Storms (48 page)

In Japan the audiences sat quietly throughout the entire concert and then applauded politely at the end. It was like playing to a city of the dead, I told Lindsey. As I stood on stage and watched the kids sitting calmly in their seats, they barely even coughed during a song, much less showed excitement. That wasn't the Japanese way. We had no doubt that they were enjoying the show. It was just that they felt that it was rude to interrupt anyone—and screaming and dancing in the aisles was definitely considered rude. In Japan, politeness ruled. It wasn't that they didn't love the band; they respected them so much that they would rather commit
hara-kiri
than offend them.

The band appreciated this, but it didn't make for a very good time at the show. To make a bad situation worse, there was a documentary crew there filming the band both on and off stage, recording it all for posterity. And it was just totally embarrassing. Fleetwood Mac was so used to getting intense audience feedback that they were having a hard time playing when they got none at all. And with no drugs to give them fuel, it wasn't a pretty picture.

What was amazing in Japan was that in the airports and on the streets the band was treated as if they were royalty. We were followed everywhere by TV cameras, paparazzi, and hundreds of fans clamoring for autographs. So that appeased all five members of Fleetwood Mac quite a bit. Even so, everyone was relieved when it was time to leave Japan and go down under to Australia.

We landed in Perth on February 19. It was summer in Australia and everyone was thrilled to be in an English-speaking country. It just made everything easier. After Japan, Australia was like nirvana to us. The food was great, the hotels were plush, and the audience response was exactly like in America. The fans loved Fleetwood Mac and showed it by yelling and screaming hysterically from the moment they walked onto the stage until they left it. And the band was back in business with their party supplies. Everyone was happy and J.C. couldn't have been more relieved.

For the first eleven days things went smoothly. And then everything began to spin out of control as one thing after another turned a promising stay into a very ugly experience for both the band and myself. It was like a dark spell had been cast over the Australian leg of the tour. At first it seemed strangely funny. Then it turned into a nightmare.

Mick Fleetwood on the Australian
Tusk
tour.

First, the Melbourne police rousted Mick out of bed. They'd intercepted a small package of weed being delivered to one of Fleetwood Mac's roadies. They decided that Mick, perhaps because he had the same first name as the guy, was a heroin addict. They turned his room upside down looking for heroin and even examined his body for injection marks. Of course, they didn't find a thing, but it was disconcerting nonetheless. Mick took it in stride and managed to add the whole episode to his repertoire of sick jokes, regaling us all with the “life and death” horror of it.
But, underneath, I could see he was shaken. Who wouldn't be? It made the whole entourage nervous. But it didn't stop the partying—and that partying contributed to what happened next.

At the first of three shows in Melbourne, the band took the stage after indulging in a lot of pre-show “refreshments” of cocktails and blow. They still hadn't gotten over their deprivation in Japan and were spending every second making up for it. The band seemed to be having a great time on stage, going for it with their usual intensity when, for no reason whatsoever, Lindsey lay down on his back in the middle of the stage and didn't get up. He hadn't collapsed. He didn't fall. He was just lying there flat on his back still playing like a demon—but doing it horizontally. I could see the other band members' faces fill first with concern, then confusion, and finally fury as he began writhing around like a maniac, refusing to get up even after Stevie stomped over and screamed at him.

Lindsey and Stevie on the
Tusk
tour.

He had a shit-eating grin on his face and as a reply to her angry remarks he used his feet to push himself around and around in a circle, never missing a note but nevertheless taking the coolness right out of Stevie's big showstopping rendition of “Rhiannon.” And he stayed that way for three whole songs. Then he jumped back up and went back to playing as usual, obviously not giving a damn about the band's fury.

And it wasn't over yet. As soon as they took the stage again for their encore song, “Sisters of the Moon”, he was at it again. Stevie's trademark entrance with robes flowing and a translucent shawl draped over her blonde hair was turned into a comic farce as Lindsey followed her every footstep with a shawl wrapped around
his
head. Looking like a demented Bedouin, he pranced around behind her, refusing to stand less than two feet away as she struggled to get through her song. The crew was sniggering and the audience was laughing, but Stevie wasn't. She was rigid with furious indignation. But what could she do? She made it through the song and abruptly walked off stage and didn't return. The show was over.

