Decades

Unhappy Endings

Stevie had turned the radio as loud as it would go and locked herself in the bathroom, fan on, water running. But, still, she could hear what sounded like a demolition taking place in the hallway of her suite. Her name was being screamed on repeat.

Why wouldn't he just go away? He had to know there was nothing else to say.

She was going to the door to scream at him to go the fuck away, yet again, when she heard two raised voices in the hallway now. The familiar female voice filled her with relief, "It's me, Stevie, let me in."

Christine had heard the ruckus in the hallway and tried to shut Lindsey up, but he wasn't having it, yelling at the top of his lungs for Stevie to let him in. His shirt wasn't buttoned correctly; he'd missed several buttons, and the ones that were buttoned were in the wrong button holes. He was barefoot and red-faced. He'd been crying. His face was streaked with tears, and his nose was running. He had a bottle in his hand and was as crazed as she'd ever seen him, which was saying something.

"Settle the fuck down, Lindsey. What in God's name is the matter with you?" Christine scolded. "I could hear you before the elevator even stopped on this floor. We're going to get kicked out of here, for fuck's sake, if you don't stop this shit."

"She's got to let me in, Chris. Make her open the goddamned door," he beat on the door wildly to punctuate his point. His hands were shaking, and he was moving manically from her door to the wall of her suite.

"Get ahold of yourself. Who in their right mind would open the door to someone who's acting like a stark-raving madman?"

She watched and knew that he was unraveling into sheer grief-driven madness before her eyes. He was pulling his own hair, kicking the door with his bare feet, and even trying to ram his shoulder into it to break it down. She had no idea what had happened between them tonight, but she was losing her patience quickly. For years, they'd done this shit, and she'd had a ringside seat for the theatrics. It was not her favorite thing about being in this band. Things had gone so well on this tour. She thought The Dance had really brought them back to a good place after all these years, at least after they sorted out where their relationship was going.

"Stevie, let me in!" Lindsey wailed. "I know you can hear me. I'm not leaving until you talk to me. Open this fucking door," he shouted before resuming his assault on the door. "Open. The Fucking. Door." he screamed again, slamming his fist into the wall after each word.

When there wasn't a sound made behind the door, Lindsey sunk to the floor, his knees pulled to his chest, rocking himself. Now, instead of screaming, he was sobbing. Christine was afraid to ask what had transpired that brought on this kind of behavior. But, she hoped Stevie was in better shape than he was.

"I'll talk to her and see if I can convince her to talk to you, Lindsey," Christine said, hoping it was an approach that might settle him down.

"Please, Christine, make her talk to me. Tell her how much I love her, please. Please, don't let her leave me," at this, the guitarist broke down into another round of sobs. Wiping his tear-stained face with his hands, he then reached for the bottle, now more than half empty, and took another long pull. "Tell her I'll do anything. Anything."

"Go back to your room, Lindsey. I'll come get you if she wants to talk to you," Christine urged.

But Lindsey wasn't going anywhere. He knew that as soon as he cleared the hallway, Stevie would leave, and he wouldn't see her again. He wasn't going anywhere without speaking to her.

"Well, sit here quietly and act like you've got some sense, then. You're going to have to control yourself if you don't want her to call security.

Stevie had given her bodyguard the night and the next day off. They were back at the hotel and had the entire floor to themselves. She was going to spend the night with Lindsey, so she really didn't need any protection.