Buckingham Nicks: Crisis of the Heart

Call a Spade a Spade

Lindsey drove to Stevie's condo in a blind rage, flying down the side streets outside of his neighborhood. Finally, he reached the on-ramp to the highway and merged on. Great. Los Angeles traffic. He was forced to slow his heart rate and breathing as he entered the bumper to bumper jam. After a few deep breaths, he realized he had no plan for what he was about to do. Was she even at home? Or even in California for that matter? It's not like they exactly kept in touch these days. For a second, he began to second guess driving to her home. But the more he thought about it, the confrontation had to happen. He may have fucked up in the past with some decisions regarding Fleetwood Mac, but he didn't deserve to be secretly voted out. It was a low blow.

Eventually, the traffic broke up and Lindsey took the exit nearest Stevie's condo. He pulled into the parking area and took a deep breath. His legs felt like jello as he made his way to the main entrance. He pressed the button to page her via the intercom.

"Yes?" Stevie answered. Even the sound of her voice was pissing him off.

"It's Lindsey. Open up," he demanded, waiting outside impatiently.

"I have nothing to say to you," Stevie spat back angrily.

"YOU have nothing to say to ME? Well I have a choice few things to say to you since I was informed that you are FIRING ME FROM THE BAND!"

"Oh, Lindsey. Don't be so melodramatic. I am not firing you. We simply voted to rehearse in June, which you cannot. So the decision has been made for you."

"Oh really? It's that simple, is it? Then why did Irving say you refuse to be on stage with me?!" Lindsey demanded answers.

Stevie didn't have an answer for that. Well, she did, but not one she was willing to explain over intercom.

"What?! You didn't think I'd find out that you're kicking me out of the band for personal reasons?! You really think I'm stupid enough think this decision was made over a couple of rehearsal dates?!" Lindsey was yelling so loudly he barely noticed the sound of the door unlocking. Stevie had buzzed him in. He entered the lobby and booked it up the stairwell, two steps at a time. Once he was outside her door, he began hammering it with incessant knocking.

Stevie opened the door, "Geez, I buzzed you in. There was no need for that dramatic display," she scolded him in reference to the way he knocked on the door to her condo.

"Dramatic display? Oh well, I am sorry. I'm sorry that my reaction to being kicked out of Fleetwood Mac after forty four FUCKING years is too dramatic," Lindsey spoke to her sarcastically as he raked his hand through his curls in exasperation. "I think I am actually pretty calm, all things considered!"

"Lindsey, this decision wasn't easy for me. I thought about it for a good-" Lindsey cut her off.

"Oh save it! You were an absolute bitch to me at MusiCares, and you're using this scheduling conflict as an excuse to punish me. Call a spade a spade. But this seems low, even for you," he spat. "I just want to know one thing: What did I ever do to you to make you hate me this much?"

Stevie could feel her resolve beginning to weaken. She didn't hate Lindsey. She could never hate him. But she couldn't work with him either. She took a few seconds to compose herself, and remember the mental pep talk she'd given herself after the meeting. She knew Lindsey would be angry. She knew he would yell, scream, and fight until she allowed him back. And she could not allow that to happen.

"I was a bitch to you at MusiCares?! Well sorry I was less than cordial after you mocked me on stage!"

"I didn't mock you, Stevie," he snickered. "My God, your sense of self importance is astounding. You ramble on so much between songs that we all tune you out. I can't remember half the shit you said, and yet you think I'm behind you... what was it Irving said... making faces at you? That's just silly."

"You smirked. I watched you. And it's not silly. My feelings are valid and I will not be disrespected by you or by anyone in this band, and especially not on stage!"

"So, for the record, the reason you're firing me from Fleetwood Mac after 44 years is because of a face I made while you were speaking?"

"Quit it with this "firing" bullshit, Lindsey. "I" am not "firing" you. It was a vote. The band voted for me to stay, and to keep the original rehearsal dates. Stop editorializing this to fit your narrative. You've been putting Fleetwood Mac second for awhile now. I was understanding when your kids were younger, but now you have all the time in the world to perform. And yet, here you are AGAIN putting Fleetwood Mac on the back burner for your personal projects. Well, Lindsey, I have personal projects too. I have solo tours. And you know what? I find a way to make it work!"

Lindsey rubbed his temples. Why did everything with Stevie have to be so exhausting? "No, Stevie, you didn't fire me but you were the reason I was fired - which, as far as I'm concerned - is the same thing. And it wasn't about MusiCares or these damn rehearsal dates. You and I both know it," he sighed, realizing this conversation was going nowhere.

"What does that mean?" Stevie asked quietly, her resolve wearing thin once again.

"It doesn't even matter, Stevie. I don't even know why I bothered coming here. Our problems, they run deep. And no amount of talking is going to change things."

"So, that's it?" Stevie asked, surprised at how quickly the mood shifted from rage to quiet dismissal.

"I think I should be the one asking you that question," Lindsey responded cryptically. "Goodbye, Stephanie. Have a nice life," Lindsey spoke quietly as he turned his back to her to walk out the door.

Stevie nodded silently, afraid that if she spoke, she would ask him to come back to the band.