Kind Of Woman (Mirage Era: Part 1)

The Touch Of My Fingers

Château d'Houerville
"The Honkey Château"
Houerville, France
Thanksgiving Day,
Friday, November 27, 1981
1:30 am

********************

For the first time in six years, Stevie wished that the five members of Fleetwood Mac didn't party so hard.

The Thanksgiving celebration had given way to the Happy Birthday John McVie celebration somewhere around eight-thirty with the cake, and cake had turned to more drinks, which had turned to more cocaine, and the Rolling Stones played until there were no songs left, finally ending with "Monkey Man" coming through the speakers as everyone but Stevie, Lindsey, Mick and Christine had gone upstairs. Stevie sat with Mick for awhile around the coffee table, but Lindsey noticed that she was not using nearly as much cocaine as she had at the beginning of the evening; in fact, it wasn't long before Christine sat down on the carpet beside Mick and Stevie took her former spot on the sofa, trying not to stare are Lindsey because deep down, she'd done just enough cocaine that evening to become a little paranoid, something that rarely happened to her anymore, thinking, What if he changes his mind? The kisses they had shared outside earlier had made her waver; she knew he had felt that. She thought briefly of Jimmy, asleep somewhere in New York right now...or maybe not, maybe he was out with Tom and Mike and the other Heartbreakers having a ball on Thanksgiving night and picking up random women...with Jimmy anything was possible and she knew that. She thought then of Carol Ann, asleep somewhere tonight in the house she shared with Lindsey, even though, technically, she lived somewhere else because he'd told her he operated best living alone. This was certainly not about to be the first time she cheated a man in her life, nor was it about to be the first time she'd been the other woman...but somehow, she thought, when it was Lindsey, none of that mattered.

He was mine first, she thought, thinking suddenly of the first Thanksgiving they had spent together as a couple ten years before, eating turkey sandwiches and French fries - their poor man's version of turkey and potatoes - sitting with Ginny the dog on their mattress on the floor in Keith Olsen's basement, watching It's A Wonderful Life to ring in the Christmas season and making love for hours until finally, wrapped in each other's arms under the covers in the cold November air in the unheated basement apartment, Lindsey had whispered into her hair from behind, his arms around her shoulders and his fingers caressing hers, "You are what I'm thankful for, Stephanie. I know it's corny but it's Thanksgiving and I am so thankful that you love me as much as I love you and that I get to hold you this way, angel."

What if he'd had enough time to rethink this?

It was one o'clock before she announced she was going upstairs to bed. She kissed Christine and Mick good night and told them, "Happy Thanksgiving, you British colonists!" with a giggle before heading upstairs, leaving them to their mirror topped with whatever cocaine they had left. Lindsey waited ten agonizing minutes before going upstairs to his own room, his heart about to leap from his chest. Suddenly, as he changed into pajamas to keep up appearances, he was gripped with fear.

What if enough time had elapsed tonight that she'd changed her mind?

All he'd been thinking about for hours was the way she'd felt in his arms tonight, so tiny and warm and soft, her unbelievable kisses tasting so sweet and so familiar...like home. He had to take a moment to himself in the hallway before knocking on her door, trying to relax, to breathe, to tell himself there was nothing to be nervous about, that this was Stevie, his Stevie...even if she'd hadn't actually been his for years, and she had been the one to invite him into her room. He relaxed enough to even laugh to himself over the lyrics of his own song coming to his mind..."She broke down and let me in...made me miss it where I've been..." He might have sung that he was never going back again, but he'd known the moment he'd put that lyric on paper five years ago that it was a lie. All he wanted was for her to let him in, and he'd go back as many times as she'd have him. Taking a deep breath, he knocked lightly at her door. Stevie pulled the door open just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her in a little red silk nightgown and a matching robe that spilled from one shoulder, her hair loose and wild and reminding him the way it framed her face of a golden halo, and when her lips curled into a shy little smile, that was all he needed. He was in love.