Storms (43 page)

It'd never even crossed my mind that Lindsey himself could ever feel even
remotely
the same basic feelings of insecurity about his looks that I did
about mine. As I watched him turning this way and that I decided that it was more likely that Lindsey had never really given his looks or his stage persona much thought—until now. Never realized how much power physical beauty could wield—until now.

Watching him, I was aware that I had just given him another tool to make his creative transformation complete. I knew that, for the first time in his life, Lindsey understood that he could have the same hypnotic presence as Stevie Nicks on stage—the same sex appeal, the same ability to mesmerize, the same
power.

For in the end, it was all about power. Stevie had
owned
the spotlight at their shows, but it was obvious to both Lindsey and me that he, too, could step into that golden light and quite possibly outshine her—or at the very least equal her in physical presence. We didn't even give it a thought that this ability could change forever the basic power structure of the band's performances. And that, once changed, there would be no turning back.

He looked at me, still thunderstruck, and I jumped up from the floor and threw myself into his arms. “Do you like it, Lindsey?” I asked breathlessly, even though the answer was now written all over his face.

“It's amazing, Carol. I love it. Jesus. I look so different. I don't recognize myself … but I guess that might be a good thing, huh? It's fuckin' brilliant, isn't it?”

“Oh my God, Lindsey! You're drop-dead gorgeous in that suit. And I want to do makeup on you for stage. You know, like what Bjorn did at the Grammys, only more. I mean, I think we should do your eyes with dark eyeshadow and shadow your cheekbones and darken your eyebrows … and God, I'm so excited for everyone to see you on stage! The band is going to die when they see this new look on you, Lindsey! The friggin' fans are going to go crazy!”

We grinned at each other and screamed,
“Yes!”
in unison before starting to giggle helplessly. For we knew that the band was in for yet another shock—and this shock would mainly reverberate with the one person who was in the most danger of suffering from it: Stevie Nicks.

“I can't wait until Stevie sees me at the first show. She's gonna die!” Lindsey sniggered.

“‘Yeah, I know. She will. But that's not why we're doing this, Lindsey”, I answered primly. “It's for
you.
It fits your new music, you know? Your music
has changed and now so have you! So let's take the high road and try not to be too mean about it.”

As we both started sniggering again we cried out together,
“Yeah, right!”

From a pleased salesgirl, I quickly ordered two identical gray Armani suits for Lindsey and four white linen shirts. I then went happily back out into the store and grabbed some designer clothes for myself.
This should keep me covered for my interview
, I thought happily.

It took two store employees to help us load our treasures into the trunk of Lindsey's BMW and we sped off for a celebration dinner at El Cholo, Lindsey's favorite Mexican restaurant. Between sips of margaritas, we talked excitedly about the upcoming tour. We were looking forward with relish to the storm that we were about to unleash on the unsuspecting members of Fleetwood Mac.

It was a storm that would match the impact that the controversial new album would unleash worldwide. Lindsey insisted on releasing the title song as the first single off the record. He wanted the world to be prepared for a new Fleetwood Mac—and “Tusk” got heavy airplay. It was a brilliant track, but it sent shock waves through the music industry and Fleetwood Mac fans.

For a band that had seen such monumental success, it was an anomaly to mess with its winning formula—and nobody knew what to think. In October the album was released to mixed reviews. Everyone greeted Lindsey's songs with a love-hate reaction, and it was a little bit rough on him. But he believed in his music and I assured him that as soon as people heard his new songs played live, everyone would recognize how great they truly were. “And if they don't, then fuck ‘em”, I said with a smile.

In Pocatello, Idaho, the first show of the Tusk tour was only two hours away—and Lindsey and I were literally hiding from the entire Fleetwood Mac entourage in the small tuning room backstage. We were in the process of getting him dressed for the show, wickedly savoring every second we spent on creating his new look. Seated on a metal folding chair in his new gray suit, Lindsey kept his eyes closed as I applied dark brown eyeshadow to his lids, finishing it off with carefully drawn lines of black eyeliner to starkly outline his blue eyes. After adding brown shading to his already hollow cheekbones, I finished his makeup with a dusting of white powder and leaned back to admire my handiwork.

Lindsey's new stage persona.

With his chopped hair, darkened eyes, and striking cheekbones, he looked completely satanic. And that was exactly the look we were going for. As he stood up and strapped his guitar around his neck I smirked, reflecting that it might seem a little strange to the world at large for a girl to get so much pleasure out of turning her fiancé into a rock ‘n' roll vampire. But the world at large didn't live within the realm of Fleetwood Mac—where that fiancé was in heavy artistic competition with a woman who portrayed herself on stage as the goddess of witchcraft.

Admiring our achievement in the mirror, Lindsey turned and grinned at me. “What do you think?”

“It's killer, Lindsey. Really. I absolutely love this look on you. Do you? Are you happy with how everything turned out?” I asked anxiously.

“Come here and I'll show you.”

I ran to where he was standing and happily returned his kiss with care, because I didn't want to mess up his makeup. We both started laughing as I inspected his face for smudges.
I wish Bjorn were here to see Lindsey—he'd be so impressed!
I thought as I grinned at my sexy rock vampire in the Armani suit.

Fiddling with the strap of his guitar, Lindsey told me that he couldn't wait until the band got a look at him. And neither could I. At the moment I was looking forward more to their reaction when they first got a look at the new Lindsey than I was to the actual show. Lindsey opened the door of the tuning room and strode ahead of me down the hallway to the main dressing room, where the rest of the band was already assembled—blissfully unaware of the surprise we had in store for them. Winking at me over his shoulder, he turned the handle of the door and walked inside.

