So...is everyone ready for this month's story?

Mike: Nothin' better happen with these videos. :P

Peter: I'm ready.

Davy: Ready, mates.

Micky: Me, too.

(We open in downtown LA in a typical glass-and-steel office building. The camera follows a dapper, dark-haired but slightly familiar gentleman into a stark, modern reception area. A young woman with reddish hair wearing a suit sits behind a curved desk, taking calls. She looks up at the man as he leans over the desk.)

Receptionist: (On the phone) Miss Staffer will see you at 2:30. Yes, sir. Thank you. (Looks up at the man) Hello, sir. May I help you?

Belavarg: I'm here to Miss Staffer.

Receptionist: (Points at a door) Right down the hall, sir. Room 302. She's expecting you. I think she said something about that new music division she just bought. She needs someone who knows music to run it, or something

Belavarg: *Smirks* Or something... *walks down the hall*

(Cut to inside. Lillith Staffer, the dark-haired businesswoman last seen in "It's a Very Small Monkee World," sits behind a huge desk in an office with a wide view of LA. The room, like the rest of the building, is stark and modern, with simple furnishings and thick carpeting. Lillith is shuffling papers, but she looks up as Belavarg enters.)

Lillith: (Small smile as he enters) Hello, Mr. Lensher. Welcome back to the City of the Angels. Was your trip back comfortable?

Belavarg: Yes, it was, very much.

Lillith: Good. (She shuffles more papers) Now, Mr. Lensher, you probably know why I called you here, so we'll get to the point. You know I bought Dark Star Records last year.

Belavarg: Yes, I'm well aware of that.

Lillith: What I need is someone who knows about the Dark Star and how it operates. Someone who knows the music business inside and out. What I need is a partner. I know you used to own Dark Star Records before that little scandal last year with the missing singers. I'm willing to overlook that, if you can get Dark Star Records up and running again. I'd still be the owner and Chief CEO, but you'd have final say on all matters pertaining to music, including the performers, publicity, and materials.

Lillith: (Frowns) I know you don't have any other offers. People still remember what happened a few months ago. If you do well enough (smirks), perhaps we could consider going into a co-ownership?

Belavarg: *Nods* That is a possibility.

Lillith: While I question your over-interest in your singers, no one is questioning your musical sense. They say you have a golden ear for hit songs and composers.

Belavarg: I do.

Lillith: I could use that golden ear. I know nothing about music, other than I prefer certain kinds. I'll handle all financial aspects. (Makes a face) One of the scandals I recall was some vice-president of yours who skimmed off the company. I don't allow such things. I hear of anyone doing that, they're fired at once. Hear me?

Belavarg: *Nods, folding his arms* Understood.

Lillith: Good. You call in your lawyers, and I'll call mine, and we'll draw up a contract. I'm sure this will be an excellent partnership. I've been trying to get Dark Star Records going for months now, but I haven't quite found the right person. (Smirks) I hope I've found the right person. I think we'll work well together, don't you? (Hands Belavarg some papers) By the way, did you have any suggestions for singing acts for Dark Star? I'm a jazz fan myself, but I seem to recall that your company specialized in rock and pop outfits. Wasn't there a group you were often trying to sign? The Monks, or something. I thought they were no longer working together. Heard one of the members started his own company.

Belavarg: The Monkees. Yes, one of them did start his own company. *smirks* However, I'm not above attempting a merger.

Lillith: (Frowns) It doesn't seem to have been especially successful. They're still running out of one room over the Club Caprice in Malibu Beach. He has some odd idea, something about publicizing music with short films. He doesn't have his friends there, either. Dolenz and Jones are still with Headquarters, some two-bit music company across town, and the other one's vanished off the face of the Earth. Do you know anything about this group? I heard they were very popular a few years ago, but they did some movie that flopped a few years ago and dropped off the radar afterwards. Perhaps they would be interested in reviving their careers?

Belavarg: Dolenz and Jones are stuck in their current contracts. I do know that Nesmith would be interested.

