Read Online Storms by Carol Ann Harris - Free Book Online

if I should laugh or scream. Looking at Stevie’s deadly serious face, I realized with a sinking feeling that I was embarking on my first real conversation with her and I felt as though I were entering the Twilight Zone.
    Why does it have to be so weird?
I thought miserably to myself.
Is she seeing how far she can push me? For cripes sake, does she really believe that Lindsey’s with me because my horoscope is the same as hers?
    â€œWell, gee, Stevie, I think it’s really cool that we have the same birthday. Really. Did you know that John Wayne was born on May 26, too?”
    Stevie’s eyes began to narrow as I continued. “Anyway, the black clothes thing is just, well, blondes look great in black! I wear a lot of white and turquoise as well. Lindsey’s seen me in a lot of different colors. Trust me, Stevie, it’s not my birthday or the color of my clothes that attracts Lindsey. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”
    Seeing Stevie’s now-red face and narrowed eyes, it was obvious that I hadn’t given her the response she expected. If it were possible to cast a bad spell over another person, she was giving it her all. I could feel her anger washing over me in waves. With a toss of her hair and a last furious glare, she growled, “I see. Well, I just wanted to tell you. I thought you’d like to know, that’s all.”
    With that, she rose quickly to her feet, almost knocking the chair over in her haste. Making a beeline for her girlfriends, she whispered something to them and they all turned and stared at me. Once again, I slumped down into my chair and watched as they walked out of the circle of light and into the shadows at the back of the soundstage.
    That went well. Now she really hates me
, I thought wearily as I chewed my fingernail. Suddenly, I felt a wave of exhaustion and leaned my head against the back of the metal chair, closing my eyes. My mind was reeling. I wanted to go home. Back to a world where reality ruled instead of astrology and mystic signs and, by the look on Stevie’s face, black spells.
    As though reading my thoughts, Lindsey appeared by my side and slid into the chair where Stevie had been sitting moments before. “Let’s get outta here, angel. Want to go home?” Lindsey asked as he reached for my hand. I nodded my head and he pulled me to my feet. “I have plans for you tonight, darlin’. Hope you’re not too tired!” My spirits lifted as I looked into his blue eyes and we walked arm in arm out of the soundstage into the cold night.
    As soon as I closed the door of my apartment, Lindsey pulled me into the bedroom and broke the strap of my dress as he pulled it off. I laughedand kicked it to a corner of the room. After Stevie’s remarks, I never wanted to wear it (or black) again.

    As the deluge of winter storms continued to besiege L.A., Fleetwood Mac was cut off from the rain and wind howling outside the soundstage, the members gathering each night in the warmth of the spotlights. Days swept by and each night the band became tighter. Gone were the hesitant vocals and jagged harmonies. Lindsey’s playing and singing was hard and assertive. John’s bass was a solid, thundering backdrop to Mick’s pounding drums.
    Stevie, now dressed each night in her black chiffon stage skirt and five-inch platform boots, with tambourine in hand, was mesmerizing at center stage. Her throaty vocals sent chills down the spines of the handful of us privileged to be sitting in the audience. The backdrop of a withered tree and Gothic moon against a black background looked not only like an illustration from a Brothers Grimm fairy tale, but also a window into the forest in which Rhiannon lived. Richard Dashut and Ken Caillet were sound-engineering magicians at the mixing board set up behind us at the very edge of the circle of light in the soundstage.

    Lindsey’s ideas for the set list for