My Heart

And It's All The Same

Brentwood, California
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
(5:00 pm)
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"I can't believe you're going to go all the way out to Santa Monica to help Her Majesty and the rest of the dragon ladies write some bullshit song about Iraq."

Kristen Buckingham sat at the kitchen island, refusing to look up from her MacBook to watch her husband as he roamed around the room looking through the cabinets. She had a cup of tea beside her as well as a legal pad and pen, which she'd been using to take down phone numbers and email addresses of various Los Angeles textile manufacturers for her interior design business. She and Lindsey and the kids had just arrived home the night before from spending Memorial Day weekend up north with his brother Jeff and his family, and it hadn't been until she'd seen Lindsey repacking his suitcase less than twelve hours after she'd unpacked it that she'd asked him where he was going...and if it had to do with the hushed phone call he'd taken in his studio last night after midnight. She knew full well he'd noticed her lingering in the hallway, eavesdropping, but she didn't care. As it was, all she'd heard clearly was him telling the person on the phone, "I get it. I appreciate your thinking of me."

Something in her gut had told her it was Stevie Nicks. Over a decade with Lindsey had taught her all about the difference voices he had for different people, and she knew his Stevie voice.

It was the kind of voice she'd always wondered why he never used when talking to her.

"She's really in a bind with the material," Lindsey explained to his wife, pulling open the doors to the cabinets above the stainless steel refrigerator and looking into the barrage of cereal boxes and bags of sugar and flour. He seemed to be looking adamantly for something in particular, Kristen noticed. "She said she was going to just use the demo version, but I know Stevie and I know that isn't what she wants to be the final product."

Kristen rolled her eyes as she lifted her coffee mug to her lips. "Jesus, Lindsey, it's bad enough that you put your own shit on hold every time Fleetwood Mac snaps their collective fingers, but can't Stevie do her own work? Doesn't she have a whole arsenal of hippies over there that can help her with this?"

Lindsey closed the cabinet doors, visibly frustrated in his search. "Well apparently not, Kit, or she wouldn't have called." He squinted his eyes as he looked around the room, and then asked, "You didn't go grocery shopping before we left on Friday, did you?"

"Of course not," Kristen said, setting her coffee down a bit harder than she'd intended to. She folded her arms across her chest. "Who goes grocery shopping before they go out of town? Use your head."

Lindsey offered a shrug and said, "Christ, I was just wondering, that's all!"

"Why? What are you looking for?"

Lindsey ignored her question and walked off in the direction of the pantry off of the laundry room.

Kristen would never have admitted it, but she had been scared to death the first time Lindsey had introduced her to Stevie and the rest of Fleetwood Mac. It was January 1998 when he'd taken her hand and led her backstage to meet his band members - ex girlfriend included - just before their induction into the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame. She was just coming out of her first trimester of pregnancy with Will, just over her round-the-clock nausea and exhaustion, and she had wondered if her tiny baby bump showed in her dress. She'd politely shaken hands with everyone, and within two minutes, she'd sized up the entire group - John McVie was the perfect combination of bored and mortified to be there. Christine McVie was an English snob. Mick Fleetwood reminded her of a used car salesman. Peter Green was what happened when you dropped acid one too many times.

And then there was Stevie Nicks.

Stevie was dressed all in black, as always, and had said so many words to Kristen in two minutes that she'd walked away feeling like she'd just taken a hit of meth. Lindsey had explained to her that Stevie was as terrified to meet her as she was to meet Stevie, seeing as how both women were aware by then of the love triangle that had permeated much of 1997, but Kristen had told him that night in bed at the hotel that there had to be more to it.

"It's like she's allergic to QUIET or something, Lindsey!" Kristen exclaimed as she folded the down comforter across her lap. Lindsey was sitting up against the pillows beside her, flipping TV channels with the remote. "Someone really should pull her aside and tell her that other humans exist, you know."

Lindsey set the remote in his lap and turned towards her. He was not the least bit smiling. "Kristen, I'm going to say this once, and I want you to hear me - This thing has not been easy on any of us, granted, but for Stevie, this is murder. I am trying to be diplomatic here, and I am asking you nicely to please be kind about this. Stevie sacrificed a lot this year, more than you know, and there is no reason to be insulting towards her, even in private. There are things you don't know and I'm just going to leave it at that...things that make us having a baby together difficult for her to be around."

Kristen was too dumbfounded to reply. She responded by reaching for him, but he just turned over to toss the remote onto the nightstand and turn off his bedside lamp with the button on the wall. Kristen did the same, sliding uncomfortably onto her side under the covers. Lindsey fell asleep first, and Kristen was still awake half an hour later when she heard him mumbling in his sleep. All she could make out was something about turning around and the water closing all around.

"How long are you going to be?" Kristen inquired, raising her voice so that Lindsey could hear her from the pantry.

"I don't know...like a day or so," he replied, his voice muffled by the distance and the door between them. "I'll text you when I know more."

"How generous," Kristen said, and in the pantry, Lindsey stopped his search among the shelves of snack foods and let out an audible exhale.

Don't, he reminded himself. It's not worth it.

Looking among the boxes and bags in the pantry, Lindsey thought of Stevie's words on the phone the night before. "I wouldn't be asking if I didn't know you were the only person in the world who understands this. This doesn't have to be awkward, Linds...I mean, as far as I'm concerned nothing happened that night."

Or the next morning, he'd wanted to add, but he didn't dare. Stevie was offering him an olive branch by asking him to help her with the song, he realized, and if helping her meant forgetting what had happened that night the year before, forgetting the feeling of her skin against his, forgetting how soft her lips still were or how even her sighs and moans of pleasure were in perfect two-part harmony to his, he was willing to do it.

Finally, he found what he was looking for. He reached behind a bag of pretzels and a box of Nilla Wafers and pulled it down, smiling, thinking of Stevie's face and how her smile would light up the room when he brought it to her. Kristen was back to looking at her computer screen as he passed her by, holding his find victoriously on his way upstairs to finish packing. He'd looked all over for it, and even his usual argument with Kristen would not have deterred him.

There was no way he was going to show up at Stevie's house without bringing her a box of Animal Crackers.

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