Everybody Loves You

A Bird On A Wire (Mick's Story)

Malibu, California
Monday, January 9, 2023
(4:00 pm)
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Ten years ago, when my third wife gave me an ultimatum of going to therapy or accepting another divorce, a well-meaning but unhelpful therapist had told me that Stevie Nicks was the reason all four of my marriages to three different women had been unsuccessful.

My therapist was a middle-aged, balding man named Richard who was of Polynesian descent and had an office in the city center of Lahaina with too many spider plants and glass furniture. He'd taken copious notes on a yellow legal pad for months and so when I protested his theory, jumping to Stevie's defense - and mine - he'd had the evidence right there in black and white...well, yellow and blue, as it were.

"Mick, my notes are private, but I'd like to show them to you from afar," Richard said, uncrossing his legs and then crossing them from the other side and clearing his throat. He flipped through the yellow pad of paper and took a rough count of how much times he'd written down that I'd mentioned Stevie in conversation.

"I fail to see what all that proves, Richard," I said. I shifted a bit on the red leather sofa. "I mention Stevie a lot because I see her a lot; she's one of my best friends and she's in the band with me."

"Understandably so, Mick, but it's not that." He flipped the pad closed on his lap and folded his hands over it, kind of cupping his knee. He looked at me seriously, the way Lynn did when she was upset with me. "Stevie is the heroine in all of your stories. I mean, you're great friends and band mates with three other people, but it's always Stevie who features prominently in your stories - your pizza date conversations when you play The Garden, your worry about her regarding Lindsey, your walks on the beach and your movie nights and concern for her taking her mother's death so hard. Mick, has it occurred to you that you are head over heels in love with Stevie?"

It occurred to me every day. I just hadn't shared as much with Richard.

I remember driving home that afternoon in the rain, a small sun shower. Every radio station seemed to be on commercial break, and I was beginning to agree with Lindsey that I was missing out by not having Sirius Radio in the car. The only song I found on was a thirty-year-old ballad by REO Speedwagon called "Can't Fight This Feeling". Stevie used to play the hell out of it when it came out in 1984, when I used to visit her at her big house in the Palisades where she lived with Joe Walsh and her dogs and an enormous mountain of cocaine on the coffee table.

"I can't fight this feeling any longer...and yet I'm still afraid to let it flow...What started out as friendship has grown stronger...I only wish I had the strength to let it show...I tell myself that I can't hold out forever...I said there is no reason for my fear...'cause I feel so secure when we're together...
You give my life direction, you make everything so clear...And even as I wander,I'm keeping you in sight...You're a candle in the window on a cold, dark winter's night...and I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might..."

Lynn had been telling me forever that I was still in love with Stevie. It wasn't that she blamed Stevie, you understand; she just knew me that well. Sara and I had broken up over Stevie as well...I mean, over my addiction too, but also because she knew she was the woman I'd married by default only after a decade of living together and trying to make it work. And Jenny...well...no need to rehash 1970s Fleetwood Mac drama; everyone's heard that story!

We were in the middle of our On With The Show tour then. Christine had returned to the band after sixteen years, John's cancer was in remission, and Stevie was getting a great deal of mileage out of her "Gypsy" origin story as well as her story about Christine's return, complete with her God-awful impersonation of Christine that made her sound like a cartoon character based on Queen Elizabeth and made the audience laugh.

What was I supposed to do in the face of all that happiness? Shut down the tour and whisk Stevie away to some tropical island paradise so we could live out our dreams as one? Besides, Stevie's heart belonged to Lindsey. Even though he had been married to Kristen and had three children with her...something Stevie had insisted he do back in 1997, when that beautiful era known as The Dance was over and the big romantic dream we'd all shared of being together with no drama was over as well...she loved him still. She even wrote that in a song.

I bided my time, waited for the inevitable end of my marriage to Lynn, and when the dust settled and we'd worked out all the legal business - property, custody of the girl and all - I figured there was my chance. If I really was in love with Stevie, I was a free man now, and I could approach her with the information. I could right the grievous wrong I'd done that terrible night in 1978 when I'd let Sara into my bedroom and forever ruined what could have been with the love of my life.

And so weeks ago, when Stevie called me from her cousin Ed's house in Colorado to wish me a Merry Christmas and asked about my New Years plans, this old man, still reeling from the loss of one of his longest and most significant friendships, had drummed up an entire New Years celebration and invited her to attend. I invited John to try and cheer him up, but he wasn't ready to be cheered up. I invited the girls, but Tessa had plans with her boyfriend and Ruby with friends.

In the end, it was only Stevie who got off the plane at the airport in Maui, telling me Karen was with her sister until the end of the week and she was "just an old lady flying solo." I told her I didn't see any old lady but she rolled her eyes at me and said, "Mick, one of these days you'll have to face it. We're not getting any younger."

I think Christine's death was making her feel her mortality just as it was mine.

So I kissed her. I kissed her and declared my love for her once and for all. Now I found myself sitting beside her at Christine's memorial service, and Lindsey was on her other side. I should have been focusing on the matter at hand - one of my best friends had died three weeks ago the love of her life, my best friend, was seated next to me at her memorial service.

But I couldn't. All I could focus on was the fact that as people gathered in the chairs facing the candles and the big picture of Christine up in the front of the room, Lindsey's hand had gravitated towards Stevie's on the armrest between them, and in a matter of seconds, they were holding hands.

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