Rating: PG-13 and R
Summary: It's 1975 and Micky Dolenz is divorced and living the party life. Rita is a young woman on the L.A. scene. When the two meet, their lives are forever changed...
Warnings: Implied Sexual Content (Het)
Notes: The title of the story is from a song by Tori Amos called "Playboy Mommy," in case any were wondering. There may be some historical inaccuracies in this work of fiction in either general, or in Micky Dolenz history. I apologize for them.
Micky insisted upon my staying over that night at his house, so while everyone, including Jackie and Harry eventually left, we were all at once alone.
We were sitting next to each other in his living room, waiting for something to happen. Micky turned to me.
“You hungry? I mean, can I get you anything?” he asked.
I looked up at the clock on the wall and sure enough hours had gone by and it was now 6:30 at night, “Yeah, I guess I could stand to eat something.”
“Come with me, we’ll see what we can scare up,” Micky stated moving towards the kitchen. I followed closely.
Micky began by opening the refrigerator and grabbing a carton of orange and one of milk. He than went to the cabinet and got out some cornflakes. Taking a bowl from a practically empty dish cupboard, he poured himself some. I grimaced.
“What?” he asked ready to pour out the orange juice on it. So the rumors really were true.
“You’re not really going to eat that are you?” I asked leaning on the table.
He nodded, “Sure, it’s become part of my daily diet, this and take-out. Help yourself.”
I shook my head. This was a man who suddenly had bachelorhood thrown on him again and was coping rather pathetically. I felt a sense of pity swell in my heart and thought of an idea, “Look, why don’t I look around and see what I can make from what’s here? We can have some real food!”
Micky stopped mixing his cereal as I walked to the fridge, “Oh no, you don’t have to. We can order in or something. Really!”
“No I insist, it’s alright,” I replied putting my hands up in defense, then turning towards the expanse of the kitchen I sighed, “There’s got to be something here.”
In a few minutes, I had found some spaghetti noodles, and pasta sauce which weren’t out of date yet, a couple of pots to cook them in, and even a half empty bottle of red wine hidden away. I set everything in a line on the counter and Micky came over with his empty bowl to see what I had found.
“You want some?” I asked as he rinsed the bowl and placed it with the rest of the dirty dishes piling up; I made a note to rectify that later too.
“Yeah definitely, I haven’t had a home cooked meal in a while,” he replied. I smiled and began our dinner.
I had always been quite handy around the kitchen back home too. My mother taught my sister and I the value of cooking and because we came from Italians on both sides of the family, we were familiar with the cuisine. I was suddenly having flashbacks as I watched the water on the stove boil- my sister and I scrambling around our family kitchen preparing a big dinner for no apparent reason but it didn’t matter, mom giving us orders and pointers as she fixed the dessert. Later on, my father would come home from his exhausting 9-5 job and we’d all four of us sit down to a wonderful meal. We led a very traditional life back on the east coast. And than after graduation and working a few years, not really finding my way and jealously watching my sister pursue hers, I decided to move to California at 20. Actually that was Jackie’s idea; we’d been friends since high school and both became obsessive about music, especially bands like the Beatles. Naively, we thought we could meet all out favorite stars by shacking up in L.A. And ironically, we had done just that! But how I had managed to get to this exact point, cooking dinner for Micky Dolenz and pregnant at 21 years old was some sort of mystery.
“I think the water’s done babe,” Micky suddenly entered my mind from behind. His arms were around me and he had whispered in my ear. I felt my cheeks redden as I transferred the noodles to the water and started up the sauce in another pot, all the while feeling Micky’s presence behind me, his eyes constantly on me.
When it was all cooking, I turned myself around, leaned against the counter and looked seductively at Micky, “What do you think you’re doing?”
He smiled, came over and took my hand, “Come in the living room, I want to show you something.”
“Ok.” I turned the heat down on the pots, stirred them and than went with him.
