Storms (6 page)

My mind went back to those wild summer days almost five years before, driving in from Tulsa with Lori, the wind in our hair, down Route 66. That was the last time I had a new beginning. And this tickling inner excitement felt exactly as it did that day. Lindsey and love had given me back the hope I had then. I had been eighteen and the world was waiting for me. Just as it was now. I wasn't at all afraid.

So we went shopping for Lindsey's ski boots. I invaded the silent home I'd left to pick up some of my clothes and I moved in with Lindsey, just for one crazy night together when all that longing, all that holding back, all that slow, easy slide into love, exploded into the passion that it had tried to deny.

We didn't sleep at all. Lindsey's flight to Aspen was at 8
A.M.
and at 7:00 he sat up in bed and pulled me close. He told me he loved me. It was a huge moment, that confession, but he didn't need to say it. He'd shown me. Every surface of my body, heart, and mind had been touched by his tenderness, by the artistry in those long, long fingers that now wound themselves in my tousled hair.

“I love you, too”, I whispered, exhausted and deliriously happy. “Always.”

We'd arranged that I'd stay in his house while he was away, so that I could go looking for my dream apartment. Something told me that I'd find exactly what I was looking for. Fairy-tale happy endings were being written into this story on every page. There was just no point accepting second best or making do, ever again. So, when the first ten apartments I'd looked at
weren't perfect, I continued the search, knowing that any day now another miracle would happen.

And it did. Just as I was driving to work down Hollywood Boulevard, a building caught my eye and I pulled over on the spur of the moment. There was a beautiful, shady courtyard surrounded by stuccoed, Spanish-style pueblo apartments. How many times had I driven past and never noticed it? A “No Vacancy” sign hung over the entrance but, despite that, I rang the manager's buzzer.

“Do you have an apartment available, by any chance?” I asked.

She was taken aback. “How did you know? The girl just moved out yesterday—we haven't even had a chance to sweep the floors! Would you like to see it? It's $200 a month, furnished, with utilities paid.”

A magnolia tree, heavy with pink blossom, scented the air as we climbed the stairs to a first-floor apartment, and I discovered my home at last. It reminded me of my grandmother's house, with heavy, old, darkwood furniture, but bathed in light from the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the courtyard and that magnificent magnolia tree. Within hours I collected the keys.

Lindsey had been calling me every single night and each time we talked for at least two hours. I couldn't wait to tell him that night about my apartment.

“I'm really glad for you, Carol Ann. I'd kinda hoped you'd still be at my place when I got back”, he murmured.

“Well, maybe you can come round to mine?” I laughed.

By the time Lindsey returned from Aspen, I was all moved in. I'd decided to leave my furniture and keepsakes from my relationship with John at the house I had shared with him. I wanted nothing from my old life intruding into my new one. I took Claire's baby book and antique cradle, my clothes, family pictures, and a few pots and pans. That's all. It was the beginning of February 1977 and I was turning the page.

Since his return from Aspen, Lindsey and I had fallen into a routine. He picked me up every night at 6
P.M.
and after a quick dinner we'd return to the privacy of my new apartment. We spent every night together—happy, relaxed, and in love. All of our nights were passionate, and our lovemaking this night had been no exception. I was exhausted and content as I fell asleep in his arms.

In the dead of night, I awoke with a start. The room was bathed in shadows, soft moonlight seeping through the cheap Venetian blinds that covered the large bedroom window. Sensing that something was wrong, my heart started pounding as I sat up quickly in bed, reaching for Lindsey. With a shock, I saw that he was sitting with his knees drawn tightly up against his chest. He had his head lowered and was rocking back and forth.

“Are you all right, baby?” I whispered.

“I guess”, he answered in a low voice.

I put my hand softly on his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Lindsey pushed his tousled curls out of his face and took a deep breath. He tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a moan as he answered, “I have a lot on my mind.”

