Fleetwood Mac-Part III of Fritz Series

Love Bites

"God it's bloody hot out here, where's the bartender?" The desert, the Sierra Nevada desert to be exact. Hot doesn't begin to describe the hellish temperatures we're slaving under today. Not only have we been sitting under weak stand fans in semi-formal British tweed all day but we haven't even started filming, we've been reading the "script". I don't see why, Mick and John get to play absentminded professors I get to paint...something for some reason...Christine gets the sweet spot, all of her shots are near the industrial fan to get the wind effect the director wants. And Stevie-well, from my understanding she's not happy with her assignment. Not one bit.

"How and why do I need to wear six inch pumps in a sand dune? Have you ever tried walking through sand in heels?" the director wipes a hand across his sweaty brow fidgeting nervously, looming in the background with a vodka lemonade I shrug at the poor bastard. I can't talk her down when she's like this, no one can. I usually just nod and go along with what she says, best way to stay out of trouble in my experience. Not that I'm worried about being in trouble, in fact for the last week she's been treating me like a prince. Last night she gave me a scalp massage in the tub and brought me a glass of beer, perfect pour. I feel like I should be more reticent to accept her pampering, especially since she's doing this purely out of guilt. But deep down I like being spoiled, just a bit.

Just this morning I woke up to find my jogging clothes laid out for me. On top of that all of my shirts were starched and pressed like they just came from the cleaners. After finishing my workout and my shower I came downstairs to a massive breakfast, a new copy of Rolling Stone and Guitar World and the kids dressed and ready for school/day care. If she decides to vent at a director about some shoes, who am I to interfere?

"Stevie, honey it's for one shot, just one shot! Please pretty please work with me" he eyes me again desperate for salvation; my glass is empty, just as I'm about to call for another Stevie beats me to it putting her thumb and forefinger in her mouth and sending a high pitched whistle to the catering tent "Lindsey needs another Vodka Lemonade! You want a wedge in it honey?" hmmm, yeah fresh lemon is always good "Sure" she places her hands on her hips "Slice of lemon too!" she smiles at me sweetly and I smirk at her placing my empty on the table nearby.

"Talk some sense into your wife Lindsey, otherwise we'll be here all day" how would I have handled this a few years ago? Yelling, lots of yelling. We'd be in separate trailers fuming at each other right now, but she'd have done the shot. A few months ago, pre-Tom Petty, I would have tried to reason with her. Now...well for the sake of the band I should say something. Otherwise we'll be in this abysmal pit until Sara graduates from college.

"How long is the shot?" the director runs a hand over his face in frustration "Thirty minutes to set up literally thirty seconds to shoot if done right the first time" looking to my right I see John and Mick fanning themselves with drinks in hand. Christine is still shooting her scenes so she's nice and cool. Reaching out I grabs Stevie's hand with my free one tugging her gently to my side "It's one shot Steph, let's just get it over with" she opens her mouth preparing to protest but thinks better of it crossing her arms over her chest "I-I wasn't refusing. I was just worried that I might fall or get stuck in the sand"

She moves closer to me one of her ruby tipped nails circling my chest, with one finger I tilt her head upwards so I can see her eyes "Steph" Her defensiveness drops and she nods "Thank you" not missing a beat she rounds on the director storming off toward the set without so much as a word. He shakes my hand wiping away more sweat from his brow "You're a Godsend Buckingham" no, I just know in her guilt ridden mind she can't/won't turn me down. Sipping my drink I wander after her taking my place in the seat near by to watch them set up her scene. A make up artist has her reclining on some kind of couch while a wind machine is brought out.