Storms (8 page)

It was the last night of rehearsals and, for the first time, an audience had been invited. Warner executives, friends of the band, and a sprinkling of family members filled the cavernous soundstage. The air was humming with anticipation. The band was excited and nervous to be playing for an audience, but there was so much goodwill in the large hall that it was easy for the five members of Fleetwood Mac to move into position on the stage area and start the show. They launched into “You Make Loving Fun” and people stopped laughing and drinking, falling into complete silence as they sat in awe of the power of the music that was coming from the band. I stood by Julie's side, holding her hand as we watched the men we adored dazzle the crowd.

It was four months into our relationship and I was madly in love with Lindsey. As I stood and watched him perform on the dusty stage, I was struck by his vulnerability under the spotlights and I wanted to protect him with all of my heart and soul. The way that Lindsey held his head as he looked down at his guitar strings, playing as usual without a guitar pick, completely lost in the music that was springing from his fingertips kept me frozen in place. He seemed not to notice the blood that was splattering his guitar from his savaged fingers. But I did.

For the first time I perceived something that hadn't been obvious to me before that night's dress rehearsal. Dressed in his stage clothes, guitar
strapped around his neck, Lindsey had a power and a purity that shone in its brightness. And I knew that I would do everything within my power to protect him. Suddenly words rang out in my mind with the clarity of a church bell:
I'll never do anything that will come between Lindsey and his music.

At once it was clear to me what Lindsey essentially was: half man and half pure music—savage, unformed, and fundamentally dangerous. I knew, as I stood and watched him play, that if I wanted the first half I'd have to nurture and protect the second, inner half of Lindsey, the part that was sheer musical genius. No matter what it might cost me personally.

But as those words kept ringing through my head—
I'll never do anything that will come between Lindsey and his music
—I made a vow to live by this commandment. The alternative, I realized, would be a life without Lindsey—something I couldn't even begin to think about. The love I felt for him was such that life without him would no longer be worth living.

Rehearsals had ended and
Rumours
was due to be released in three days. All of us were nervous and excited. Even though the radio had been playing the album nonstop for the past month, it was the reviews and sales figures that initially would spell out the record's success and, following that, the
Rumours
tour ticket sales would be the further measure of it. Without good reviews and sales, the tour would be an uphill battle to prove that Fleetwood Mac had what it took to be a success story in the music industry.

The band took a two-week break before the start of the tour to promote
Rumours
, and everyone was heading off to Hawaii or Mexico to rest up, party, and try to forget about the pressure that was building like a hurricane with each passing day. But Lindsey, instead of flying to a vacation spot, wanted to go home. He called me at Producer's Workshop and asked me to drive up to northern California with him to meet his family that weekend. My palms turned sweaty as I gulped and answered, “Sure, baby, I'd love to go.” I could feel the blood draining out of my face as I hung up.

What am I going to wear? What will I do if his family decides I'm not right for him? What if they just flat-out hate me?
I thought, as I laid my head down on my desk and tried to will away the nerves that were threatening to make me nauseous.
You can do this, Carol. You'll love them and Lindsey will be proud of you. I mean, he wants me to meet his family, so that's a big deal. I'll try so hard to be perfect and I'll make them like me. Even if it kills me.

Two days later I climbed into Lindsey's blue and somewhat battered BMW 328i and we began the long drive up to Palo Alto. During the ninehour trip Lindsey smoked joint after joint and told me about his childhood and his family. His brother Jeff was responsible for his learning to play guitar, he told me. Apparently Jeff would rush out and buy rock ‘n' roll 45s the minute they were released and play them for Lindsey when they were still in elementary school. Lindsey begged his parents for a guitar and they bought him a $35 Harmony. He taught himself how to play by listening to Elvis and Kingston Trio records.

As approaching headlights swept the interior of the car, Lindsey had a smile and a faraway look on his face as he went on with his tales of childhood highlights. He told me he won his first singing contest playing “Black Slacks” at the age of seven while on vacation with his family in Arizona. A star was born.

Lindsey took another long drag of his joint and kept talking. “I went to Menlo-Atherton High School. I'll drive you by it. Anyway, Stevie went there too and she was a year ahead of me. I joined a high school rock band named the Fritz Rabyne Memorial Band. In 1967 we regroup, shorten the name to just Fritz, Stevie joins as the lead singer, Bob Aguirre is on drums, a guy called Brian is on lead guitar, and I played bass and sang.”

“You played bass? Why?” I couldn't imagine Lindsey not having a lead guitar in his hands.

He looked sheepishly at me and told me that because the music was pretty psychedelic, he didn't feel he could play it that well. “Then, later on”, he said, “the band breaks up and Stevie and I form Buckingham Nicks. We had an album out on Polydor. The fuckers dropped us from the label while we were playing a small club tour in the South. I'll tell you all about it later. We have plenty of time for all that”, he added meaningfully as he reached for my hand.

“Hey Lindsey”, I said, “I have someone in my family who is pretty damn famous!” As Lindsey looked at me with a surprised expression, I continued. “My great-uncle is Frank Hamer. He's probably the most famous Texas Ranger in the world! He was the Ranger who tracked down Bonnie and Clyde in the 1930s! He actually received a citation medal from Congress for doing it. He also captured the Dalton Gang and the Newton Boys—some of the worst gangs of bank robbers in the old West!
Oh, and he was also famous for his sarcasm. When a small town in Texas called in the Rangers to put down a riot, my uncle came to the rescue. When he stepped off of the train—alone—the townspeople said to him, ‘We have a riot down here! Where are the rest of the Rangers?' And he answered, ‘One riot, one Ranger' …
and
he stopped the rioting single-handed! Isn't that cool?”

