"Cut!" Russell Mulcahy's tired voice echoed from somewhere behind the cameras.
"Lindsey!" She whispered harshly, moving back as soon as the cameras stopped rolling.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," he muttered back, wiping a hand over his face. He'd messed up the move—again. If he was being honest, though, he really thought he'd had it that time.
When he finally laid eyes in her for the first time after visiting Robin, she'd all but ignored him, accepting direction from George for the cover shoot with little fuss, and avoided eye contact. That is of course until she was asked to tilt her head back. Last time they'd been all over each other, Lindsey viscerally recalling how her hands had wandered as the cameras flashed; this time he'd been instead treated to her going on about how really couldn't she just stand in Chris's place instead because her neck was practically unable bend that far back—this of course being due to an untimely death in another life, very similar to that of the deposed French queen and wasn't that ironic considering they'd just recorded in Paris and...
Thus, when he'd walked on set this morning, he'd been prepared for the worst.
But from afar, she'd seemed strangely subdued. She'd been there for hours already, dancing around in leg warmers in front of a mirror, though of course she usually did that anyways..
When Russell had approached him and the rest of the band—other than Stevie who was still finishing costume and makeup—to explain the basics of the main dance sequence, Lindsey had been very pleasantly surprised, unwillingly anticipating the opportunity to hold her close.
"Um, Mr. Mulcahy..." one of the assistants had chimed in, "those two are the ones who..." the man's voice became an unintelligible whisper, undoubtedly informing the director of their sordid personal history.
"All that was ages ago!" Russell interrupted him, voice loud and accented. "It won't be a problem now, will it?" He asked as a formality, facial expression conveying his certainty that it wouldn't.
"Nah. We're uh- good now." Lindsey replied, the heavy stares of his other bandmates reminding him of just how blatantly untrue that statement was.
Russell's idea of portraying Stevie as some time-traveling spirit that ends up in a forest of glitter had endeared him to her immensely. Lindsey could only assume she was also aware of where this other scene was headed. Yet, when the director had gone over the idea with Stevie before they began, she nodded silently, as though accepting an invitation to her own funeral.
He wasn't that bad of a dancer, I mean really.
Just a simple waltz, Walter had suggested. When he'd laid it all out, Stevie had taken one look at Lindsey's lost expression and started demonstrating the steps quickly and cleanly. Just four steps in a square and a spin. How hard could it be?
***
She truly had no idea how she'd ever imagined that she'd be able to deal with today without a single line of cocaine.
As soon as she'd been informed they'd be dancing together, she knew it would be hopeless. Stevie had asked if maybe there was someone else better suited, eyeing the many professional dancers around the room hopefully. Her hopes were firmly dashed when Russell instead explained he wanted members of the band at the center of this particular narrative. Lindsey wasn't the only man in the band, Stevie had pointed out, glancing over at Mick and John. Their respective heights in relation to her own would cause...logistic awkwardness, Russell had argued back, and to be entirely honest, none of the other band members were quite as...visually appealing as she and Lindsey were together. Wouldn't it be just as well, she'd added desperately, if we could find someone that looked like him, there had to be at least one man there with curly hair and truly if you positioned the hat just so you could hardly tell-
Is there a particular reason, he'd finally asked, why you two can't be paired together?
Stevie could immediately think of several very good reasons though she was unwilling to share them. However, more than any personal issues of the moment, her true concern lay in the fact that...
he really was just a completely terrible and utterly awful dancer. It was a shame really, considering the other ways in which they moved together quite beautifully. Lindsey was an utter tragedy on the dance floor.
"He just isn't...the best dancer." She grimaced.
"Is that all?" Russell had replied with an easy smile. "Don't worry, what I have you two doing is fairly simple anyways."
Accepting her fate, Stevie had nodded before making her way onto the set.
***
"It's alright," Russell called, "from the top, you know the drill. Okay, take...jesus fucking christ..." his voice trailed off, clearly unhappy with just how many times they had tried to do this. "Alright just—camera...and action." He called.
They started again, and Lindsey was entirely focused on the steps, trying to keep himself from constantly looking down at his feet they moved together. Almost there, he held back a grin as they proceeded further than they had so far. Glancing up at Stevie, she looked at him hopefully, a mild smile curving the edges of her lips. His eyes were drawn down as she bit into her lower lip and-
"Ah!" She screeched, jumping back from him and grabbing for her toes.
"Cut! Just, take five everyone...please..."
"It really hurt this time, Linds-" turning away as she pouted, eyes watering.