The tension coming from Lindsey felt like a dark presence in the room. Again he started to rock back and forth and I could sense that he was close to tears. “It's the tour … I'm worried about the tour and the rehearsals we have coming up. It was so hard making the album. So many damn fights! John's breakup with Christine and mine with Stevie was a total nightmare. Can we get past all that ugliness and do a tour?”

As I sat and listened to him talk I involuntarily bit my lip at the mention of Stevie. Lindsey had never really talked to me about what happened during the recording of
Rumours.
He'd told me briefly about John and Christine's divorce and that he and Stevie had been broken up for a year
before we met. I'd never asked him about the details of his relationship with her. Like everyone else, I'd heard the songs on the album. The rage, pain, and blatant accusations of infidelities spoke volumes. Listening to him in the dark, I knew that tonight was not the time to ask him to reveal intimate truths.

“I know that all of us are on our best behavior now”, he continued in a shaky voice. “We've called a truce. I only hope that it'll last. The band has to be tight on stage, Carol. If we're not, the tour will suck.”

“Shhh, baby. It's going to be OK. From what I can see, each and every one of you wants this to work. You guys will be ready … if you don't feel that you are, then you can fix that in rehearsals, right?”

He nodded and stared quietly into the darkness.

As I struggled for words to soothe him, I knew that what was happening to the five members of Fleetwood Mac must be as frightening as it was phenomenal, for it was as obvious as it was invisible. Lindsey was about to be crowned a rock ‘n' roll superstar. It was a crown that was heavy with expectations. Superstardom and all of its trappings were what he'd been working toward for years but had never expected to possess. And now that it was happening, I knew that he was both aware and afraid that the weight of it might, in a very short time, crush him. My heart ached for him. I swore to myself that I would do everything within my power to help him through whatever might lie ahead for him—and us.

Rumours
was due to be released in a month's time. If the radio airplay was any indication, then the album could be very, very successful. But as every artist knows, even when you have a huge album, you have to prove yourself on stage, again and again. The bigger the band, the more the public expects and wants. Maybe for some musicians, having an amazing record and a so-so live show was good enough—but it wasn't good enough for Fleetwood Mac. They wanted to have it all: the best record of the year
and
the best show. Anything less would be failure. And Lindsey wasn't a man to accept failure—either from himself or anyone else in the band.

I pulled Lindsey into my arms, feeling fear for us both. As I stroked his hair and lulled him back to sleep, I knew it was I, not Lindsey, who was going to be sleepless for the rest of the night. Rehearsals were beginning. I now knew that it wasn't going to be a party—it was going to be hard work
for Lindsey and tension for us all. I realized that not only did I have Lindsey to bolster, but also I would, for the first time, be spending a lot of “quality time” with Stevie Nicks. She had avoided me at the celebration dinner, but she had to go to rehearsals—as did I. Lindsey and I were determined that nothing could keep us from spending our evenings together—not even an upcoming world tour. Since his attendance was mandatory at rehearsals, so was mine.

This, of course, would be a very intense situation for me. I was very aware that so far, Stevie had done little to make me feel welcome. I didn't blame her. I wouldn't be keen on having the new girlfriend of my ex-lover hanging around either. There was nothing for it, however. She and I would have to find a middle ground where we both could live with each other. And it would start at rehearsals. Lindsey was quickly becoming the most important person in my life, and I had no intention of going anywhere.

The band had already had some raw rehearsals in a small studio in the San Fernando Valley called, of all things, Rat. Beginning the next evening, the real rehearsals for the
Rumours
tour would be held on a large soundstage at the famed SIR Studios on Sunset Boulevard. Lindsey gave me specific directions before I left him in the morning and made me promise to be there as soon as I could after work. I looked at his pale face and tangled brown curls and told him that nothing could keep me away. He smiled and kissed me gently before I went out the front door into another day of drizzling rain.

I spent the whole day just going through the motions at Producer's Workshop. I kept thinking of Lindsey and his midnight confession of anxiety about the upcoming tour. Would I be strong enough, smart enough, to help him cope? I had to be. He needed me. No matter how hard it might be for me, I was going to be there for him, I vowed to myself. I counted the minutes until I could see him again.

