lady, take me away ( mike nesmith )

mercy woman

feb. 1970

At the insistence of one very determined acquaintance, Mike found himself at a bar on a lonely Monday evening. He had fancied himself a hermit during the past couple weeks, even growing a beard to top it off. Cabin fever hadn't reached him yet but his friend knew it would be a matter of time before it did.

"When was the last time you went out?" Mark asked him after they ordered their drinks. Gin and tonic for Mark, bourbon for Mike.

"No idea," Mike confessed. "Last November, probably? Moved in to that place on Christmas."

His companion winced at that answer and shook his head. "You can't live like this, man. Haven't you been writing? I thought you booked studio time."

"That was in December. Besides, I didn't have enough material so I cancelled it. I got writer's block."

The bartender slid their drinks to them. Mark stopped Mike from paying, presenting his own cash. The bartender took the bill. Mark turned to Mike, worry etched in his expression. "That's why you gotta go out! You'll get worse if you stay inside all day. Go see a movie. Get a drink. Take a walk. Do something."

Looking at his glass, Mike gave a vague nod. "Suppose you're right about that."

Mark reached over to pat his shoulder. "Right, that's why you're comin' with me to the Aurora. There's a band out there I think you'll like."

"Mark, I dunno—"

"You don't even know who it is! Don't be a baby. We're gonna go and you're gonna have a good time."

After a couple more drinks, Mike followed behind Mark as they walked down to the venue. The Aurora was a fairly new venue but it gained popularity when the likes of Linda Ronstadt and Gram Parsons graced its short stage. It had been a possible venue for the Monkees, too, but that was before the collapse of the band. Despite his initial reluctance, Mike felt that rush of excitement when you arrived at a show. It was nice to experience that wave wash over him again even if he was merely a spectator.

The two men ascended the steps to watch from one of the balconies. The Newcomers wouldn't come on for another hour but two opening acts would keep the audience entertained. The first was a trio whose name escaped Mike. They had the look but their sound needed a little work. He wasn't impressed. The songs sounded almost the same to him. They could benefit from another member.

As the trio exited the stage, a slender figure clad in black passed them by. A stage hand placed a chair right in the middle of the stage. The woman sat upon the chair, placing her acoustic guitar on her lap. The audience looked on as she set up her mic and tuned her guitar. Her voice was gentle as she greeted the crowd, a little sliver of a smile curling on her lip.

Intrigued, Mike leaned forward on the railing. Her dark hair melded almost seamlessly with her dark clothes. Without so much as an introduction, the woman began to play. The moment he heard the first note, Mike was hooked. The guitar sang with her, pulling forth a haunting melody. Entranced, he hardly paid attention to his friend's commentary. Throughout her short set, Mike hung on to every moment of it. He wasn't sure if he envied her or if he admired her. All he knew was that his fascination compelled him to find her after the show. Much to his surprise, she ended her set with a cover of a Monkees song. His own composition had never sounded so mesmerising. Mike doubled down on his intention. He had to meet her.

"You have to take me to her," Mike insisted the moment she walked off stage.

Sipping his drink, Mark gave a shake of his head. "Can't. I have no idea who that is. She's a good one, isn't she?"

"Find me someone who does then."

The rest of the evening couldn't compare to those twenty minutes of acoustic bliss. The Newcomers were good but not as good as that mysterious woman. Asking around, the other concertgoers seemed to have also missed the part where that songstress introduced herself. A bit frustrated, Mike figured he'd have to find her on his own. At the end of the night, Mark insisted on going backstage to meet the band and say hello. Clinging to a sliver of hope that she'd be there, Mike agreed and followed him down the steps.

Coming into the dressing room, Mike could see the first opening act and the headliner. No sign of the woman, unfortunately. Still hung up on her, he poked around for some sort of information. The bassist from the trio mentioned that she liked to leave the venue after she played. And the drummer added that she kept to herself for most of the tour. Dissatisfied, he pressed for a name.

"Dunno her real name," the bassist confessed. "She goes by June but I know that ain't it."

"You toured with her for nearly two months and know nothing about her?" Mike asked, absolutely gobsmacked.

"She's a brilliant musician but she's not in the scene. Doesn't hang out with us at bars or stay for the rest of the show. She's a quiet type. Probably back at the hotel right about now."

Realising he was getting nowhere, Mike decided to head home. Mark had struck up a long conversation with the Newcomers so Mike bid his goodbyes and headed out. He needed fresh air, anyhow. The cigarette smoke was too much in there. He slipped through a side door to avoid the crowd still out front. The night was chilly. That denim jacket had him sweating bullets inside but now it felt just right. Just as he stepped outside, someone approached the door before it closed, narrowly missing him. Mike inched away from the door to let the person in. He was about to go on his merry way when he realised who had passed him by. The swish of her black dress gave her away.

"Hey! Wait!" Mike called after her. She didn't hear him and the door swung closed. Swearing quietly, he abandoned his quest for the night. He'll have to find where they're playing next. With his hands shoved in his pockets, he made his way down the street, whistling her rendition of "Tapioca Tundra."