Decades

Meet the Press

Lindsey pulled Stevie close to him on the couch. Their hands were intertwined. Both dressed and made up to camouflage their red, puffy eyes and their hungover appearance. It's amazing what a good makeup artist and stylist could do.

Stevie had been given an apricot-colored, floral print halter dress and some wooden platform heels. Her hair was a mass of curls, and her makeup was natural, giving her the appearance of having a bit of color from the sun. If you didn't look closely at her bloodshot eyes, she looked as beautiful as ever, perfectly fresh, but also fragile, just the look her management team had discussed with the spinmeisters who were working their case.

They hadn't told her this because they didn't want her objections or to offend her, but they'd specifically requested "virgin, not vixen." Stevie was self-conscious about being seen as a sex symbol. But, her natural sexiness shined through no matter how she was dressed. The wardrobe people who'd taken over thought they'd done a good job of choosing an outfit that would tame her sex appeal until she came out of the dressing room. They realized they'd have to put a paper bag over her to keep her from looking sexy.

Lindsey was dressed in jeans and a blue satin button-down shirt. The shirt was unbuttoned low and untucked. The stylist shook her head and rolled her eyes at the sight. "Well, if we wanted  'rolled out of Stevie Nicks' bed,' this would be the right look. But apparently, that's not what we're going for today," she quickly buttoned two extra buttons and had him tuck in his shirt.

The stylist had been a talker and told Lindsey that the brief they'd received told them to dress the two of them so that nobody watching the interviews or seeing the photographs would think about sex when they saw them. "And I told them that was ridiculous. They've seen you two, haven't they?" she continued to rake through the rack of clothes before her as she chatted. 

"But, here, let's just do a T-shirt for you. This satiny material screams satin sheets. Satin sheets make people think of sex. You and Stevie in satin sheets would be the next thought." she rolled her eyes. "Here, have a T-shirt."

She stood back appraisingly, shaking her head in surrender, "Well, I suppose that's better," she shrugged, "Though, even that plain white tee looks hot on you, but what're you going to do? I'm not a miracle worker."

When Stevie floated into the room, Lindsey playfully elbowed the stylist that she probably was going to lose her job after today if she thought people weren't going to think about sex when they saw Stevie. "They asked for the impossible. I don't think anyone could have delivered. It is what it is," she threw her hands up, "I'm not a freaking magician," she laughed.

The two media specialists hired by the band entered the room. The two reminded Stevie of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Before Stevie and Lindsey had a chance to chat after getting settled on the sofa, the consultants fully descended on the two of them, peppering them with questions.

"So, are you back together? I hear you're sharing a room. Lindsey, your fiancee, is that on the rocks? How about Don Henley? Is he dumping you? Or is he still in the picture? Whose baby was it, for real?"

Stevie and Lindsey were taken aback at being bombarded by really invasive, obscenely abrasive questions. Before they could answer, another was fired their way. Already, Stevie was feeling overwhelmed. She tended to elaborate too much, but today, she simply didn't have answers or the energy to bullshit.

"So, back together, yes or no? It matters so that we know how to prepare you for the interviews. The naughty pictures," Tweedle Dum said, and Tweedle Dee winked, "haven't been released as far as we know, but the rumors are there. But you two are used to Rumours, aren't you? See what I did there? Rumors with a 'u'!" 

 Lindsey and Stevie cut their eyes at each other, laughing in spite of themselves at the absurdity of this whole production.

"So, together?" they asked in unison, quizzically raising their eyebrows. Absurd, this whole thing was.