“One Man Shy (Peter and the Debutante)” Script

INT. CARTWRIGHT HOUSE

“You Just May Be the One”

RONNIE:
Valerie, I don’t think I—do you, like—alright! I, I think that’s quite enough. Uh, really, uh, uh, Valerie, you, uh, you-you don’t, you don’t want these chipmunks to play at your party.

VALERIE:
I certainly do, Ronnie, and they’re not chipmunks; they’re The Monkees.

RONNIE:
But they’re dreadful! Uh-huh. Uh ha ha ha. All that hair!

VALERIE:
Ronnie, please. Thank you very much, fellas. That’ll be a week from Saturday.

MIKE:
Okay, Miss Cartwright. We appreciate—

VALERIE:
I’ll see you then. Come on, Ronnie.

RONNIE:
Oh. I beg your pardon. A gentleman does not stare at a lady.

PETER:
A beggar can look at a queen.

RONNIE:
Oh. Nevertheless, huh. I thought you gentlemen might like to know I found your music primitive, grotesque, and ugly.

MICKY:
But it sure keeps your foot tapping, don’t it?

MIKE:
I don’t like him at all.

DAVY:
I don’t like him either.

MICKY:
I don’t even like him that much.

EXT. CARTWRIGHT HOUSE

MIKE:
Okay, guys, you ready?

MICKY:
Yeah. Let’s go.

MIKE:
Let’s go, Pete.

MICKY:
Pete?

MIKE:
Pete?

PETER:
And then when I was eight years old, my family moved to Connecticut, and they took me with them, and then they put me in a private school for a year, but I didn’t like that, so they put me in a public school the year after that.

MICKY:
Let’s split!

PETER:
But I wasn’t at all happy. At private school—

“(Theme From) The Monkees”

INT. THE PAD

MIKE:
Hey, listen, Pete. Um, you know, if you really dig a chick, you should tell her. You shouldn’t steal her picture.

PETER:
I can’t talk to girls.

MICKY:
Hey, it’s easy, man! T-talk, that—pshaw! Come on, I’ll show you.

EXT. CARTWRIGHT HOUSE

MICKY:
It worked great in Cyrano de Bergerac!

PETER:
Yeah, but what if I freeze up?

MICKY:
Man, don’t worry. Just keep your lips moving, and we’ll do the rest. Here she comes. Now call her.

PETER:
Mi-miss Cartwright?

MICKY:
I love you, my dear, more than I can tell you.

MIKE:
I love you as ??? loves ???.

RONNIE:
Valerie, darling, come inside; it’s chilly out here.

VALERIE:
I thought I heard someone.

DAVY:
I love you more every day of the week.

MICKY:
I love you twice as much on Friday, because I want the weekend off.

MIKE:
This is working great, man, let’s do more, more, more.

MICKY:
Go, go, go.

DAVY:
Speak to me. Speak to me, my darling. I love you. Let me caress your hair. Let me kiss you. I love you. Let me kiss you. Ohh. I love you like the swamp—no, that’s wrong.

MIKE:
I love you like my—

DAVY, MICKY, MIKE:
Oh!

INT. THE PAD

MICKY:
Come on, cheer up, Big Peter; it didn’t work for Cyrano either.

PETER:
I’m no good even by proxy.

MICKY:
Listen, I’ll tell you what I do know is that you’ve got to get that picture back before we all get in trouble. It’s Miss Cartwright. Uh, the picture! Uh, take off the—and over there. Uh yeah. ??? Come cart, miss in right! I mean, uh, hi, huh.

VALERIE:
Hi. Just thought I’d stop by and see what music you’ll be playing at the party.

MICKY:
Oh. Oh, well, I thought we’d start out with, uh, “Last Train to Portrait”. I mean, uh, hi, ha ha.

VALERIE:
You remember Ronnie Farnsworth?

MICKY:
Oh, yes. Huh. Uh, sorry, I can’t kneel; I have a trick knee, a-ha.

RONNIE:
Don’t touch me. What a dump! This place is incredible. You’d have to call an interior decorator in if you wanted to condemn it. Look at that lamp. Look at that table. Look at that person. Look at that mirror. You, uh, really get a big kick out of yourself, don’t ya?

MIKE:
Yeah, well, I’m all I have.

RONNIE:
That’s too bad.

RONNIE:
Nobody ???. Valerie. Valerie, that is your portrait! They are the ones who stole it! I am going to contact the authorities.

MICKY:
You do, and I’ll be sorry!

PETER:
I took the picture, Miss Cartwright.

VALERIE:
That’s alright, Peter. You can return it at the party. Come on, Ronnie.

RONNIE:
Monkees.

