.
.
.
June 1982
"Should I actually touch the canvas or..." She heard his voice trail off, gazing at the overlarge brush now topped with thick crimson paint. The director waved him off, expressing that Lindsey's actual painting was of no importance, as the cameramen finished setting up for the scene. Leaning further back against the red chaise, she closed her eyes in exhaustion as the sun burned against her eyelids.
They'd been at this all day and the heat was finally getting to her. She'd started her day carrying an oversized canvas across the sand dunes in suede pumps, and while Stevie was a desert child at heart, even she knew that spending the day in the Mojave desert in June wasn't a good idea, artistic vision be damned. Admittedly, she'd never done a project like this, and it'd certainly been a learning experience. They had made one video for Stop Draggin' My Heart Around, but even that had felt more like a recorded studio session than anything. Of course, with Tom, everything always seemed less intimidating. She missed him. His easy-going nature, and lazy pale blue eyes. The complete opposite of...
Turning over on the velvet divan, she watched from afar as the director continued to explain and direct Lindsey's movements. She had to hold back the laughter bubbling up at the sight of Lindsey looking like he wanted to throw something, cheeks flushed and overheated, his rigid stance reflecting his agitation better than any words.
This morning, Christine had had to be on site earlier than anyone, singing in front of the camera for three hours before anyone else so much as showed their face. Considering she had been the one to object most strongly to the necessity of this video in the first place and her personal aversion to center spotlight, it was unsurprising that kettle would boil over eventually. It'd started with some incident involving Sara's ex-husband, who had worked with Christine on writing a few songs for the album. But Chris's critique of Mick's lacking professionalism had also recalled his lacking managerial skills. And after he mentioned a few choice words about her attitude, referencing her latest fight with Dennis after the album release party, she'd been ready to do battle. When Stevie had finally managed to roll up this morning, dark glasses concealing her bloodshot eyes and dark circles, Mick and Chris had already been practically spitting at each other. In the end, Mick had insisted that he couldn't be within ten feet of the "crazy bitch" all day. And considering she'd overheard that John had tried to punch someone while she was in the makeup chair, it seemed like she and Lindsey were in fact the least problematic members of the group today. She still couldn't believe it.
"Alright, I think we're finished here." Before she could sigh in relief, he added quickly. "We might need Stevie for a little while longer, but Lindsey, you're good."
Resisting the urge to scream, she looked up as Lindsey shot her a look that was simultaneously sympathetic and superior as fuck as he began to make his way back to the main set-up.
After one more break to touch up her makeup and the close-up footage that followed, it seemed they were finally finished.
Nodding as they thanked and complimented her, she took a proffered bottle of water and began to take heavy sips, resisting the urge to douse her face with it. Taking the vial of white powder from Bob, she unscrewed the stopper and tilted her head back as she lifted the small metal spoon. Collecting herself, she walked carefully through the sand and sighed as the sound of angry voices met her ears. Evidently, they were still at it.
Walking between the industrial fans, she heard Mick's voice, sharp and degrading.
"So that's what this is about. Chris isn't getting laid and I'm taking the heat for it."
