have a few speeding tickets to my name, but I’ve never been in an accident."

"First time for everything, shotgun."

Micky rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. "Whatever, Mike. I could’ve sworn you were more into this yesterday... Wait, did Lauren put you up to this?"

Mike shook his head. "No, she didn’t, but I know her concerns."

"Emma?"

"She did... point out a few things to me, but--"

Micky flung the rag he’d been using for waxing over his shoulder. "I’ll just have to show you guys a thing or three, then."

* * * * *

Midnight. The group stood around a deserted stretch of road, just outside the city.

"I’ve always wondered why these drag races have to take place so late at night," Lauren said, sighing.

"It’s so the drivers don’t run across any cops," Mike replied, with a small snort. He’d made himself comfortable leaning against the guardrail.

"You guys are terrible, you know that?" Micky commented from the car. He and the rest of the group watched as a bright red Dodge pulled up next to the souped-up GTO. "Hey, Grace!" Micky called out, waving.

The convertable’s top detracted and a woman with gray hair waved back at Micky. "Hello, there, Micky! I see you didn’t chicken out!"

"Me? No way!" Micky called, glancing at his cheerless group of cheerleaders. He rolled his eyes and turned back to Grace. "My cheering section isn't awfully enthusiastic about our little race."

Grace took a look at the frowning group. She gave them a smile. "You kids have nothing to worry about. I race all the time and have never had anything bad happen to me or my opponents." She pulled out a checkered cloth attached to a stick. "Who’d like to wave the started flag?"

Everyone in the cheerless group looked to Peter, who was now beaming. He raised his hand. "Can I wave it, please?"

"You sure can, hon!" Grace held out the flag and Peter went over to retrieve it. "Now, just stand right here between the cars, say "Ready, Set, Go" and wave the flag. That’s when we’ll go. Got it?"

Peter nodded. "I can do that!" He moved to the spot where Grace told him to stand and held the flag up. "Ready... set... go!" And he waved the flag.

This brought the others away from the guardrail as they watched the two cars disappear down the street. After a few moments, they couldn’t hear either engine anymore.

"So much for talking them out of this," Emma commented with a sigh.

"Now what? We wait until they get back 'ere? Do you know ‘ow long that could take?" Davy said.

"I guess so," Lauren said, as Mike pulled Peter back toward the guardrail.

* * * * *

Ten minutes or so later, the group finally spots a pair of headlights coming towards them.

"Well, there’s one of them," Mike said.

"Which one is it?" Emma asked.

Peter frowned. "It looks like Grace."

The car took a few moments before it pulled to a stop just in front of the waiting group. Grace cut the engine and looked around. "Looks like I won." She paused, looking behind her. "That’s funny, though, Micky wasn’t that far behind me just a few minutes ago."

"What?" Lauren asked.

The entire group looked back the way Grace came, but saw no lights.

Grace frowned. "He shouldn’t be lagging that far. Everyone in, we’ll go back and look for him." The gang piled into her convertable as she started up the engine again. She pulled away from the curb and did a u-turn, heading back the way she came.

Grace drove slowly as everyone else looked for the MonkeeMobile. She sighed. "I hate to say it, kids, but it doesn’t look like we’re going to find Micky."

"That goof ball. Just wait until I get my hands on him--!" Lauren began, but was promptly cut off by wailing sirens as a firetruck, followed by a police car, sped by.

Everyone exchanged glances and Grace put the car in gear once again, waited for the newly blaring ambulance to go by and pulled out to follow. She drove a little farther out than they had dubbed as their "race track" before they caught sight of an accident.

Grace pulled off to the side, away from the emergency crews. The entire group sat and stared straight ahead.

Five minutes or so passed, before Lauren spoke up. "Grace? Would you mind driving us back to the pad, please?" Grace nodded, set the car in gear, and did another u-turn.

* * * * *

The group spread themselves out once back at the pad. Emma and Mike took up the kitchen table. Peter settled himself on the hammock next to the bandstand. Davy plopped himself in the chair. Lauren took the psychiatrist’s couch.

No one had dared say anything about the accident they had seen and instead seemed content enough sitting in silence for a good thirty minutes.

...Before the front door opened slowly. Micky peeked around the door, he glanced over everyone else before locking eyes with Lauren.

"You idiot!" she called out, then smiled, got up and went over to him. The others finally saw him, too.

Micky scratched his head. "I wasn’t exactly expecting to be called an idiot, but I guess I had it coming."

Mike and Emma joined them, being the closest to the front door. "Where the hell have you been?" Mike asked.

"Now, that’s the funny part," Micky began, chuckled, and promptly stopping seeing that no one else was going to laugh. "I ran out of gas and I didn’t have any money to get gas, so I walked back here." He paused, making a face. "That car is such a gas guzzler! I could’ve sworn there was half a tank!" He paused again. "What’s the matter with all of you? You almost look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"Grace drove us around looking for you. Just beyond your designated race track, we came upon an accident," Emma explained, trailing off.

"Oh." Micky frowned. "I’m sorry, guys. I went back to where we started, but no one was there, so I started back here."

"Don’t worry about it, shotgun. We’re just glad that wasn’t you back there," Mike said. "I’ve had enough excitement to last me a week. I’m goin’ to bed." With that, Mike headed up the tornado staircase to the upstairs room.

"And you are coming with me. I’m gonna keep an eye on you this time," Lauren said, giving Micky a small shove toward the door. She waved to the others as they started out onto the walk.

They got half way down the sidewalk before Micky stopped. "Babe, I’m really sorry about the race."

"Now, you know why I was worried," Lauren said, folding her arms over her chest. "Especially since there could be one certain someone who’d never... know you if something did happen."

He looked down at his feet. "I really am sorry, Lauren."

She smiled. "It’s okay, curly. I won’t keep beating you up over it. You’ll do that just fine yourself." Her smile turned into a smirk when he looked up.

Micky gave her a small smirk. "You’re terrible, you know that."

"Yes, I do know that, actually." They began walking again, as Lauren continued, "By the way, there’s still some boxes that need to be moved and a few others that need to be unpacked..."

"Awe, babe...!"

~~~End~~~

"Little Old Lady From Pasadena"
Performed by Jan & Dean