MIKE:
Come on, Micky, cool it. Now Ronnie’s got a lot of very redeeming qualities.

DAVY:
A heh. He probably loves his mother. Heh heh.

MICKY:
He’s probably very kind to dumb animals.

PETER:
He probably gives to the Red Cross.

MIKE:
Anything else?

DAVY, MICKY, MIKE, PETER:
We attack! Ahh!

EXT. JACQUES’ CAFE

RONNIE:
Only the best for you, my dear. Garçon! Garçon! Uh, some, uh, champagne, the best in the house.

DAVY:
Ooh! Oui, mon-shure.

RONNIE:
Oh, you look beautiful tonight, my dear. Absolutely ravishing.

DAVY:
Uh, champagne, sir?

RONNIE:
Ah! Yes, uh, champagne. Uh, only, only, only one who is born to the grape knows the proper way to open champagne. Here let me.

EXT. PARK

VALERIE:
I don’t know, Ronnie, your attitude—

RONNIE:
Oh, art, Valerie, art!

VALERIE:
That’s nice.

RONNIE:
Oh, Valerie. No, no. You see, that doesn’t say anything. It’s ab—oh, but this. I mean, this is magnificent. A comment on the over-mechanized structure of our society. Uh, young man. I—young man, are you the artist responsible for this magnificent creation?

MIKE:
What are you, a nut?

RONNIE:
Oh, no. I love it! I’m an authority. Listen, I must have it. I simply must have it!

MIKE:
Well, you can have it, but all it does it turn on the fountain.

EXT. STREET

RONNIE:
Now, Valerie, please understand; he was making that up.

MICKY:
Take a toy home for the little nipper, sir?

RONNIE:
Oh, no, thank you very much.

MICKY:
Oh, you don’t like kids, huh?

RONNIE:
Ha ha. Of course I like children very much.

MICKY:
Well, then you’ll just love our new Derby doll. Here, hold her.

RONNIE:
Oh, isn’t she cute.

MICKY:
Yeah, isn’t she. Only doll on the market that really wets. And spits. And screams.

RONNIE:
Say, haven’t I seen you somewhere before?

MICKY:
Nope, sorry. Got to go now.

RONNIE:
I am beginning to smell a rat.

INT. CARTWRIGHT HOUSE

RONNIE:
There. I told you, Valerie. I told you so. Now there is the waiter, there is the park man, and there’s the toy salesman. A feeble plot to discredit me. Well, well, two can play at this game. Ha ha. A-ha.

EXT. PARK

VALERIE:
Hello, Peter.

PETER:
Hello, Miss Cartwright.

RONNIE:
Nice of you fellas to join us for this afternoon. You’ve shot skeet before, haven’t you, Tork?

PETER:
Well, I—

DAVY:
Well, actually, Mr. Farnsworth, I happen to be an expert with a gun.

RONNIE:
Very well, Jones. You don’t mind if I shoot first, do you?

DAVY:
Oh, go ahead.

RONNIE:
Good. Alright, Jeeves. Pull! Hm. Give it a go, Jones, old boy.

JEEVES:
Ah!

RONNIE:
Close shot.

EXT. PARK

RONNIE:
And that, gentlemen, was a humble example of perfect archery. Tork? Tork, you look exactly like Nesmith.

MIKE:
Well, I’ll tell you what there, good buddy. I’ve, uh, killed me many a mountain lion with this bow and arrow here.

RONNIE:
Well, that’s very impressive. You’ll be wonderful, I’m sure.

MIKE:
Well, no, they were, you know, they were little bitty mountain lions. They were like cubs and stuff.

RONNIE:
Yes, that’s staggering, that thought.

MIKE:
Well, they were. Sorry, I don’t—

RONNIE:
Um, you’re supposed to shoot with it, not wear it.

MIKE:
Well, I know. Ha ha ha. Very funny.

RONNIE:
Ah, Jeeves.

MIKE:
I don’t think I’ve ever used one of these kind before. It’s sort of a weird-looking dealy here.

RONNIE:
Stand back, Jeeves. Good servants are hard to find. Press on.

MIKE:
There’s that, that’s it, huh? Alright.

RONNIE:
Excellent. Ho-hum, what a pleasant afternoon.

EXT. PARK

RONNIE:
Now, the point of badminton is to hit the bird back and forth as hard as you can. What do you say, Tork? Shall I serve?

PETER:
Uh, uh—

MICKY:
I say, badminton’s my game, Farnsworth, old bean.

RONNIE:
Very well, Dolenz, and may the best man win.

MICKY:
Pray tell.

RONNIE:
Where’s the bird, Dolenz? Nice return, Dolenz.

VALERIE:
Oh, Ronnie!

