Decades

Falling Out

John took a car back to the studio. When he entered, Stevie looked like a broken, discarded doll. He quietly sat beside her on the sofa and patted her knee. She leaned her head on his shoulder and quietly cried.

He didn't ask what was going on. He just knew that this stupid pair had devastated each other again. Lindsey had cried in the passenger seat the whole drive to his home. Occasionally punching the dash of his car. John had walked him to the door, helped him fit the key in the keyhole, and watched the despondent Lindsey disappear inside.

John was a man of few words, and he thought Lindsey and Stevie probably had too many. Just not the right ones. Never the right words.

—-------------------

Without Lindsey in the studio, nothing particularly productive was happening. The others depended on the structure he provided to accomplish their goals. Without him around, they were left to their own devices, which meant nothing would happen. Other than drugs and alcohol-related activities.

They plugged along under the same roof for the rest of the evening. Stevie and Mick did a dangerous amount of coke. She moved on to drinking heavily with Christine while stringing together enough of the story for Christine to be able to cobble together what was happening.

Mick noted that Stevie looked terrible, like a ruined version of herself. She drank into the night and frequently did more coke with him, becoming more and more belligerent and angry.

She locked herself in the lounge with the telephone at one point and called Lindsey. His answering machine picked up, and she started to hang up. But she changed her mind at the last minute and unloaded on Lindsey. At first, trying to sound like it was all business, she criticized his unprofessionalism and said, "Don would never flake out like this," and then, for a twist of cruelty, added, "But that's to be expected since his skills are far superior to yours."

She didn't clarify what skills she was referring to, only reminding Lindsey of how Don had carried her to her bed the night before. He hated himself for wondering what kind of lover she was with Don. Did she touch Don the way she touched him? Did she look at him with those same eyes? His jaw tightened as he tried to push these questions from his mind as they emasculated him.

She shouted into the phone about his temper and how ridiculous he behaved. And how she'd had to clean up his mess in the studio, just like the messes she'd cleaned for him a million other times before. "You've only ever cared about yourself. If it weren't for me, we would have starved. I worked all the time to support us before we joined the band. You didn't even appreciate it!"

On and on Stevie went, diminishing his talent and saying they should replace him with someone better. She didn't mean a word and didn't believe there was anyone more talented, but Lindsey didn't know that.

Stevie yelled until the answering machine finally ran out of space to record and cut off. She would do a couple more bumps and pour herself more brandy before she'd stagger to the phone and dial his number again.

She was slurring her words the more intoxicated she became. Becoming more vicious with every call. She was encouraged to keep up the tirade because of the satisfaction that he was listening to her messages since there was once again room on the tape for more mad ranting.

—-------------

The room was dark, where Lindsey lay on the rug next to the answering machine. He was holding a half-empty bottle, taking deep pulls from it as he alternated between sobbing and pounding his fist against the floor.

In the darkness, he listened to Stevie tell him she hated him. She called him every vile name she could string together. She told him he was nothing to her. And that he would never measure up to her new lover. "I wanted to be done with you long before we joined Fleetwood Mac. I only stayed with you so we could make things work with the band," she said bitingly.

She told him she knew he'd never loved her, and he never failed to prove that fact, that he was incapable of love. "I'll never forgive you. You don't know anything," she rattled on, "Fucking faking it with me, I hate you. You only wanted to own me," she rambled incoherently. "You know fucking nothing about what I've been through...don't care what happened to me," he could hear her gulping a drink, "fuck you. I am done with you. I fucking hate everything about you. You mean nothing to me. Weren't there when I needed you most," she said in a possessed voice.

Every word she uttered cut him to the bone. Hearing how she really saw him crucified him. The heartbreak he was experiencing then was possibly worse than when she originally left him. He understood this to be the end. The real and actual end.

He listened to her recording again before erasing it. Tears streaming down his face.

The phone rang again, and the machine picked up. Lindsey heard Stevie sobbing. She choked out a tortured, strained, "Why won't you let me love you?"

He listened to her stifled cries until the recording ran out. He hated the sorrow in her voice. As he listened to it again, he feared if he heard anything else, he'd soften to her, and he couldn't let that happen. She'd painted a clear picture of how she saw him.

After the tape finished and cut her off, he didn't make a move to erase it this time.

When the phone rang again, the machine was full, and he didn't pick up. So he didn't get to hear her beg him to forgive her for the cruel things she'd said, he didn't hear her explanation, he didn't hear her beg him for his love. He wouldn't know the pain she was in or why. He wouldn't hear how loved and wanted he was. He wouldn't hear how he was the only one for her.

Instead of having the answers he craved, he finished the bottle and felt the excruciating pain that came with loving Stevie Nicks. After a time, he played back the last recording and cried along with her, feeling more alone than he ever had in his life.

—----------

Back in the studio, Stevie crumbled to the floor and didn't care if she ever got up again. Eventually, Mick peeled her off the floor, carried her to the car, and drove her home.