Lillith: Good. He might be useful. We'll have to go about getting him the right way, though. They say he's resisted all offers to sell or merge his company. (Makes a face) I've heard he can be a real pain where dealing with other people is concerned. Supposedly, the Monks, or whatever, played good music...but they tried to do too much and burned out too soon. And I haven't seen it, but I heard the movie was some strange experimental mish-mash that no one understood and did absolutely nothing at the box office. (Sighs) What I want to know is, how would you get him to sign where others have failed? (Smirks again) I know we can offer him a great deal of money. They say he's bottoming out financially. Can barely afford that one office.

Belavarg: I'll just say I've come up with a deal he couldn't possibly turn down.

Lillith: I like the sound of that. (Turns her smirk to Belavarg) I think this is going to be a very profitable partnership, Mr. Lensher. (She smirks and takes the contract back from Belavarg.)

Belavarg: I think it certainly will be.

Lillith: Let's hope so.

(Fade out on the two smirking in Lillith's office. Fade in on a very different, more dilapidated office. Magnetic South's one-room "office" over the Club Caprice now has a few more desks and chairs, an electric typewriter, a carton of white-out, one bare lightbulb...and not a whole lot else. Mike sits at the main table with Davy.)

Mike: Dave, where's Mick? Peter's gettin in from school, but Mick should have been here by now.

Davy: Mick said he'd be here after he finished up at one of the construction jobs he's bowing out of.

Mike: I'm glad he's quittin' that. He don't need to make himself crazier than he already is...and that's pretty crazy.

(Peter arrives next. He wears a good yellow broadcloth shirt, slightly open at the neck, with pleated tan trousers and simple shoes, and carries a briefcase.)

Peter: Whew! Sorry I couldn't get away from school quicker, but I got caught in crosstown traffic. :P

Mike: That's ok, Pete. Micky ain't shown up, either.

Micky: *Comes in* Sorry I'm late, guys!

Mike: Did ya tell them you're quittin'?

Peter: (Smiles) Hey, Mick. How are you feeling?

Mike: We're really gonna need you, Buddy.

Micky: Yeah, I did. (Grins) Pete, I'm fine. Matter of fact, I'm great! Val called to say she's gonna let Dave and me work for you, Mike!

Mike: (Grins) Mick, that's wonderful!

Davy: That's bloody great news, mate!

Peter: Valerie told me, too. As long as you use some Headquarters artists in your videos, you can use Mick and Davy as long as you need them.

Mike: No problem there. We need some established artists to draw attention to our work. (Sighs) Fellas, I ain't gonna lie. We're really hurtin'. Magnetic South has exactly $285.56 in the kitty. Micky and Davy, have you talked to some of the folks you know at the studios 'bout puttin' our videos on the air?

Micky: With or without the stipulation of actually getting them filmed?

Mike: You couldn't get anyone, either?

Peter: Half of my former so-called friends won't even acknowledge my existence.

Mike: What about Columbia?

Peter: After "Head," I imagine they wouldn't handle a movie about making cheese that we'd made, much less music videos.

Mike: Mick, what about your mom? Or the people who made "Night of the Strangler?"

Micky: *Shrugs* Nothing from Mom. *Makes a face* Don't get me started on the other. I was desperate for ANY role at the time.

Mike: Guys, I'm really worried. I've invested a lot of money in this. If we can't get this off the ground (gulps) I don't know what I'm going to do. We're already behind on the mortgage for the Pad, and I've had to sell off most of my vehicles.

Peter: Michael, we're doing what we can. We can't make offers appear out of thin air.

Mike: (Sighs) I know, I know! Does anyone else have ANY suggestions at all?

Peter: (As we hear a phone ring; frowns) What's that?

Mike: Off-hand, I'd say it's the phone.

Micky: I was gonna say that.

Mike: I'll get it. (He grabs the phone) Hello, Magnetic South Videos. President Michael Nesmith speakin'.