RONNIE:
Valerie!

INT. THE PAD

MIKE:
Well, I guess we blew it.

MICKY:
Man, those lawn games just aren’t our bag.

DAVY:
We’re sorry, Peter.

INT. CARTWRIGHT HOUSE

RONNIE:
I was just trying to show you what they were.

VALERIE:
Ronnie, I don’t care what you were trying to show me, but in shaming those boys, you humiliated me and yourself.

RONNIE:
But why are you calling him?

INT. THE PAD

PETER:
She wants me to take her to the party.

MICKY:
Groovy, man! You made it!

MIKE:
That’s wonderful!

PETER:
I can’t make that scene; I don’t know how to behave with a lady.

MICKY:
Man, he really doesn’t know how.

MIKE:
He could learn.

“I’m a Believer”

INT. THE PAD

MIKE:
Come on, Pete. Cheer up; we’ll do something.

MICKY:
Don’t worry, babe.

MIKE:
Yeah, we’ll fix it. We’ll sell candy or something.

DAVY:
Ha ha ha.

MIKE:
Or greeting cards.

MICKY:
Or pencils.

DAVY:
Ha.

INT. THE PAD

DAVY:
Hey, Peter. Didn’t you ever have a crush on anybody?

PETER:
Yeah, once.

DAVY:
So, what did you do about it?

PETER:
I took her to a Cub Scout meeting.

MICKY:
Didn’t anybody ever have a crush on you or nothing?

PETER:
I once got some threatening valentines.

MIKE:
You told me you used to play spin the bottle.

PETER:
Yeah, but I always lost.

MIKE:
Oh, well, maybe we can fix that.

INT. THE PAD

MIKE:
Uh, we appreciate your coming. Uh, we’re just going to play spin the bottle. You know, the regular old party game where you spin the bottle, and whoever the bottle points to gets a kiss.

MICKY:
Who gets the bottle?

MIKE:
Um, okay, go ahead and spin it.

DAVY:
Oh. Well, what do you know?

PETER:
It always points to Davy.

MIKE:
What? It does not either. Go ahead. Spin it again.

MICKY:
Fight it, Big Peter!

PETER:
See what I mean?

DAVY:
I won again.

MIKE:
Spin it one more time, and let—ooh, wait a minute. Uh, Davy, uh, you leave the room.

DAVY:
You doing that.

MIKE:
Out. Out! All the way out! Out. Okay, go ahead, spin.

PETER:
It always happens this way.

MICKY:
This boy is very depressed. He needs help.

INT. THE PAD

MICKY:
Now tell me your problems, my boy.

PETER:
Well, when I was very young, I used to be embarrassed about kissing, but now I can talk very openly about… S-E-X.

MICKY:
Oh, ja, ja, ja. Your problem is kaput! I know. I know the problem. Mother fixation. You’re too close to your mother. Now then, don’t you feel better? Ja? Uh, ja, yes. Yes, Mother. Mother, I will. I promise, I will. Yes, I-I will. I promise, I will, yeah. That was my mother! She tells me to put on my galoshes all the time. ??? It’s not even raining, and she wants me to put on my galoshes. You know, when I was a little boy, my mother used to wrap my lunch in a road map. ???

INT. THE PAD

MICKY:
Man, I still think Freud could help.

PETER:
Well, then let Freud take her to the party; I can’t go through with it.

MIKE:
Oh, sure you can. Besides, we’ll be right up there on the bandstand giving you moral support.

PETER:
Promise?

INT. CARTWRIGHT HOUSE

MICKY:
Remember, talk music, books, and politics.

PETER:
I read an interesting music about books and politics today. It was very interesting.

MICKY:
Oh, man, he’s gonna blow it.

PETER:
I was re-reading Hamlet the other day. It’s about this Danish prince.

DAVY:
Hey, we’d better do something before he starts to cry.

MIKE:
Come on.

PETER:
And then the queen drinks the poison, and then she dies.

VALERIE:
Peter, would you mind refilling this for me?

PETER:
Yes. No.

MICKY:
Mr. Tork? Mr. Tork? Uh, Mr.—I’m looking for Mr.—Mr. Tork? Is he—oh, excuse me. Mr. Tork? I’m looking for a Mr. Peter Tork. Is there—oh, yes! Uh, hello. Um, I’m looking for Peter Tork. I’m his stockbroker. I have to tell him to sell short, before Short changes his mind.

VALERIE:
I thought Peter was just a musician; is he very wealthy?

MICKY:
We-we-wealthy? Oh! He smokes ten cigars a day and lights them with hundred dollar bills.

VALERIE:
That’s an expensive habit.

MICKY:
Well, not really; he gets his cigars wholesale.

