1971: Sequel to 1969 -The Rolling Stones

3. Dear Doctor

"No, no, no. This isn't happening." I jumped to my feet in shock at what I was seeing before my very eyes. Mick stood there like a wounded animal, obviously still hurt & holding a grudge, just from seeing my face after all this time.
"So good to see you guys again, it's been ages!" Lulu approached them nonchalantly, taking their expensive bags in her hands.
"Oh, it's alright, Lu, we've got it." Mick's slow English accent filled my ears, and it sounded like the good old days. He noticed her growing baby bump, but didn't say a word. Just stared for an awfully long time until she broke the silence.
"Where's Haley? Isn't she coming?" Lulu looked over all the boys, as if questioning each one. It didn't take long for me to notice something wasn't right, something was missing. Where was Brian Jones, fur clad founder of The Rolling Stones? And who was this person I didn't recognize?
"Oh, she stopped by the store for some meds. She's had this really bad cold, we all have it." Mick had this light laughter, like a child. "It's that London weather." There was another pause before he began to explain the elephant in the room, "And also, this is our new guitarist, Mick Taylor. Replacing Brian, of course." It was all too much to take in, but I wasn't going to be the one to ask anymore questions. I pulled Lulu into the bathroom, locking the door behind us and almost broke down.
"What the fuck are they doing here, Lulu? We had an agreement, we weren't gonna tell them where I was and now they're standing in my living room!" I whisper yelled, although it couldn't of been more apparent how shocked I was. My hands were trembling, my face was bright red, and hearing their somewhat raspier voices outside the bathroom only worsened it.
"I- you needed to see them. They needed to see you. I just, I thought it'd been too long. So when they phoned me and said they were recording an album here, I told them they could stay at our place." Lulu twiddled her thumbs, pleading with her eyes. "Oh, please don't be mad. Just go out there and talk to them."
"I'm mad, because these guys who I haven't seen in nearly two years, just randomly come through my door without me knowing anything about it!" I was screaming by now. No point in holding it back, right? At the sound of my loud aching voice, all shuffling outside of the door came to a screeching halt. "Oh great, now they've fucking heard us." I was becoming enraged but trying to suppress the fiery feeling in my throat as I opened the bathroom door to find the Stones all staring at me wide eyed. "What? What're you staring at?"

There was no right way to go about this. Easing into the whole situation was going to be my best bet, but me being the stubborn mess I am, decided to go out and get trashed instead. I'd locked myself away in my room for the whole day, avoiding my past that awaited right outside the door. All day I could hear the bittersweet laughter of my ex lovers just a few feet away, but it wasn't enough to get me to reappear. Upon nightfall, I snuck out to the nearest bar, which was literally right across the street. I already had a buzz coming on, from drinking out of the not so hidden liquor drawer in my room, but I needed out of there. It seemed as though everyone was either asleep, or out doing whatever it was that rockstars did nowadays before I left. When I crossed the still bustling street to the bar, it was filled with the sound of old blues and rock n' roll. I took a seat on the leather stool in front of me, seeing as though the place wasn't that crowded.
"Whiskey, please." It's all I ever seemed to drink. For some eerie reason it reminded me of Keith, because when with him there always seemed to be a bottle of Jack Daniels or some bourbon near, and I guess that's why it was my drink of choice. It had become a nostalgic beverage for me. I'd always think 'Here's to you, Keef, whatever you may be doing.' So it only made sense that I hadn't even been there 10 minutes, when right across from me sat the legend himself. His brown eyes bored into me, as if looking for the right words to say. He always knew how to create so much tension between people, it felt as if you were pinned up against the wall suffocating. And that was his tactic. Create so much you couldn't ignore it. I waltzed over to him in my tipsy state, ready to give him a piece of my mind, but my mouth was paralyzed by the pain of seeing him so close to me.
"Why, Olivia? Why'd you do it?" I was nearly hovering over him, slightly wobbling, as he could just barely look me in my eye.
"Keith-" He cut me off, now staring me straight in the eyes. I could tell he had been drinking as well. He was a sad drunk, I hated to see him in that state.
"We almost had a child together, and then you just bloody leave." It sounded as though he was trying to be angry at me, although he just couldn't help but to be sad. The anger kept getting replaced by melancholy, and he couldn't escape it as he clenched his fist tightly.
An "I'm sorry." was all I could manage to spit out. I felt weak and pathetic, like leaving that hospital in 1969 was one of the biggest mistakes I'd ever made, and I was only now realizing it. In that little bar in Chicago. I grabbed onto Keith's white knuckles and held them, tears beginning to well in my swollen green eyes. "It was a mistake, you have to believe me. I was young and stupid, I thought I was a burden. I was a traumatized little girl, Keith. Do you believe me? Look at me!" He glanced up from his drink as I bawled my eyes out in the middle of the bar.
"Then why didn't you come back?" He rose from the leather barstool to his feet, as I glared down for a quick second to admire his snakeskin boots, the same ones I always wanted to steal and prance around in.
"Because, It would be naive of me to think that you guys would still be waiting for me, in that same city, staying in that same house, lying in that same bed." I cried out desperately hoping he could understand. Suddenly, his lanky arms came over me like great wings, and I could feel his ocean wave lips crashing against mine. Our sweet rhythm made up for the drunken sloppiness of the kiss, and every time his fingers grazed my arm, I felt like one of his six string instruments. Why did rock n' roll have to taste so heavenly?
"I did. I waited." He sighed heavily, I could almost hear my worn heart beating and wondered if he could hear it too. After all, he was a musician with a special sense of hearing when it came to songs like those. Songs like someone's heartbeat. "Can't say the same for Mick," Keith scoffed, his shiny black hair bouncing around his scruffy face. I always adored his hair and thought it even more gorgeous seeing that it was longer now. "I never believed he was good enough for you anyway." There was an understanding lull between us for a while, until the long haired, hippie dippy bartender kicked us out, but not before getting Keith's autograph of course.
"Thanks Keith, you're the best guitar player out there man, other than Clapton, but, still, my friends are gonna dig this!" Before we left for good, he flagged us halfway down the street waving some poorly rolled joint in our direction. "For your troubles, you're majesty."