Peter: (Chuckles to Micky) President Michael Nesmith?

Micky: *Snorts* Whoever's the Vice President better run and hide during hunting season.

(Peter tries to hide his snort.)

Mike: Don't mind my staff, sir. They were just breaking up a tense meeting with some corny humor.

Peter: I didn't think it was that corny.

*Micky just shrugs.*

Belavarg: Damion Lensher, partner in Dark Star Records. I am prepared to offer you, Mr. Nesmith, $50 million for simply SIGNING with Dark Star. We can talk normal salary at a later date.

Mike: Dark Star Records... (frowns) Wasn't that the place that was killin' off it's contracted stars last year?

Peter: (Eyes widen) Dark Star...

Belavarg: The only thing that remains the same is the name. The company is under completely new leadership.

Mike: Yeah, we heard Lillith Staffer bought it. (Shakes his head) My company ain't for sale, Lensher. Especially not to someone I ain't never heard of.

Peter: Michael, I don't like this.

Belavarg: I'm not interested in your business, Mr. Nesmith. I'm interested in YOU.

Mike: Me? Aw hell, I ain't performed in ages.

Peter: Michael, there's something seriously wrong here.

Mike: (Waves off Peter) If you want me, you'll have to take my project, too. You might have heard around town that we're trying to sell a new idea. My boys and I think it's gonna be the next great idea in music marketing.

Belavarg: Certainly! I will take care of everything you require for the project.

Mike: (Hesitates; then) Where can we meet?

Peter: Michael!

Belavarg: 1300 Raven Lane. This evening, eight o'clock on the dot.

Mike: I'll be there, Mr. Lensher.

Belavarg: Very good, Mr. Nesmith. I look forward to meeting with you. Good bye.

Mike: Good bye. (Looks over his shoulder at the other guys) Guys...I smelled somethin' funny on him. Somethin' nasty. I think we should check this out.

Peter: (Nods) ALL of us. I got some bad vibes there.

Micky: *Nods* That was WAY too out of the blue.

Mike: Yeah. I ain't never heard of this guy before in my life. How did he find out about us?

Peter: And he only wanted you?

Mike: Originally. He said he'd be interested in takin' any projects I was doin', too...and I didn't like the way he said it.

Peter: I think Raven Lane is just outside of LA in the valley. Maybe we should take the MonkeeMobile over there, just in case we need a quick getaway.

Davy: *nods* Good idea.

Mike: Yeah. (Looks at his watch) It's about quarter after 7 now. We should have enough time to get there and figure out what this is all about. (Grabs a gavel on a desk) And the meetin' is adjourned. (Slams the gavel...and the lightbulb falls out of the light, shattering and sending us into darkness) Um, oops. Sorry about that.

(Cut to the MonkeeMobile pulling in the driveway of what looks like a spooky, rambling old Victorian mansion. It looks a bit like a smaller version of the Montgomery House before Valerie had it remodeled.)

Ursula: I don't like this, gentlemen. Not one bit.

Peter: The vibes I'm getting off of that house are AWFUL. Really dark.

Mike: And I ain't smellin' roses, either. (Sighs) Well, let's see if we can get this over with. (He goes up to the door and tries it, surprised to find it locked.) Hm.

Peter: Maybe he forgot.

Mike: Hey, he asked me to come! (He knocks on the door and rings the doorbell)

Peter: Michael, they're not here.

Mike: They have to be! They... (Looks up at the door and realizes he's knocking on someone's chest) Uh, sorry about that, sir.

(Peter takes a breath in and pulls back, his eyes wide.)

Peter: That aura's familiar...and evil...

Belavarg: *Smiles* No worries, Mr. Nesmith, no harm done. *blinks seeing the others* You brought friends with you? Funny thing, I only recall asking for you, Mr. Nesmith.

Mike: If you take me, you take all of us.

Belavarg: On a project basis only, not out and out. *calls behind him* Boys, a little assistance please.

