Epilogue: And Hold Me Tight

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Hollywood, California
Monday, September 1, 1976
(2:00 pm)
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"I'm not trying to argue with you, Teedee. You need someone to look after your money."

Stevie sat on the sofa in front of One Life To Live and listened as her mother issued her a lecture about financial responsibility. Barbara Nicks had taken fifty percent of every dime her husband had ever made and put it in the bank, and she'd been hounding Stevie to be financially responsible since her first regular paycheck from the label.

"It's not that I don't plan on getting my money straightened out, Mom," Stevie said. "Literally when in the past year have I had a moment to sit in an office with some Harvard-educated C.P.A. and hammer out a plan? My God, I barely have enough energy to put on pants!" She was on cup of coffee number three and counting. She thought of going into the bathroom and getting the little glass vial of cocaine Mick had slipped into her pocket on the plane the day before.

"I understand that. Daddy and I worry about you, Stevie." She heard Barbara exhaling into the phone. "Your brother blows through money like it's printed by the Monopoly people...I don't want you to be ignorant and unprepared, honey. Believe me, I'd give the same speech to Christopher if he was in your position...actually scratch that...it means more for you, Stevie. You're a woman. This world is ten times harder for women. You need security."

"Look, I will ask Mick who handles his money," Stevie relented. "I'll call him tomorrow."

"Ask Christine instead," Barbara said. "She seems the most levelheaded. I love your new friends, Teedee, but that Mick Fleetwood...something's missing there. Common sense isn't exactly his strong suit."

Stevie laughed out loud. "Actually, no, it's not!" Mick was a genius with music, but not with money. She'd heard a few stories from Jenny on tour about his freedom with money that were beyond belief. "Your right, Mom. Christine it is." She thought of something then and asked, "Hey Mom, just out of curiosity...why did you name Christine and not John? They're married. They share money."

Barbara chuckled into the phone and said, "Oh, Stevie, come on...a blind man could see who wears the pants in that marriage."

Stevie was still laughing at her mother's accurate comment when they hung up.

She felt as though she'd spent her entire day on the phone. She'd called Robin first as she sat at the kitchen table, hair twisted up into a towel from her first at-home shower in what felt like forever, wrapped in her Gucci robe and drinking coffee, listening to Susan Lucci's Erica Kane argue with new-in-town Brooke English over a man on All My Children on the TV in the living room. Robin had told her all about her fun but comically disastrous date with Kim Anderson, a comedy of errors including the wrong food delivered to the table, getting caught in the rain, forgetting where the car was parked, and ending with them passionately making out in the car with the rain beating down around the windows once they found the car and got inside. Next she'd called her brother, and all Christopher could talk about was his new girlfriend Christy, laughing over the "Chris and Chris" cuteness and talking a blue streak about how they wanted to go skiing and she should get Lindsey to come along. Her phone call to Jess had taken a turn when he put Barbara on the phone after awhile, and her lecture about money had begun. Stevie had promised her mother that she would give her some of her Fleetwood Mac money whether she wanted it or not, and when Barbara had refused, Stevie had concocted the grand plan of registering a song on Fleetwood Mac's next album under the name Barbara Nicks instead of Stephanie Nicks, so she'd always be financially stable herself.

As the ending credits rolled over One Life To Live and General Hospital began at three o'clock, Stevie, fully dried and dressed and made up in between phone calls, thumbed through People magazine and began to let her mind wander to unwanted places. Her brief conversation about the McVies got her to thinking about Lindsey's birthday almost a year before, how Christine and John had studiously avoided each other and gotten drunk in separate corners of the bar, Christine mumbling to herself in bed after being helped up to her room. She thought of John's drunken tirade in Santa Barbara not long ago, shouting at Christine as Stevie and Lindsey had tried to eavesdrop through thin motel room walls about not wanting to have children, Christine shouting back that he'd be just as lousy a father as his own unless he crawled out of the bottle. She thought flirtation Christine had been carrying on with Curry Grant, one of the lighting engineers J.C. had hired for the tour. She thought of Christine shouting one night in a city Stevie honestly didn't remember, "And who the fuck is Julie and why is she calling here?" She hadn't been able to hear John's reply and maybe he hadn't given one, she thought. John McVie had always been a man of few words...even when the words "I love you" were what his wife desperately needed to hear.

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