Not one band member talked to Lindsey backstage, but he didn't seem to care. He sipped his Myers's and Coke, partied on his own, and then we headed back to the hotel. There I spent another of my long nights watching over him as he sat propped up in bed, head on knees, rocking back and forth. I'd given him his Dilantin before the concert, but I was still worried and vigilant until finally, around 3
A.M.
, he slumped down and fell into a deep sleep.
He's OK now, so he'll be fine tomorrow. Just had a weird night, that's all … and God help me, I know it's awful but he was pretty funny tonight
, I thought just before sleep overtook me.

The next show passed without incident, and even though the band was still angry with him, Lindsey gave a solid performance and it seemed that the night before was a bizarre Fleetwood Mac aberration. But it wasn't. The last show in Melbourne would be more shocking than the first.

Lindsey on the Australian
Tusk
tour.

Just like the previous nights, the pre-show partying was twice what it was in the States. The consumption of alcohol and cocaine was way over the top, even for Fleetwood Mac. Despite this, the show was going great, and since Sara had arrived the day before, I was having a blast. Hopping on stage right before “World Turning”, I stood
quietly listening to the first half of the song. As Mick took center stage to do his wildman act on the bongos I was turning to leave when suddenly a hand gripped my upper arm like a claw. Fingers dug into my arm and I was spun around and found myself inches from Stevie's hot, sweaty, and angry face.

Mick Fleetwood performing “World Turning.”

Her fingers tightened like steel and as I tried to shake her off, pain shot down my arm like fire. Looking at her in confusion and shock, I could smell the alcohol on her breath as she started to scream at me that I was evil. Evil, evil, evil! She
hated
me, she said. She screeched that she was never going to let Lindsey marry me. Because I was
evil!
I couldn't understand half of the things she was saying, but their meaning was clear enough. She hated me, hated that I was with Lindsey, and she'd see me in hell first before she “let” us marry.

While all this was happening the band was still playing. Stevie was supposed to be on stage singing, but instead she was spitting and screaming directly into my face. The others, naturally, knew that something was very wrong, but Stevie blocked me from their view. And because of this, they had no idea what was happening.

Suddenly J.C. came racing to my side and struggled to get Stevie to let go of me. With a last glare of fury at both of us, she wheeled around,
almost falling before she regained her balance and stomped back on stage. J.C. helped me down the stairs and walked me to the dressing room. Even though he kept asking what had happened, I didn't trust myself to speak. I wanted to talk to Sara. Shaken and more than a little shocked, I quietly sat down next to her and told her what just happened. Looking at me in disbelief, she began to smile and within seconds we were both laughing hysterically. And we couldn't stop. With my arm still aching, it was the only reaction I'd allow myself. Even though I was laughing, I was on the verge of tears, but I refused to give in to them. I was too angry.

After the show Stevie once again left immediately and Lindsey was in high spirits, as was the rest of the band. They were pissed off about Stevie missing “World Turning”, but attributed it to her overdoing it at the band's private pre-show partying. I didn't say a word to Lindsey about what had happened. I was torn between trying to keep peace among the band members and standing up for myself.

I'd risen above a lot of Stevie's slings and arrows since meeting Lindsey, but this time she'd stepped over the line and I didn't think I could let it go. But I was shell-shocked, upset, and tired, and I just wanted to go back to the hotel and go to sleep.
I'll think about it tomorrow, when my mind's clearer. I'll decide then if I'm going to tell Lindsey
, I promised myself as we finally left. Back at the hotel I went straight to bed while he worked on a new song. Within an hour I fell into a restless sleep.

The next morning Richard came to our room to smoke a joint with Lindsey before we left for the flight to Brisbane. I heard his voice in the outer room as I came out of the shower. Sitting back on my heels, I rubbed my sore arm, feeling angry and chagrined as I relived the past night's event. And I knew that I had to tell Lindsey. Because, as mad as I was, I didn't even trust myself to come face to face with Stevie on the plane. I needed him to tell me what to do. What happened to me was sordid and shocking—and I didn't intend to let it ever happen again. It was just too much.

Walking quietly into the living room of our suite, I sat down next to him. “I need to tell you something, Lindsey”, I said in a low voice.

After taking one look at my face, both Richard and Lindsey stopped laughing and asked in unison, “What's wrong?”