Fleetwood Mac-Part III of Fritz Series

The Gypsy, That I was

May 1980

"Music video? You mean those choppy little things they play on cable television to pander to the masses" Ken's been trying to sell us on a two video deal since this morning. One for Gypsy and one for Hold Me. One of his buddies has apparently already come up with the concept for them leaving the door all but closed on the issue. Christine doesn't seem too thrilled about it, performing is one thing she's more in her element on stage in front of people. It makes her feel like "one of the blokes" in her words. Music videos require acting, stage managed acting. None of us are any good at that.

"Chris, it's a week long shoot with catered lunches and professional directors all you guys have to do is show up and lip sync" John mutters under his breath resting his arm on the back of Christine's chair. She nudges his side whispering to him, he giggles. Divorced or not they get along famously, better than when they were married actually. The empty seat next to me has never been more pronounced, is that my future with Stevie. Her buddy? Her bandmate? The once great love of my life reduced to a gal pal.

Her album is set to drop in a few weeks coinciding with her birthday, she's already made the top ten with "Stop Dragging My Heart Around". It's a good song, I can't listen to it but it's a good song. Jimmy's been hinting around at concert tour for HBO. I'm happy for her, she's talented, she worked hard for her success. The problem is with her schedule and the band's schedule we're apart until the very end of the day, by then we're too tired to do anything but take care of the kids and sleep. Things are still strained between us, and now we're almost two strangers living in the same house.

A husband and wife who lead separate lives...a Boston marriage.

"Where's Stevie stand on this?" Ken leans back in his chair looking across the room at me, "I don't know. We did a video for Tusk I don't see a problem with it" chewing the end of his pen Ken looks over at the other three "Hell, I don't bloody care one way or another publicity is publicity" Mick always thinking with his wallet, John just shrugs. Irritated Christine relents lighting a cigarette in defeat "Fine, but I'm not taking my knickers off I don't care how much I'm being paid" thank God.

Looking across our backyard in the California sun I find myself day dreaming. This house has so many memories good and bad, I built it for my family. I stayed up nights chain smoking joints and pulling my hair out working on albums so we could afford this. Stevie and I built our dream together and I feel like we're drifting apart. I have to question whether I still want to be married at this rate. What's the point if we never see each other? If I can't stand to be alone with her for longer than a few minutes, if I'm so afraid of being inadequate that I can't even make love to her.

Four months....we haven't been together intimately for four months. Each time she gets too close or gives me one of her soft suggestive looks I panic. She's stopped trying, and that hurts too. But it's better than the all consuming doubts thrashing in my mind about what she did with Petty. The worst part is that I do want her, so much that it hurts sometimes. But I'm too gun shy, and on some level too angry to follow through. This morning, still half asleep, I caught a glimpse of her getting dressed. I couldn't take my eyes off her curves, her soft hips, her backside, the gentle swell of her breasts.

Afraid she might see me I shut my eyes when she turned around listening as she finished her morning routine. The mattress dipped from her slight weight she pressed her lips to my forehead, the scent of lilac permeating the air. I could feel the tear drops roll down her face wetting my cheek "I'll see you tonight" she whispers, and with a final kiss she was gone. I want to forgive her, but I know she's not being honest with me about what happened. Until I know the truth I don't know that I'll be able to move on, and if she never tells me then what's left for us? Platonic bandmates? Buddies?