Storms (42 page)

On the third night of rehearsals, arriving at my usual time of 5
P.M.
, I was surprised to see J.C. racing across the concrete lot to meet me. “Carol. I need to talk to you before you go in there. Apparently Dennis and Christine had a huge row last night and he told her that he slept with both you and Sara!”

“That's a lie!” I yelled as I looked at him in shock and anger.

With a sigh J.C. answered in a low voice, “He told her that during the band's recording sessions he had separate love affairs with both of you.”

Looking him squarely in the eye, I said, “He's fucking lying. I would
never
sleep with Dennis Wilson, J.C. Sara and I hung out with him, that's it. I'm not like
some
members of the Mac family—I don't think it's OK to sleep with your friend's boyfriend. And I would never do that to Lindsey—never!”

With a nod and a quick kiss on my forehead, J.C. escorted me into the rehearsal hall. “Oh, one last thing …
People
magazine is on set today filming
the band. Bad day for it, obviously, but who knew this shit was going to happen? Just be careful that whatever you need to say or do, you do it away from the cameras, OK?”

As I entered the hall on J.C.'s arm I couldn't help but think of the irony of it: how a band so infamous for its unhappy love affairs within its own ranks always seemed to live up to its image, whether intentionally or not, when the press was around.

Lindsey was standing on stage fiddling with his guitar as I left J.C. and walked across the cavernous room toward him. He watched as I approached, a quizzical half-smile on his face. As soon as I reached him he leaned over and kissed me.

“Lindsey, J.C. just told me what Dennis is saying. It never happened. God, I would
never, ever
do something like that to you. I love you! And I can't believe that Dennis has the nerve to say such a thing about me. I'm going to kill him!” I spluttered, my words sharp and angry.

After staring at me for a few seconds Lindsey took his guitar off and wrapped his arms around me. Looking into my eyes, he told me that he believed me. Dennis, he said, could be crazy. It was Christine I had to convince—not him. As he pointed to a couch where Chris was scrunched up into the corner chain-smoking, he asked if I needed him there when I spoke with her.

Christine McVie, Tusk rehearsal.

“No, it's OK. I can handle it. I just can't believe that Dennis would use me to hurt Christine—that's just so
wrong!”
I felt like screaming, but aware of the cameras lurking in the background, I controlled myself and forced a grim smile onto my face. To have my faithfulness to Lindsey questioned by anyone was so beyond the bounds of what I'd tolerate that my normal mild temper had turned to fury.

With a last quick kiss I left Lindsey and went straight to an angry and upset Christine and sat down next to her.
What an asshole Dennis is
, I thought as I reached over and took Chris's hand in mine. “Christine, I just talked to Lindsey and I told him what I'm about to tell you. I never slept with Dennis. I would never do that to Lindsey or to you. Dennis and I are friends. That's it. And right now, if I could get my hands on him, I'd murder him.”

Christine and a crew member
, Tusk
rehearsal.

Conflicting emotions played over Christine's face and although she said that she believed me, she asked plaintively, “Why would he say that if it weren't true?”

“I don't know, Christine. He's obviously trying to hurt you, but I can't believe he's using me to do it. Dennis is lying. I know that he loves you, Chris. He constantly tells Sara and me how crazy he is about you. I'd give anything to not be caught in the middle of something like this. But I'm telling you the truth. Lindsey believes me and I hope you do too. And right now I think Dennis owes all of us an apology.”

Finally Christine smiled and gave me a long hug. That she was still upset was obvious, but at least I was no longer the cause.
What a friggin' putz Dennis is. I can't believe he'd tell such a lie!
I thought, as I looked at Christine. Hoping that all was now fine between Christine and me, I got up and sat on the floor close to Lindsey. He gave me a questioning look and I said softly, “I talked to her, Lindsey. I can't believe Dennis would hurt her like that. I just don't understand it.”

With a shrug he told me that Dennis apparently had been awake for three days straight.
Well, no wonder he's acting crazy!
I thought as I stared glumly at Christine, who now had Sara sitting next to her, looking just as freaked out as I felt.

Years later I would read time and time again quotes from Lindsey in magazine interviews where he swears that Dennis and I did, indeed, sleep
together. And to this day it's a complete mystery to me why he changed his mind and decided to believe the worst. But for the record, it never, ever happened.

Carol Ann
, Tusk
rehearsal.

As the night went on the camera crew photographed the band performing and roaming the soundstage. The article that would run two weeks later shows a picture of Christine and me deep in conversation on the couch, with a short caption saying, “Christine and Carol Ann are in a deep serious conversation during the Tusk rehearsals.”
That's the understatement of the year
, I thought as I read it.
Thank God they couldn't get close enough to hear what we were talking about. Friggin' Dennis.