"Jesus, Stevie, I'm sorry-" he said desperately, not sure what to do but assuming it was best not to move at all.
"I just don't understand how you still step on my toes when I'm practically the one leading you!"
"I have it now, I just got a little distracted-"
"-thank god we never actually got married, the reception would have been a disaster. Imagine—weeks of dance lessons and this is what ends up on video." She shook her head with a laugh, finally releasing her foot.
Lindsey grimaced, her words sinking in like little knives digging into his ribs. He looked down for a minute, suddenly very interested in the way the toe of his loafer slid against the hardwood floors, trying his very best not to think of a ring he still had tucked away somewhere...
"Lindsey..." She whispered sadly when he didn't respond.
"Look, can we just get this thing started back up?" He called out loudly, tone growing more impatient.
"Stop, it hasn't even been two minutes. They're still on their break-"
"Do I look like a give a shit?" He threw back at her.
"Don't yell at me!"
"Look, I just want to finish this stupid thing and get the hell out of here!"
"I really can't do this right now..." Stevie muttered to herself, eyes shut and fingers pressing against her temples.
"What the hell is your deal today?" He finally demanded.
"You! You're my deal-"
"-the hell did I do?"
Russell finally returned, wild-eyed and wired.
"-okay," he interrupted, eyes trained on both of them, "I've made an executive decision to change up the choreography...you two, are just gonna stand. Right here. Sway a little, maybe even shuffle a little to the side, but the idea is that, Lindsey, your feet don't have to move." Lindsey's cheeks became pink as Stevie shot him an amused smirk. "Now, Stevie, the turn we talked about earlier is basically the same but-"
-so what if he didn't do ballet. He'd taught himself to play guitar, didn't he? Even taught her too, though she was always quick to forget his involvement in any of her successes.
"Good?" At their sharp nods, the director continued, "right on then."
Rearranging themselves for the umpteenth time that afternoon, Lindsey heard Stevie grumble nonsensically to herself.
"What is it?" He muttered irritated.
"Nothing." She replied as though the effort of talking to him was just too much to bear.
Knowing they couldn't have it out with the cameras already rolling, he quickly pinched her hip. Jumping slightly, she slapped her hand over his.
"Stop it, Lindsey." She said brusquely.
He shrugged, pleased to have won a small victory.
She pinned him with a glare before turning to lean back against him, following the choreography before twisting the skin on the back of his hand harshly with her long red nails when it came to rest over her abdomen. His palm seized her small wrist in response, and, nestling his head in the curve of her neck, her pressed his lips against her warm skin and bit her. She squealed, squirming in his arms as nails now digging into his forearm.
"You know I don't like that." She whispered.
"That spot maybe..." He conceded, recalling the way she would laugh and push him away when his beard would scratch just there.
Offended, she seemed ready to reply when they were suddenly interrupted.
"Are you two- alright or..." Russell called from his chair, bringing them back to the task at hand as both realized they had just stopped in the middle of their routine. Jumping way from each other, they nodded quickly and retook their places. Sparing a glance at the rest of the cast, Lindsey found Christine looking down very intently at the props laid out before her and John struggling to keep from bursting into laughter. Sighing, he wrapped his arms around Stevie, settling into their initial position.
"Try to keep your hands to yourself this time," she murmured to him.
"Sure thing," he agreed. She hadn't said anything about his mouth.
***
Stevie stared at herself in the mirror in the makeshift dressing room. Grasping the wooden edges of her chair, she realized her hands were shaking. She really hadn't wanted to come back to do this video, knowing she would once again get caught up in the life that was Fleetwood Mac.
She'd spent the last two weeks in Corona Del Mar, trying to kick her coke habit. The center was more like a spa than anything, with a beautiful terrace and even a hot spring. It would have been marvelous without some of the more unpleasant withdrawal symptoms. Of course, sometimes the urge had simply been too much and she'd relapsed. But she had tried. Really she had—for Robin. The timing of her conversation with Lindsey had been completely coincidental.
She'd managed to avoid taking a hit on the limo driving back last night, mainly because her emergency stash had been packed away in the trunk. Arriving on set that morning, she'd hardly had time to take a breath, shoved into hair and makeup, something stupid about a one night stand with Fleetwood Mac, and then taken to her makeshift Gypsy bedroom for the real work to begin.
