Talk To Me: The Dance Thriller, Part 1

Locked Inside, Hidden Deep From View

Hollywood, California
Friday, April 18, 1997
(12:00 pm)
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"Can we leave this fan on?"

Christine McVie had been complaining about the heat inside the rehearsal studio from the moment they'd arrived. At fifty-three years old, she'd confided in Stevie after a hot flash last week had forced her to take a break at the piano, she was going through menopause. Stevie, who had just recently experienced her first hot flash herself and was starting to have to keep track of her own cycle as it became more irregular, had simply turned around to her good friend and said, "I'm with you, sister. Middle aged rock and roll women unite!"

The handlers had encouraged Stevie to sit on one of the large red equipment cases, Mick standing behind her, Christine and John occupying chairs to their right, so they could be interviewed together. Lindsey stood to her left against another equipment case, and she knew that if he continued to hover over her as he was, it would give them away. She knew it didn't help matters that just a few minutes ago, tucked away in a dressing room in the back, Stevie had asked Lindsey how she looked and if her black sneakers were as bad as Mick had said, and he'd answered by kissing her so passionately it took her breath away and telling her to remember last night every she doubted her beauty.

"You are beautiful. You are flawless. You are my beautiful Stephanie," he'd said, holding her close as he left a halo of kisses against her forehead. "And you are Stevie Nicks. Don't forget that."

Now she sat staring directly into the lens of a camera, thinking its aim was too low, but not sure if she should say anything. Christine, still worried about the temperature on the stage as they sat together and she pulled a bit at her black blazer, which she wore with jeans and boots and looking smart and fashionable with her new, shorter haircut, clearly hoped the fan would stay on for the duration of the interview.

Two different men answered, and it seemed like the answer was no. Mick offered, "Probably bad for the sound, eh?"

"It's not helping me, anyway," said Lindsey, who stood right behind Stevie. Because she was the shortest member of the band by far at five-foot-one, the people in charge had propped her up on a large red equipment case to sit. Lindsey was behind her to her left, Mick behind her to her right, and seated next to him were Christine and John. John looked like he would rather be anywhere else, Stevie thought, but then again, that was John McVie for you - always just a little bit checked out whenever they were together.

"Not helping you anyway," Christine mused, and then she said, "I shouldn't have said anything." She saw with a look of disappointment that the fan was already being turned off. Her attentions turned to the camera then, and she turned to Lindsey, whose view of the lens was clearer than hers where he stood. "Is that camera high up enough? Is it doing its thing?"

Mick volunteered the answer, saying, "I saw the shot, and it's.." but Stevie, who needed three tries to cut in, finished the answer for him.

"It's not high up to me; I'm looking right in that camera," Stevie explained, hoping everyone meant that if she was the smallest person there and sitting down, that no, the camera was not high up enough.

"Seems A-okay to me," Mick said, sounding a bit exasperated, but Lindsey tapped her on the shoulder, volunteering his own idea.

"Do you want someone else to check it out? You worried?"

"Yeah." She could feel Mick behind her, growing slightly upset at the fact that Lindsey hadn't taken his word for it.

"Lindsey..." That came from Mick. Stevie was already upset with him for his comment about her shoes earlier that day, but she chose to ignore it.