Somehow, I let two years go by. I called her a couple times, but she never called me back, and I didn't want to push her. I kept telling myself she'd call when she was ready.
I guess she's still not ready.
Kelly did give me a couple updates when I managed to get through, but I know that she was being ordered to keep everything quiet. Stevie's an open book until she's not. When she doesn't want you to know something, you will not know it. Works for some things, but it's also unbelievably infuriating. Somehow, I've been there for every single one of her lowpoints for the past 15 years. Just once, I would like to be there for a high.
I was vaguely aware of her rehab and her Street Angel project last year, but I tried not to pay attention. When Stevie is a mess, she self-medicates. We went through this in the 80's, and though it's a different drug and a different crisis she's been doing the same thing. I don't need to be with her to see that. Unfortunately, these are her demons, and she has to deal with this. Watching her do this to herself is completely miserable. Not that I've been doing so hot on my own, but she's definitely had a rougher couple years than I have.
Now, it's probably the middle of the night... who the hell knows. I lose all track of time in the studio. It's dark. Fiddling with my guitars to pass the time is pretty much what I do with my nights now. Life is so much quieter now. It was nice for a while. If I'm being honest, which I'm usually not, it's lonely. So here I am, laying track after track, trying to complete this solo album I've been working on for years now. Suddenly, the phone destroys my concentration and I'm momentarily annoyed.
"Yeah?"
"You're awake, then."
"Stevie?"
"You remember me?"
"Cute."
"Can I come over?"
"What's going on?"
"Yes or no, Lindsey."
"Of course."
"Good. I'm in your driveway, come let me in." Damn car phones.
She looks better than I've seen her look in ages. Her eyes are bright, and she greets me with a big hug, throwing her arms around my neck and holding on. "You look great."
"Thank you. Let me in." I gesture inside and she walks through the door, looking around. She probably hasn't been here since we recorded Tango In The Night.
"To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"
"Don't be weird." She cocks her head at me for a minute, obviously calculating, then approaches me confidently and grabs the front of my shirt to pull me down to her. Her lips collide with mine, and as hard as I try to come up with a reason not to do this, I can't. I instantly relent and kiss her back, our bodies and mouths pressed together hungrily. She's uncharacteristically bold and urgent, and I immediately sense that she's not in the mood for anything gentle. This is us. Rough and unpolished and unexpected. Also, a hell of a lot of fun.
I push her against the wall and remove only the necessary clothing, hoisting her skirt to her waist and entering her roughly. She rewards me by yelling my name and throwing her head back, her nails definitely drawing blood as she clutches at my back. She pushes me into the armchair and straddles me, her fingers digging into my shoulders as she rides me. I watch her for a minute, her hair wild, her eyes shut tight in concentration. Finally, she comes and I wrap her in my arms as she collapses onto my chest. We're still joined, and her hips move as she plants kisses all over my chest and shoulders until I finish, only vaguely aware of the wicked smile on her face as she watches me go over the edge.
"Jesus, Stevie."
"Mmm," she responds, still shaky. I hold her for a minute, finally taking the time to remember how good she feels in my arms. I silently lament the amount of clothing we still have on, but resolve to take care of that once I recover. We're silent for a long time, then she sits back and adjusts her dress, still straddling my lap.
"I've been thinking," she says, running her hands through her hair and pulling it over one shoulder.
"Bad things happen when you think."
"We're getting old."
"If what we just did is any indication, no, we're not."
"Shut up and listen to me. You have more time than I do. I'm at the end of the line here when it comes to having a family, Lindsey." I can't argue with her. Are we really 43 and 44 years old? When did that happen? She may look significantly younger, but you really can't fight biology. I'm trying to figure out where she's going with this, but for the life of me I can't. "You are the only person I ever wanted to raise a baby with. I've come to the conclusion that there just isn't going to be anyone else."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I want to have your baby, Lindsey Buckingham."
"You... what?"
"You don't have to marry me or anything. We both want kids. We're both stable and sober now. And we would make totally gorgeous babies," she adds, cupping the side of my face.
"You showed up to fuck me and then ask me to get you pregnant."
"You make it sound so crude," she says, wrinkling her nose playfully. I can't stand how adorable she is.
The truth is, she's the only one I ever wanted a family with. I study her, trying to figure out how sane she is right now. Is she actually as clean and put together as I thought at first? She bites her lip nervously, and I can instantly tell that she's dead serious. As playful as she's trying to be right now, she's terrified that I'll say no.
"Can I think about this?"
"Of course," she says, rising off the chair. She stands in front of me, smoothing her skirt. "I know it's a big thing to ask, Lindsey, but there isn't anyone but you." She turns like she's going to go, and I jump up and grab her.
"You're leaving?"
"You said you needed time..." I pull her to me while she talks, wrapping my arm around her waist.
"That doesn't mean I'm done with you," I say suggestively, tangling my fingers in my hair as I kiss her again. "Stay." She mumbles something against my lips that I interpret as assent and lift her off the ground as she deepens the kiss.
"Bed, Lindsey."
Apparently, she needs this as much as I do. We'll talk later.