Five weeks later I pulled our matching Halliburton suitcases out of the closet and into the middle of the bedroom. Sinking down on the floor next to them, I rested my head on my knees and stared at the empty interiors. A week before, Bjorn had given me the amazing and nerve-racking news that Eileen Ford of the world-famous Ford Modeling Agency in Manhattan wanted to see me—in person.

She'd seen pictures of me in his portfolio and she was thinking of signing me, he said. Of course, he didn't tell her I was only five foot six and therefore not runway material, but we were both hoping that she'd sign me with her agency for beauty ads. It was a huge compliment for Eileen Ford herself to be interested in me, and Bjorn and I were both nervous wrecks. Fleetwood Mac would be playing Madison Square Garden in three weeks and I had an interview already booked with her during our stay there. And I had no idea what to wear for it.

“Need some help?” Lindsey asked as he walked quietly into the room. Leaning down to kiss me, he looked long and searchingly into my eyes.
“Hey, Carol, do you want to buy new clothes for the tour and for this modeling interview you have? You can go to that new place in Beverly Hills that you like, Charles Galley. I want you to have new stuff. Let's get you a whole new wardrobe, OK? Would you like that?”

“Really, Lindsey? I have a lot of clothes, but you're right … I have no idea what to wear. I'm so nervous. Do you think I have a chance?”

“Yep, I do. I know you're nervous and so am I. I want you to model, but I don't know how it's going to work if you get signed in New York. I guess we'll figure it out. So why don't you go shopping, OK?” he asked in a low voice.

Knowing how nervous
he
must be about the upcoming tour, I felt conflicted and guilty. Even though I was beyond excited about the Ford Agency, the reality was if I signed with them, I'd be spending time in New York on my own. The interview appointment happened so quickly that neither Lindsey nor I had time to even think of its potential repercussions on our relationship.
I'll worry about it when and if I have to
, I told myself as I looked up into his eyes. Remembering my vow of two years before that I'd never do anything to come between Lindsey and his music, I was hit by divine inspiration. There was something I could do for him right then that would take his mind off my interview. And no, it wasn't sex.

“Lindsey, let's go shopping for both of us! I want to completely design a new stage look for you to go with your new haircut and new music. I've given it a lot of thought and I really want to see if my idea for you is right. It's something that will be completely different from anything you've ever worn before on stage. Will you let me do that? Please? That would make me really happy, Lindsey.”

Seeing the pleased look on Lindsey's face, I jumped up and hugged him. An hour later we headed for Beverly Hills and my new favorite store. Focusing on the old-money elite of Beverly Hills, Charles Galley carried only top designers. With Armani and Versace clothes hanging on their racks, it was the perfect store for Lindsey.

I wanted the quality of Armani so that I could turn it into a one-of-a-kind cutting-edge persona for the guitar player of Fleetwood Mac. Of course, I made no mention to Lindsey of the actual look I had planned for him—because I knew there was a chance he might balk at trying the radical change that I had in mind.

As Lindsey browsed through the designer shirt section, looking for shirts to wear with his usual blue jeans on stage, I furiously pulled out Armani suits and handed them to the salesgirl. Within ten minutes a dressing room was ready and waiting for the surprise I had in store for Lindsey.

As I ceremoniously ushered him inside I watched his face with amusement as he surveyed the assortment of beautiful suits that were hanging from every available peg mounted on the walls. “Um, Carol? What are all these suits doing in here? You want me to wear a
suit
on stage?” he asked incredulously.

“Just try one on, Lindsey. I just want to see what you look like wearing an Armani suit. We'll go from there, OK? Please? Try one on for me—just one—and if you don't like it, then we'll do something else. But let's just see how it goes”, I answered in a soothing tone.

With a shake of his head and a rueful smile, Lindsey stripped down and reached for a gray silk-and-wool suit. He had his back to the mirror as he slipped first into a white linen Armani shirt and then pulled on the suit. The jacket was single-breasted, fitting him like a glove, and the trousers were narrow with knife creases centered perfectly down each leg. Sitting in a gilded chair, I held my breath as he turned around and looked at himself in the ornate three-way mirror.

He stood silently, as though hypnotized by his own image, staring as though he were looking at a stranger in the mirror—and realizing that that stranger was himself.

A look of wonder crossed his face as he took in his reflected image. With his choppy short hair framing a face with chiseled cheekbones, dark brows, and blue eyes, he looked like a rock ‘n' roll version of Cary Grant—incredibly handsome, incredibly sexy, and, most of all, incredibly
cutting edge.

And as I watched him I suddenly saw that Lindsey had not, up until that moment, realized how amazingly handsome he actually was. My breath caught in my throat as I watched emotions play across his face that signaled a change in his self-perception. I knew exactly what he was feeling because I'd seen the same expressions cross
my
face when I first saw my own reflection after Bjorn had transformed me for my very first photo shoot with him.