But now, of course, all of that was done away with now that she'd been left alone and given a moment's rest. The tour was approaching anyways, she reasoned. There was no way in hell she was going to be able to avoid it with grueling schedules and just their tour lifestyle in general. I mean really she hadn't even been able to stay sober in her self-imposed rehab. Wouldn't it just be better to save herself the pain now if odds were she was just going to get back into it anyways. Some part of her wanted to hold out, not able to remember the last time she'd felt so clear-headed. Of course her clearer thoughts seemed to be getting harder and harder to deal with these days. She was just so exhausted...maybe just tonight, she just needed a little bit to get her going again. After all, who knew how much longer they'd be here. She could only assume that Lindsey's two left feet had left them pretty behind schedule.
In reality, she had no choice, her body overruling her mind.
"Hey, um excuse me-" she called out to a familiar assistant passing by outside her door. "Could you do something for me?" He nodded, slightly in awe of being chosen as the object of her attention.
He came forward as she crooked her finger, "I need you go and get me just a little-" she explained, fingers pushed close together in emphasis, "little bit of coke. If you go and find Bob, he can-"
"I got it." The assistant interrupted, very familiar with the request. Her nails tapped rhythmically against the counter as she waited, avoiding the gaze of her own reflection. A small knock on the door announced his re-entrance, assistant providing her with a small plastic bag.
"You're a godsend, thanks." She told him as the young man left the room once again. Already imagining herself cutting a line or two, she was momentarily shocked by the hard knock at her door. Seeing her little helper had closed it behind him, she called out, "just a minute!" Stevie immediately reached for something to hide the powder in, not wanting to share.
"Stevie? It's uh, just me." She heard Lindsey's voice from beyond the door.
She rolled her eyes. They'd just spent two hours together, what could he possibly want right now.
"Come in!" She finally said, turning to face the door expectantly.
"Hey," Lindsey greeted as he pushed the door open slowly, still dressed in his dinner jacket from the scene they'd just finished filming, "hope you weren't changing or anything-"
"I wasn't." She assured simply, hands folded against her long black gown.
"I just- haven't really seen in awhile so..." he trailed off, uncertain of how to continue, but the look in his eyes conveyed enough.
"I'm fine, Lindsey. Really." She sighed, turning back towards the mirror. "Nothing some coke wouldn't fix but you know," she shrugged, looking longingly at the Kleenex box perched innocuously by her small black veil.
"You mean-you haven't?" He asked, shocked and confused
"Oh. Well no." She replied, exaggerating just a bit at his amazed expression. "Not for a few weeks now."
"That's- that's great, baby." Lindsey said softly but brightly, "I'm proud of you."
She looked down guiltily at the undeserved praise, twisting her fingers in the fabric.
"Mmmm, well I-" she started before freezing, head cocking slightly, "Linds, are you- bleeding?"
"What? No. I mean I don't think so-"
"Your hand, it's-" She continued as he lifted his palm to examine it.
"Oh. Yeah, I guess I am."
"Did- did I do that?" She asked, looking at the red skin where her nails had dug in not even an hour before.
"No, no, I don't think so," he assured her falsely, staring at the half moons where her nails had drawn blood.
"Oh okay." She replied slowly, unconvinced. "You should still probably cover it, I might have something in my bag-" she muttered, reaching for it.
"Miss Nicks?" A man in glasses inquired, looking at the two of them through the open doorway. "Mr. Mulcahy would like you back on set-"
"Okay, sure, I'm coming just- I'm sorry, Linds-"
"Stevie?" A voice called from further down the hall.
"Okay I gotta go, but make sure you take care of that-" she instructed, situating the small cap and veil back over her head.
"Yeah, I got it." He nodded, waving her off as she left.
Surveying the room, he looked for something resembling a first aid kit before being distracted as he sneezed suddenly into his uninjured hand. Lindsey hesitated for a moment, not sure whether he should wipe his palm on dress pants of his costume. Spotting a box of tissues on the makeup counter, he reached over to grab a few only for his fingers to meet plastic instead. Drawing a small package out of the box in disbelief, he examined the cocaine. What was this doing here? She said...
He'd been so relieved that she was trying to pull back and honestly shocked that he'd gotten through somehow, thinking maybe Robin had said something when she'd gone back. But now, knowing that she'd lied about it right to his face, he was even more concerned and honestly a little angry. Squeezing his eyes shut, his fist closed around the small bag before they fluttered open in calm consideration. Finally making a decision, he looked out into the empty hall carefully before striding over to the small room where they had left some of their bags that morning. He closed the door softly behind him and approaching the leather duffel in one corner, Lindsey quickly shoved the baggie deep into an outside pocket of Mick's things. Turning back, he flicked off the light switch and wandered back down the hallway.