“I've heard that quote, but I didn't have a clue who said it! That's totally amazing, Carol. That makes what I do seem like a cakewalk”, Lindsey answered.

“Well, I wouldn't say that necessarily, but at least you're not being shot at. He was my grandmother's brother and she told me that he was in over fifty gunfights, wounded over twenty times, and left for dead twice! Anyway, I just love it that he's my great-uncle! Lindsey, can you tell me a little about your brothers and parents? I'm just nervous about meeting them, and it would help if I knew what to expect, you know?” I asked nervously.

“They're going to love you, Carol. My older brothers are both married. Businessmen now”, he answered. In a proud voice he told me that his brother Greg won a silver medal in the 1964 Olympics for swimming. Jeff was even more of a hero to Lindsey. He lost part of his leg in a bad car accident and had an artificial limb below one knee. Jeff jogged, and unless you knew his leg was prosthetic, you'd never realize it. Lindsey's love for both of them shone in his eyes as he spoke.

His mother was widowed, as she lost his father to a heart attack during the fuel shortage of 1974. “My dad was in a line for gas. There were cars lined up for blocks and he had a heart attack. All alone in his car in a fucking gas line.” Lindsey abruptly took an exit into a rest area and turned off the engine. I tried to look into his face in the dimly lit wooded area, but all I could see was his profile. His voice, however, carried so much pain that I wanted to reach out and take him into my arms. Sensing that he needed to talk, I sat still as he told me in words full of tears of the day he lost his father.

“I was in L.A., living with Stevie, when I got a phone call from my mom. I flew home that night and spent the night in my old bedroom. It was the worst night of my life.”

“Baby, I'm so, so sorry.”

Squeezing my hand tightly, Lindsey spoke of how much he missed and loved his father. How much he wished he could be here to share in what
was happening in his life. I reached over and took his face into my hands and told him that I believed that his dad was with him, that he was watching over Lindsey, and how proud his father must be of him.

Speaking softly, Lindsey said that he wanted to believe that. He told me that his family grew up in a beautiful house with a pool and belonged to a country club for half of his childhood. Then his dad's coffee business started going downhill and they had to sell their big house for a smaller one. Father and sons handled it well, but it was hard on Lindsey's mother to give up the home and the country club life that she loved. And then, after Lindsey left home to follow his dream with Stevie, his dad passed away. As he told me, his face filled with a grief that left me speechless with the knowledge that it could never be healed or soothed.

He took a moment to collect himself and then leaned over and kissed me. “We're only about an hour away. I've booked us into the Santa Clara Marriott. Tomorrow I'll take you on a tour of my old neighborhood, and then we're going to dinner with my family.”

“Sure, great”, I said weakly. My nerves were on edge about the family gathering, but I knew that at least I'd have a whole day to work up my courage as Lindsey showed me his hometown.

We took the promised driving tour and spent a wonderful day. By the time we left to pick up his family for dinner, I was much more at ease and immediately felt welcomed by his brothers. His mother, Rutheda, in contrast was polite but distant.
I'll win her over eventually
, I said firmly to myself.
After all, Lindsey is her youngest. All mothers are extra protective about their youngest child.

We went to Scotty's Steak House in Palo Alto. Lindsey had been going there for dinner with his family since he was three years old. The food was so-so, but the garlic bread was to die for. It was the bread, Lindsey said, that kept the Buckinghams coming back year after year. The topic of conversation:
Rumours.
His family was stunned over the success of Lindsey's album and I sat next to him happily as they praised his achievement. I could see in Lindsey's face how much it meant to him to have his brothers and mom so proud of him. I could also see that the three Buckingham brothers were very, very close—and it made me glad for all of them. Watching the three of them talk made me miss my own sisters and I vowed to call them as soon as we were back in L.A.

Lindsey Buckingham, Greg Buckingham, Jeff Buckingham, Laura Buckingham, Amy Buckingham, Daryl Buckingham.

On Sunday morning the weather was gorgeous and we drove to Point Lobos, a nature preserve that was a few miles outside of Carmel. Located on the edge of the Pacific Ocean, its miles of wild wetlands and cliffs are absolutely amazing. As I would discover over the years to come, it was one of Lindsey's favorite places to spend a day smoking weed, walking, and thinking about music.

As we walked through the beautiful trees and climbed down the rocks to watch the waves crash below us, I clung to Lindsey's arm and a sense of wonder overwhelmed me. Looking up at his chiseled cheekbones, long, brown-black curls, and piercing blue eyes, I couldn't believe that I was with him.
I must be in a dream
, I thought to myself.
I'm walking in one of the most beautiful places on earth with a man who takes my breath away. If this is a dream, I don't ever want to wake up.
As though reading my thoughts, Lindsey looked down into my upturned face and smiled. And I knew that I had never, ever been so in love.

After a few hours of walking we climbed into the car for our long drive back to L.A. First, though, Lindsey wanted to stop for lunch. We pulled into a roadside diner and on the way inside he saw a newspaper dispenser holding copies of the Bay Area's free alternative newspaper,
Bam.
It was San Francisco's answer to New York's
Village Voice
and on the cover was a small picture of Fleetwood Mac, with a caption that said, “Album review, page 3.”

Lindsey grabbed the newspaper with excitement in his eyes. Stopping dead in his tracks, he almost tore the paper trying to get to the review of
Rumours.
I stood expectantly beside him as he started to read. Within seconds his face darkened and looks of horror, despair, and rage swiftly moved across his features. He looked up at me and said in a tight voice, “They
fucking hate the album!” His voice rose in volume. “They basically say it's
crap!
They trash it!
Jesus, Carol, they hate the album!”