Bleed To Love Her (B.N)

Summer 1982

Lindsey stood perfectly still as the seamstress stitched up a rip in the lapel of his waistcoat. Fleetwood Mac and their tightknit unit were on the set of their new music video for Gypsy, their latest single from their new record Mirage. Lindsey smiled weakly at Carol, who sat gazing up at him from a nearby loveseat in adoration. He mentally rolled his eyes; he was getting sick of Carol’s lovey dovey bullshit.

Though he was probably the one to blame for her needy behavior, he would never admit it. “All done. Now, Carol, come with me. I want to show you something.” Lindsey managed a forced smile when Carol kissed his cheek before following the seamstress out of the tent that the band called their dressing room. Being the most flamboyant rock band in the world - beside the glam rockers obviously - Fleetwood Mac thought that having a huge tent as their dressing room was better than just having the normal small square rooms most people were used to. The tent was divided up into three sections: one small section on the left, where people who were ready could lounge, smoking, drinking and snorting; the middle of the tent was the largest area where everyone got their hair and makeup done, instruments were tuned and vocals were exercised; and the last section on the right was a medium sized area, which was designed for the individual band members to use as an area to actually get into their costumes. But Stevie, ever the diva, had claimed it as her own personal dressing area. So, the right side area was Stevie’s domain, away from everyone else, unless she let you in. But Lindsey noticed that she wasn’t hiding in there. “Hey, J.C.?” Lindsey called to the band’s road manager. John Courage, or J.C. for short, walked up to Lindsey. “Yes, Mr. B?” He replied in his snobby English accent. “Where’s Stevie at?” Lindsey asked as he fixed the flat cap that perched on his head. “Ms. Nicks is out on the floor, getting ready to start shooting.” Lindsey nodded, thanked J.C., and walked over to the tent’s entrance. He quickly spotted Stevie. She was stood in the middle of one of the sets for the video, having her hair and makeup touched up by several stylists. “Let’s go, Ms. Nicks! We haven’t got all day!” The director yelled, tapping his watch and pretending to be angry; no one could get angry with Stevie. It wasn’t allowed. She was a rock goddess amongst mortals; she was untouchable. “Alright, hon. I’m ready for my close up!” Stevie exclaimed, running over to her place on the set. Lindsey watched as the music started and Stevie began acting out her song. He became more and more mesmerized as Stevie went on. The final blow came when Stevie began dancing in front of a mirror, pulling her skirt up, showing off her thighs. Lindsey shook his head, trying to ignore the longing and the lust he felt for Stevie resurfacing from the pits of his soul. “She won’t do this to me. Not again. Never again.” Lindsey muttered, remembering their short affair when on the road promoting Tusk and their night together in December of last year. As he grabbed a drink out of J.C.’s hands and downed it in one, Lindsey promised himself for the thousandth time that he would not give in to Stevie’s beauty and charm.