Upon returning to their hotel, Stevie had been stopped by the concierge, informing her that John Courage had left her a rather urgent message indicating that there would be a car waiting to 'get her ass to JFK Stadium.' Running out the lobby only seconds after she'd entered, Stevie's reigning emotion was confusion. What exactly she was doing on the way to the venue of what she assumed would be a cancelled concert, she couldn't say. They had intended to be the final act in a day full of music, the outdoor amphitheater also playing host to Steve Miller and his band and their own band's ex-guitarist Bob Welch, trying his hand solo. With the other acts on since noon, their last minute cancellation would be a logistical nightmare. Still, she reasoned, could they even play their setlist without Lindsey? He'd be as heartbroken as anybody else not to be up there, but she knew he hated the idea of letting anybody down. Maybe Bob's presence would allow them to salvage the set with some older songs. Knowing whatever idea Mick had concocted to avoid cancellation would simply have to do, Stevie resigned herself to performing that night, though onstage was the last place she wanted to be.
Rolling up to the back entrance of the outdoor amphitheater as the sun began to lower in the sky, Stevie was immediately confronted by J.C., seemingly waiting for her arrival. He pushed her towards the backstage area, instructing her to get ready for god's sake, they only had a few hours.
"Stevie, there you are!" Sara called to her, "We've been wondering where you were!" Quickly falling into her usual preshow rituals, she didn't have time to ask anyone what was going on. Knowing her voice would still be hoarse from crying earlier, Stevie had Robin leading her through their vocal exercises as she applied eyeshadow cross-legged on the ground, when she caught sight of Bob Welch in her makeup mirror.
"Hey, Bob!" She called out, "Get over here!"
The man made his way over, clearly fresh off the stage.
"Stevie, hey. Pretty crazy day, huh?"
"Yeah, about that. Do you have any idea what the plan is tonight? Are you gonna be up there with us or what?"
He considered her question, clearly a little puzzled by the question.
"Well, I mean, nobody's told me anything different. I'll probably head out a little towards the end you know, like usual, I mean I'm sure Lindsey could use the break tonight––"
Stevie interrupted him, perturbed and on edge, as a vague realization began to coalesce.
"Lindsey? Bob, Lindsey's not playing tonight, why do you think I'm asking you what's going on–"
"I knew he had that thing, you know, that messed up sound check earlier, but I swear I just saw him a minute ago, and he looked fine to me."
"Stevie..." Robin began, understanding what was happening, "I thought you already knew..."
"GOD! Why does everybody keep saying that!" Stevie cried.
"Honey, you're not gonna like it...." Robin began.
"You're saying he's here?" Stevie spoke, brain struggling to make sense of the information being presented to her, "Lindsey's here and he's playing tonight?"
Stevie stood up, letting her powdered blush compact fall against the ground.
The next time she saw Mick Fleetwood, she was going to kill him.
.
.
.
"Mick!" Stevie yelled, throwing open the door, "I swear to god–"
Looking up from his lawn chair in the men's dressing room, Mick sighed.
"You know I really don't have the time–" He began exhaustedly, shocked when the little blonde suddenly threw herself bodily at him, banging against his shoulders and chest with clenched little fists.