PETER:
Here’s your drink, Miss Cartwright.

VALERIE:
Peter, your stockbroker is here.

PETER:
My wha—

MICKY:
Good evening, Mr. Tork. Have a cigar.

PETER:
Uh, I, I don’t smoke.

MICKY:
Oh, his accountant told him to cut down. Oh, go ahead, Mr. Tork, light up. If you don’t have any hundred dollar bills, here, I have a blank check.

VALERIE:
Peter, you didn’t tell me you were in the market.

MICKY:
In the mark-market?

PETER:
In the market?

MICKY:
Oh, in the market. You’ve heard of the New York Stock Exchange?

VALERIE:
Why, yes.

MICKY:
Yes, well, he owns the New Tork Stock Exchange.

DAVY:
Oh, hello. Have you seen Mr. Tork? No, you haven’t? Thank you very much, excuse me. Yes. Oh, hello. I’m Mr. Tork’s private English tailor.

VALERIE:
Oh, really?

DAVY:
Yes, isn’t that nice? Yes. Excuse me. Uh, now, Mr. Tork, I’ve told you before, if you want that jacket by Thursday, you’re gonna have to have a fitting right now. Could you hold me cloth, please? Thank you very much.

MICKY:
Oh, of course, yeah. Hold your cloth.

DAVY:
Now, let me see. Shoulders, shoulders are thirty-eight.

MICKY:
Shoulders thirty-eight.

DAVY:
Could you hold that, please? Thank you.

MICKY:
Shoulders are thirty-eight.

DAVY:
Waist eighteen.

MICKY:
Waist eighteen.

DAVY:
I see. Yes, yes.

MICKY:
Um, thirty.

DAVY:
Yes, head.

MICKY:
Head?

DAVY:
Neck.

MICKY:
Neck.

DAVY:
Twenty-eight. Oh, you’ve got a big neck, haven’t you? Could I have my cloth, please?

MICKY:
The cloth? Sure. Right away.

DAVY:
Thank you very much. Here we go.

MICKY:
You’re gonna just have a great hunting jacket; the foxes won’t know what hit ’em.

DAVY:
??? Now let’s drape it over his head.

MICKY:
The shoulders are a little wide, I think.

DAVY:
There it is. Hold it, hold it. Wait.

MICKY:
Over here.

DAVY:
Uh, yes, we need to cut it. Uh, don’t worry, be with you in a minute yet. A line down here, line here. There, yeah.

VALERIE:
Peter, you’re a surprise a minute. The next thing I expect to see is the captain of your yacht.

MIKE:
Uh, Mr. Tork, would you like for me to br-bring the yacht around? I’m the captain of his yacht, there.

PETER:
No, I came by bus.

MICKY:
Oh, he came by bus. That’s very funny.

DAVY:
He’s very funny, yeah.

MICKY:
He is quite humorous.

MIKE:
Um, will you be, will you be sleeping the custom-customary twenty people tonight?

PETER:
No, not tonight.

MIKE:
No? Well, uh, look at the map here, I’ll show you. You like to look at the map here. See the, see the map there? The map—

MICKY:
Gonna make a lovely—

RONNIE:
Oh, excuse me. A-ha!

VALERIE:
Ronnie! What are you doing here?

RONNIE:
Oh! I am here to expose some Monkees who are making a monkey out of you.

MICKY:
Oh, I better get back to the stock market.

MIKE:
Yeah, I left the yacht running.

DAVY:
And I’ve got some alterations to make.

RONNIE:
Stop! Frauds, every one of ’em. Yachtsmen, brokers, tailors. Ha! They are just fifth-rate musicians.

MICKY:
Third-rate musicians!

RONNIE:
Third-rate musicians. You are being paid to play. Play! Huh. It’s, it’s true, isn’t it, Tork? Frauds. Fraudulent frauds.

PETER:
It’s true. It’s true. They’re just my friends, but they knew how much you meant to me, and they wanted to make me out something special.

VALERIE:
But you are something special, Peter.

PETER:
Me?

VALERIE:
You didn’t have to do all of this; I think you’re a fine enough person just being yourself.

MIKE:
Hello, everybody. We’re The Monkees, and for the first song this evening, we’d like to do “You May Just Be The One”.

PETER:
The first dance is mine.

RONNIE:
No, no, no, no, no. Valerie, this, uh, dance is mine.

PETER:
Valerie, you decide.

“You Just May Be the One”

MIKE:
Would you believe that the Peter we all know and love is now turned into a wolf in sheep’s clothing?

MICKY:
Which just goes to prove, you can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear… if you have enough good silk.

DAVY:
Which proves more than ever, it’s not how you play the game, it’s whether you win or lose.