As I took a seat, he reached under the coffee table and pulled out what looked to be a book but was unlabeled. Turning to the first page, there was a picture of a cute baby wrapped in a blanket. Above the picture it read ‘Ami Bluebell.’ It was then that I realized what he was showing me, pictures of his daughter. I sat back and took the album from him, while he sat down and placed an arm around me. She was practically the most beautiful child I had ever seen, little blonde blue eyed girl. There were photos of her alone, I assumed shot by Micky himself, and some of Ami and him, Ami and Samantha, and all three of them too. They made an adorable family. Micky sat patiently as I paged through, pointing things out here and there. Once I caught a glimpse of him, his eyes full of light and love. It made me feel sad for him- Micky loved his daughter more than words could say and at the moment he had no contact with her. It must have ripped his heart in two when he wife left him. Then it struck me; she had left him because of women like me! I tried to hide my shame as we finished looking at the album.
“It’s beautiful,” I remarked.
Micky leaned and kissed me lightly, “So is this.” My heart melted away.
Eventually, we got back to the kitchen. Luckily, everything was still in good shape as I put it together and Micky set us a little table setting, glasses for the wine and candles even. As I set the plates in front of us and sat, Micky spoke, “To new beginnings.” I couldn’t say anything without losing my composure so I only nodded in agreement as we began to eat and drink.
After we’d finished, I helped Micky clean up the remaining dishes about the house and tidy the kitchen. He sang songs quietly as he worked and I had to admit, I felt I could get used to this!
“I’m glad you’re here,” Micky stated as I dried the last of the dishes and put them away.
I assumed he meant for cleaning up, and so rolled my eyes, “Well whatever I can do…”
“No I meant with me,” he replied and immediately came over and put his arms around me, hands on my belly.
I put my hands on his and looked down, “You know, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for… this.” I felt the tears of guilt welling up again and looked away, trying to hold them in. I mumbled I was sorry. And I was- even I should have thought of the consequences of my actions, taking some precautions. But now I had screwed up his life.
Micky made shushing noises in my ear, “It’s alright. Let’s not talk about it right now.”
I turned in his arms to look in his face, “Why do you like me so much? I mean, how can you even stand me?”
Grabbing me for a hug he replied, “Oh Rita, it’s complicated. I’m not going to abandon you in your state.” He pulled away to look at me, “Besides, I think you’re pretty damn cute!”
I laughed wiping my face with the back of my arm. I looked around, “You want to keep cleaning up?” I broke away and reached to organize the table.
Micky grabbed my arm, “Later. I’d feel better if you got some sleep; it’s been a long day.” I nodded and followed him up the stairs as he locked the doors and extinguished the lights.
The bedroom was quite spacious; in fact a lot like the one in the penthouse at the party, but full of clothes and trinkets. A few pictures still set on shelves and the drapes looked permanently closed.
Micky laughed softly as I surveyed the room, “Another project I’m working on.”
I turned, “You think I could take a shower?”
“Sure, help yourself. Um…” Micky went into the bathroom adjoining the master bedroom. I heard a few things being moved, and he reentered the room with a towel and washcloth in his arms, “I’ll just tidy up in here while you’re in. Need something to wear?”
“Yeah I guess I do,” I replied having forgotten about that.
“Not to worry,” Micky said and reached into one of his drawers, “I do have a few clean things! Here you go.” He handed me what looked to be an old button down flannel shirt.
I walked into the bathroom and shut the door. It was almost ridiculously big with a bath and shower in it; I opted for a quick shower. As I washed, many thoughts ran through my mind, not least of all what in the world I was doing. I supposed I’d now be asking myself that the rest of my life. I came out fresh and clean, in my own underwear and the flannel, carrying my other clothes, about 15 minutes later.
Micky turned from the clothes he was piling in a corner, “Hey there sexy!” I couldn’t help but giggle, blush and cross one ankle over the other. He walked to me and quickly kissed my mouth, “Be back in a jiffy.” He shut the bathroom door and was gone.
I figured out how to turn the lights down and crawled into the big bed, legs up at my chest, looking around the room. Feeling suddenly exhausted. I grabbed the nearest pillow and laid down, wrapped in blankets.
I was almost asleep when I felt the blankets lift and Micky crawl in next to me. The room went black and then his arms were once again around me, cuddling me. It was just like the morning after our liaison, except different. This was better and I felt more relieved and loved then ever as I drifted off to sleep.