Buckingham Nicks A/U Series Part 1: Over My Head

Sometimes I Can't Help But Feel That I'm Wasting All Of My Time

Los Angeles, California
Thursday, May 1, 1976
(2:30 am)
********************

"Hi, Stevie, it's Lori Petty. It's April 3...it's about three in the afternoon...just wanted to call and say I've been following you guys in the news and I am so happy for you! Hope all is well. Say hi to Lindsey for me...and say hi to your brother! Man, I miss Chris; haven't talked to him in ages! Anyway, call me back, hon. Bye."

The answering machine beeped and the next message began. Stevie sat in her living room in the black velour Gucci bathrobe Barbara had yelled at her for spending a thousand dollars on, hair combed and wet from her last shower at home until September when last leg of the tour ended, and listened to the messages she had accumulated since she'd been out of town.

"Hi, Stephanie. This is Janice calling from Dr. Feinman's office, just letting you know you're overdue for your annual dental checkup and cleaning. Call us back for an appointment that suits you. We're closed on Saturdays. Have a great day."

Beep.

"Stevieeeeeeeeeeee! What's up! It's your cousin Ed here, just letting you know Uncle John's birthday is coming up and we're trying to get everyone together for a barbecue in Sedona...I know you're not around but do you think you could fly out to Arizona just for the weekend? It's the end of July. Let me know. Say hi to Lindsey. Bye, kid."

Beep.

"Stevie? Hi...um...this is Lindsay...we met at Ken's party in Hollywood before you left for the tour...um...look, I know you said you're involved with someone and I respect that...I do...but you can't blame a guy for trying, can you? I just...I can't get you out of my mind, Stevie. You can reach me at 213-533-7660...I mean, if you want to. I'm just asking for coffee or drinks here, Stevie. Not marriage. Anyway I fucked this up; just...give me a call. Bye."

Beep.

"Ah...of COURSE she's a modern woman with the latest technology! Hey, Stevie, it's Don Henley calling. Got your number from Frey...he got it from that receptionist at Warners with the vacant stare that drives me bananas...Carol Ann. Anyway, congratulations on the tour! I'd love to talk about music and the touring scene and all with you...offer some pointers so you won't run yourself into the ground like Walsh...anyway, I loved meeting you the other night and I'd be lying if I said I didn't wish you'd stop letting Buckingham lead you around through his mood swings and let me take you out to dinner. You can reach me through Warners; I hate saying my number on these machines. They're the devil if you ask me. Anyway, call me, Stevie. I don't just want to hear your beautiful voice on my stereo."

Beep.

"Stevie, hi, it's Belva. I just heard your beautiful song on the radio this morning...with the snow-covered hills...oh, I am so proud of you, sweetheart! I guess I could have told Robin to tell you but I had to make sure you heard it from me. We're all rooting for you here, honey. Robin says you come to Oakland tomorrow...is that close enough for you to swing by? We'd all love to see you. Give me a call, honey. And tell my daughter to call her mother! That girl..ugh! Well, anyway, I just had to tell you about the song. Be safe out there, sweetheart. I love you."

Beep.

Stevie sat curled up in a ball on the new velvet sofa she'd trusted her mother to be around for when it was delivered and hugged her knees to her chest. Belva Snyder's message was the last of forty-one messages, and something in the way she'd called her sweetheart and honey on the message had brought out the tears she'd been keeping in all night.

In five hours, a limousine was going to be outside, and it would be bringing her to the airport...again. Stevie had logged more hours sleeping in airplane seats than in her bed in the past year, and somewhere between Belva's message and her physical exhaustion and the three glasses of wine she'd had so far that night, she'd begun to feel silent tears rolling down her cheeks that she did nothing to stop. On nights like this she regretted asking Lindsey for her space, for taking an apartment for herself when the checks started rolling in, missing their mattress on the floor in Keith Olsen's basement so much she couldn't breathe. She missed their late-night talks in bed in the dark, their indoor picnics with grilled cheese and tomato soup, feeling the comfort of his arm around her shoulder as they watched The Carol Burnett Show and laughed hysterically at Tim Conway and Harvey Korman as they shared a joint and the dog slept in between them. She missed crocheting in front of All In The Family while Lindsey picked at a song on his guitar and she wandered over to where he sat and moved the guitar out of his reach so she could replace it on his lap with herself. She missed The Rolling Stones dance parties in their pajamas and the way help and a loving pair of arms were just inches away when she woke up shaking from a bad dream.