There was stunned silence as we entered the room. Stevie stared openmouthed as Lindsey casually strolled to the drinks table and started to mix a Myers's and Coke. Christine almost choked on her vodka tonic, spluttering noisily as she gulped it down.

Mick, who was about to inhale a bottle cap of blow, froze, the cap clutched forgotten in his hand. And then he dropped his massive hit of cocaine. As the cap slipped out of his fingers and fell slowly to the ground, every pair of shocked eyes in the room moved briefly from Lindsey to follow the puff of white dust that drifted up almost weightlessly from the shiny piece of metal. In the reality of the world of Fleetwood Mac, a dropped hit of blow outranked the shock the band members were feeling at Lindsey's alarming appearance any fuckin' day.

Looking first at Lindsey and then at the tragically spilled blow, Mick let out a heart-wrenching screech.
“Aaaargh, shit!
Jesus Christ, Lindsey! What the hell?”

Lindsey surveyed the room, a smile of satisfaction crossing his nowsatanic countenance. “What the hell what, Mick? Drag about your blow, man”, Lindsey sniggered as he downed a huge gulp of his drink.

“I mean,
what the hell?”
Mick snapped as he pointed toward Lindsey.

“You don't like my suit, Mick? It's Armani … you of all people should appreciate an Armani suit”, he answered smugly as he flicked imaginary specks of lint off one of his cuffs.

As Mick stared at him, speechless, Christine stood up, irritation radiating from her erect, stiff posture. Walking quickly to where Lindsey was now leaning nonchalantly against a wall, she stared closely at his face. “Christ! Are you wearing
makeup?”

“Maybe”, Lindsey smirked.

Chris turned to the rest of the band for support. And then she told Lindsey exactly what she thought of his new look. She gave the suit a backhanded compliment, stating that she liked it, even if it didn't really work with the rest of the band's “stage look.” She then asked in a mocking tone if he didn't feel that perhaps the makeup might make him look “a little gay.” As she looked again in exasperation for band support from John or Stevie—who remained completely silent—she gave Lindsey a withering stare, refilled her glass with more tonic and vodka, and almost stomped back to her chair.

Giving Christine a classic Lindsey look that said,
“Fuck you!”
he smiled smugly and sipped on his cocktail.

“I like it, Lindsey”, John said with a shrug. “You look great. I take it you didn't do that makeup by yourself?” Turning to me with a smirk, he added, “Carol, you did a great job. He looks rather devilish, doesn't he?”

I blushed as I curtsied in John's direction, unable to hide my smile of triumph any longer. “Thanks, John. I think he looks amazing. The fans will too!”

“Actually”, Lindsey said to John. “The suit's Carol's idea. She's a woman of many
talents
, I gotta say.”

As Christine and Stevie glared at me, I cringed a little under the force of their obvious wrath.
Great. As if Stevie needs any more reasons to be mad at me. And now Christine's pissed off at me too! Well, too bad, girls. Lindsey looks great and you're just going to have to deal with it
, I thought with a bravado that was coming a little bit hard as their anger made me feel like running for cover. Walking quickly to Lindsey's side, I slipped under the relative safety of his free arm and gave them the sweetest smile I could muster.

As we both stood whispering in the corner, Stevie wrapped herself in another of her beautiful shawls. Studiously ignoring us both, she fingercombed her hair in the mirror. Over that night's choice of signature chiffon skirt, she was wearing layers of three different shawls, each one more stunning than the last. In the fluorescent lights of the dressing room she was absolutely gorgeous. And as anyone who's ever stood under a fluorescent light knows, that was a pretty hard trick to pull off. But she did. With a toss of her hair she turned and stared at Lindsey, as if telling him that
she
wasn't worried about being upstaged. And he stared back without even a trace of a smile.

Here we go again
, I thought, as I not only watched but felt the intense rivalry flowing between them. It was like an unseen malevolent presence in the room and with a sigh I wondered if that was ever going to change.
Not friggin' likely
, I told myself.
Not on this tour anyway.

“Six minutes
, everyone, six minutes”, J.C. called out as he entered the room. Looking at the frozen tableau in front of him, he followed the gaze of the band and saw Lindsey and me, standing as though we were in front of a tribunal.

“Damn, Mr. B. You've done it up, haven't you? I like it. You look quite the dandy in that outfit! The fans are going to be in for a bit of surprise, eh?”

Giving me a wink, J.C. walked over to the door and intoned,
“Five minutes
, everyone. Let's line up now. Time to play the first show of the tour! Make it a great one! There's close to fourteen thousand punters out there waiting for you. Let's give ‘em what they want, shall we?”

Lindsey gave me a quick kiss as a long-familiar, faraway look came into his eyes. He was once again entering a place where I could not follow. And despite the small altercation minutes before, the merging of the band members' separate personalities into one powerful force known as Fleetwood Mac seemed to electrify the very air around them as they walked single file out of the room into the brightly lit hallway. It had been over a year since they'd taken this walk through cables and past anvil cases and I felt a surge of excitement. The first show of the
Tusk
tour was about to begin.

Keeping my usual distance from the band members, who were now congregated at the bottom of the stage, I watched Lindsey gleefully rubbing his hands together as he laughed at something Mick was saying to him. He looked so happy that I wanted to run and throw my arms around him. But I didn't. He was within the entity that was Fleetwood Mac and was therefore unapproachable. Instead, I hugged the moment to myself and realized that I was absolutely thrilled to be back on the road. The welcoming roar of the crowd rang in my ears as I watched J.C. move across the stage to the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to …
Fleetwood
Mac!”