The Art of the Heart

Man-Crush Christmas

The subdued entry of Lindsey and Stevie to the post-show wrap party did not go unnoticed. Their shenanigans over the course of the past six weeks had been the daily fodder for the tour equivalent of water-cooler gossip. The ups and downs, the humour and the pathos of it all - and most strikingly, the sheer positive energy that radiated from them when they put their heads together and operated as a single unit -made them irresistible to most observers.

Stevie's apparent mid-life crisis, Lindsey punching Greg and his subsequent medical emergency had left the crew in a state of high anxiety, nervous about the impact of all of these things on their future employment and, reluctantly, but nonetheless heavily, emotionally invested in the future of the lovebirds. So it was not wholly unreasonable that as they tried to slip quietly into the gathering, they nonetheless found themselves under intense scrutiny.

"Bah, do we really have to, Linds?" Stevie implored, tugging urgently on the hem of his untucked shirt like an impatient child.

The bar was one of those pretentious places that was so stylish it seemed a little unsure of its own identity: on the one hand it was sparse and minimalist in its furniture, lighting and wall decoration, and yet, it had, dotted at fairly regular intervals around the cavernous space it occupied on the top floor of the hotel, a bizarre assortment of topiaries. He could see why she felt underwhelmed by the prospect of spending the next couple of hours here, especially when she could be back in her room getting an oily foot massage from none other than himself.

Laughing, Lindsey drew her in close to him. "Since when have you been the draggee and me the dragger when it comes to social events?"

"I know, but, really? With all this wiring attached? And I'm supposed to try not to set it off with you in a room full of women who are half my age and twice as impressed by you as I am? Pfffft! We'll see how that goes, shall we?" She paused for a split second, then continued, whining, "Plus, everyone's staring at us!"

At this, he stopped dead in his tracks, turning to look her in the eye. "Okay, now we've crossed into the Twilight Zone! Stevie Nicks is complaining that everyone is looking at her?! Next it'll be John McVie offering to do a ten-page all-access spread in Rolling Stone!"

He pulled her off to one side, having noted that in addition to not rising to his bait, she looked tired and drawn all of a sudden. He waited until it seemed like absolutely no-one was paying any attention to them, then as gently as he could, he pressed her for further detail. "Stevie, come on now. Tell me what it is that's on your mind. We're past pretending, remember?" He tilted her chin slightly as he finished forming the question and was pleased when her expression softened a little.

"Get me a glass of whatever they have closest to a Rosé Crémant d'Alsace and I'll talk."

"Uhhh, really?" He hesitated for only a moment, though, then turned towards the bar.

He had taken just three or four steps when her voice halted him in his tracks once more. He turned back just in time to catch her request. "Linds? You better bring a tsipouro chaser." His heart thudded and through his cotton shirt he nervously fingered the sensor pad that sat directly over his heart.

Jesus Christ! That's a bad omen if ever there was one; last time she asked me for a tsipouro chaser she was waiting to hear the results of Joe Walsh's HIV test.... I wonder if it's my heart that is troubling her? It's either that, I guess, or it's the end of this leg of the tour......

His thoughts were interrupted by a heavy thud as Christine clapped him on the back emphatically. "Hey, hey, it's the Sloop Linds. B," she sang jovially as she leaned into him. "Where's your Siamese twin?" It was clear that she had already had a fairly large number of drinks; Christine McVie could drink anyone under the table, so if she was starting to show the effects, it meant she had imbibed enough to floor most people already.

He looked at her searchingly for a moment, wondering whether she actually hadn't seen Stevie, or whether it was merely a clumsy opener for a lecture, then said, "Ahh, Stevie's just over there trying to blend in with the topiaries. She's feeling a bit.....um.......a bit....."

"-crushed by the fact that she's opened herself up to the catastrophic, all-encompassing heartbreak that forced separation from you whilst you go home and play happy families with your hot young wife and three perfect children while she sits alone in her beautiful but ultimately devoid-of-love-and-companionship mansion  engenders, perhaps?" she said icily, all humour and friendliness long-gone from her voice.

"Excuse me?!" Lindsey couldn't help but exclaim a little too loudly. It was said with genuine outrage based on her blindsiding him in this context, but even as he spoke he felt the knot in his stomach that he had been doing his best to ignore contract and seem to increase in weight. He kicked himself mentally for taking his eye of the ball. He'd known, right from his earliest fantasy planning, that the transition from on-tour to off-tour was going to require delicate handling. And now, he was staring down the barrel of it with three fifths of fuck all worth calling a strategy.

Having apparently decided to return to a more genial approach, Chris slung her arm around his shoulders and pressed her left temple to his right, "I'm not saying you've not done the right thing, Buckingham - you two have been pining for each other for four decades - but you might do well to employ a good measure of sensitivity on the return home, eh? It's not generally your forte, you know, and if I know Stevie as well as I think I know Stevie, then she is going to need a little extra TLC."

Conscious that they must look rather odd conversing intently in their sideways headlock, Lindsey manoeuvred himself away from Chris slightly. "I know, Chris, I know. I'm not going to pretend that I'm approaching it with anything other than an incredibly heavy heart. The onus is on me to make it work and to ensure she is happier with me than without me. That's my aim: I might not be able to offer her a perfect storybook ending just now but I'm pretty sure I can enrich her life and make her feel like the most treasured woman in the world, in spite of my obvious limitations."

"Mental, practical, physical or emotional?"

"Say what now?" he said, squinting at her in confusion.

"Limitations, Buckingham. I was just wondering which set you were particularly concerned about?" she replied, laughing as she lunged away from him in order to avoid his fakey slap. "I know your intentions are honourable, I really do. I have been watching you like a hawk and, all in all, you really seem to have got your shit together. So, uh, you know, keep up the good work!" Slapping him on the back once more, Christine disappeared as quickly as she had materialised.

Lindsey first collected his thoughts, then collected their drinks from the bar and made his way back to the spot where he was fairly certain Stevie ought to be. He felt the warm prick of panic as he looked around for her but drew a blank. His confusion was shortlived, however. Through the din of the music and chattering people, he heard a peal of familiar laughter. His heart rate had already begun to climb but now he began to emit a familiar sonar ping - there was something in the tone of that laughter - and when he finally picked her out of the gloom, he felt a disconcertingly strong sense of déjà vu.

Stevie was leaning back against a tallish dark haired man who was obviously revelling in her company, and a second man, even taller and more solidly built but with a shock of ginger hair was standing opposite her, bent forward and stooping, evidently arranging the components of a cocktail on his left forearm, which he seemed to be using as a table, while he spoke animatedly to his two companions.

Lindsey took enough deep breaths to calm the frenetic beating of his heart, then walked towards the little cluster. Once he was within a few short steps, he recognised Stevie's attentive drinking buddies.

Great. Just great. This is worse than having Greg or Henley sniffing around. This is all her Man-Crush Mondays come at once. In fact, it's a veritable fucking Man-Crush Christmas! Ugh. Spare me! What do these fuckers WANT?!

               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for your incredible patience everyone! I promise not to keep you in suspense too long... x