As soon as the clock struck six, I dashed out of Producer's Workshop, trying desperately to keep my hair from becoming wet in the ever-present drizzle, and jumped into my car for a mad shopping spree at Century City shopping center. This would be the first night I'd spend any length of time around Lindsey's ex-girlfriend, Stevie Nicks. And as every woman knows, a dress and a new pair of shoes can become a suit of armor when facing such a challenge. Let's face it, walking into Fleetwood Mac's first big rehearsal
for their tour would be a huge deal for anyone. Walking in as the new girlfriend of the guitar player whose ex is a rock ‘n' roll goddess and one of the lead singers in his band would constitute a challenge for any female in the world.

Running into Country Club Fashions, I grabbed a sexy little black dress and platform shoes that laced up around my ankles. I got dressed in the store's dressing room and stuffed my blue jeans and T-shirt into a shopping bag as I ran out of the shop's door to my car. Already late, I touched up my makeup under the red glare of stoplights and chain-smoked the entire way to SIR. I pulled into the large multiplex of soundstages and entertainment offices and drove up to the window of the small guard station. Giving my name, I watched as the guard checked it off the short guest list in his hand. I parked just outside Soundstage B, and shivered in the darkness and cold as I climbed out of my car. My dress and small jacket did little to ward off the chill that I was feeling both from the cold of February and the butterflies in my stomach. Taking a deep breath, I headed toward the big doors that opened onto Soundstage B.

It was huge. I stood quietly at the back of the rehearsal hall to get my bearings. There was a brightly lit area straight ahead of me in the arena-sized room. In the center of the light, I could see Mick's drums, Lindsey's guitars on their stands, huge amps, and microphones with snakes of cables extending off into the darkness behind. As I took baby steps toward the light, rows of metal chairs came into view, grouped in front of the stage area.

The first person I saw was Stevie Nicks, sitting on the edge of a wooden crate with an acoustic guitar strapped around her neck. Lindsey was leaning over her with his hands on his head in a classic pose of frustration. As I approached, unseen, Lindsey let out a loud wail of frustration.

“Jesus, Stevie! You said you wanted to play guitar on ‘Go Your Own Way'! This sounds like shit! It's easy to play, so what's the problem? Try it again. Now!”

Stevie bent her head over the guitar and slowly, painstakingly tried to make it through the opening guitar riff of “Go Your Own Way.” She sounded like a child playing her big brother's Gibson acoustic. John, Mick, and Christine were all lounging in the front row of metal chairs, not even trying to muffle their snickers and laughter.

Lord help me
, I said to myself,
could I have picked a worse time to arrive?

Lindsey let out another “Arrghh!” at full volume and began to stomp away from Stevie toward the cheap folding chairs. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me standing just outside the circle of light. His angry expression left his face, replaced with a glow of pleasure as he walked quickly toward me. Cringing inside, I felt all eyes upon me as I unwillingly became the center of attention. The band swiveled in their chairs, vodka tonics in hand, to become spectators to the play that was unfolding before them. As Lindsey reached me, he picked me up and swung me around in his arms. Looking over his shoulder, I could see Stevie standing up—anger and disgust etched on her face. With a toss of her hair, she took the guitar from around her neck and threw it on the floor. She then stalked off into the gloom behind the stage.

“I was about to lose it! Man, you probably saved her life by coming in just now! Where have you been? I was worried about you! You look good, angel. Come take a walk with me.” Lindsey pulled me by the hand into the shadows and began to kiss me. I heard a loud guffaw from Christine, and then John and Mick started applauding. “Well done, Lindsey! Make her feel welcome, my boy!”

Even though I was completely embarrassed, I couldn't help but laugh between kisses at the comments coming from John and Mick—comments about male virility and lust. To my relief Lindsey finally let me up for air and then took me by the arm, steering me toward the row of seats. As I got closer, I could see that John's girlfriend Julie was sitting directly behind him and that J.C. had appeared from out of nowhere.