Peter: What?

Mike: Guys, get outta here.

Peter: What!? Michael...

Mike: (Whispers to Peter) Take the guys around the back.

Peter: (Nods; then) Come on, boys. They seem to mean business. We'd better get back in the car.

(They seem to do so as Belavarg leads a nervous Mike inside. The moment the door closes, the Monkees jump out of the car again.)

Micky: Subterfuge time?

Peter: (Turns to the others) Guys, I saw the aura on that man. It's very, very dark. Evil-dark. Demon dark. (Small smile) Which means, yes Micky, it's subterfuge time. Did you have anything special in mind?

Micky: How about we go old school and just sneak in the back door?

Peter: Sure. Maybe we could try some Imagination Power disguises once we're inside. We could be businessmen or thugs or something. Blend in.

Micky: REALLY old school, Pete. No powers, we just find things to hide behind.

Peter: (Nods) You might be right there. If they see the light, it could be big trouble.

(Cut to inside. It's a kitchen that's a bit more antique than the one in the Montgomery House, with an older stove and icebox. Peter, Davy, and Micky all peer in the door at the same time.)

Peter: Coast's clear, guys. No goons.

Davy: Good, maybe Mick can get off my foot now.

Micky: Was that you I was standing on?

Peter: (Looks down) No one's standing on me...

Davy: Lucky you.

Peter: Well, come on. Who knows what that guy's doing to Michael?

Micky: We're coming! Geez...

(He leads them through the kitchen and into a hall with old-fashioned, mustard-colored wallpaper. We hear footsteps as Peter pushed the other two against the wall.)

Peter: We have to hide!

*Micky dives behind a potted plant, one of his sneakers sticking out slightly behind it. Davy crouches behind a stand with a bust of William Shakespeare on it.*

(Peter ducks behind a painting of a man reclining...and no one notices that where the man ends, Peter's tan pants seem to begin.)

Thug #1: Did you hear anything, Ollie?

Thug #2: Nahh. Must have been your imagination. (Accidentally steps on Micky's foot) Come on. Let's go find out what the boss wants with that skinny little jerk.

(They head back down the hall. Peter pulls out from behind the painting.)

Peter: They're gone. Micky, are you all right?

Micky: *Stumbles back onto his rear again, moaning* Owww...

Peter: Did they really hurt you?

Davy: That'll teach you, Mick.

Micky: *Rubs at the top of his foot* It isn't permanent, if that's what you mean by "really hurt."

Peter: Can you walk on it?

Micky: *Grumbles as he gets up* I'm fine.

Peter: All right. We have to figure out a way into the room where Michael is. We can't really use our powers here. It's too obvious.

Micky: How about we listen from outside the room?

Peter: Got the glasses?

Micky: *Flips a glass each to Peter and Davy* Of course.

Peter: (Points to the door at the end of the hall) They're always at the end of the hall. That's where the biggest and scariest room is.

(All three lean against the door and listen as the camera swings around the door. Cut to a large office. The room looks like the library set from "Monkees Get a Clue," complete with window with a view of the yard, fireplace, and antique furniture. Mike fidgets in a heavy oaken chair on one side. Belavarg steeples his fingers on the other side of the desk.)

Mike: First off, sir, why call me? I ain't done nothin' in two years.

Belavarg: I recognize your skill, Mr. Nesmith. The fact that you haven't done anything in any amount of time is proof that those in power in business are morons.

Mike: I've never heard of you. You been in Europe, maybe?

Belavarg: *Nods* As a matter of fact, I have.

Mike: What did you do there? Producin'?

Mike: (Squints) You seem almost familiar. I think I might know ya from somewhere...

Belavarg: You've probably seen me on the news, Mr. Nesmith, I get that a lot. Now, *slides the papers to Mike* how about we get started on the signing?

Mike: (Frowns) I don't know...

(Belavarg goes to a table next to the desk with a small carafe of coffee, several Styrofoam cups, and creamer.)