-

Keith and I stumbled through the apartment door, him tripping over Lulu's spiked heels.
"Ah, shit." He threw his head back in laughter, and I swore I saw God. From the pocket of his tight leather pants he pulled out a couple of quaaludes, putting them in my palm and closing my fingers around them. He was giving them to me as to kind of say, 'goodnight' without having to actually move his pretty pink lips. Before he trudged off into the spare bedroom, he pecked my cheek softly one last time. "Oh, and love, do you happen to have any bourbon?" I chuckled slightly, but knew exactly what he needed from Olivia's medicine cabinet.
"One second." I lifted my index finger to his face and made a quick dash to the liquor drawer in my room, grabbing some cheap bourbon just to satisfy him for the night. When I came back with the full bottle, he grinned gratefully, and somehow still managed to gracefully strut away. Goodnight to you too, you filthy old rockstar. My heart felt like it was in the process of healing, but I knew it was nowhere near to being done. One Stone down, four more to go.

I threw my heavy body into the plush blanket on my bed, leaving the door wide open. I was too exhausted to even close it or move an inch at all. "I've got to get out of this city." I sighed, coming to the conclusion that this life was much too boring for my taste. And spending one night with Keith was enough to remind me of that.
"That can be arranged." His English accent sparked my senses, it was Mick standing in my doorway startling me half to death. Two Rolling Stones in one night!
"Fuck! You scared me!" I flung myself forward, seeing the shaggy haired vision just casually leaning against the wooden door frame.
"We can go anywhere you'd like. Let's go, babe. We can record the album somewhere else." This time he was coming towards me, as if he'd been waiting up all night for me to come back and face him. He was being awfully nice to me considering everything I did in the past.
"Stop, Mick. You've got a girlfriend." I choked out, turning away from him. One look into those baby blues and that would be it. I'd be hooked.
"She's not the Miss Olivia, now is she?" I could tell he was trying to forget the pain of my ditching him in California that fateful night, because his voice was cracking up and his eyes were glassy. I felt true sorrow in that moment. How could I have wounded someone so much? Someone who was portrayed to the world as this hard core, sex crazed rock star?
"Who is she, Mick?" My voice became shallow, as he sat upon my fluffy duvet. I couldn't bear to look at him.
"Her name's Bianca." He replied just as softly as I did, twiddling his thumbs. His confident, flamboyant demeanor changed drastically.
"You should be with her." It was hard for me to say, but I wasn't going to steal another woman's man. Even if he was mine first. With that, he decided to leave my presence with the same unusual charm he had coming in contact with it. Never had I ever seen him so unsure of himself. Spinning on repeat in my mind like a ghost, dear doctor, please help me, I'm damaged, but there was still one more question lingering in the back of it. "And Mick," he turned back around in a flash, as if he were actually Jumping Jack. "Where's Brian?"
"Liv, didn't you hear the news in '69 after you left? See the paper or anything?" His thick furrowed brows and concerned expression sent a wave through my chest. "Brian's dead."