June 4th, 1980
"Come on Chris, it'll be fun," Lindsey smiled, pushing the leaflet back under her nose, "You can teach me all about art."
"I'm so grateful you'll take a break from snogging Dicky and claiming it's mixing tracks to do something with me, darling," she laughed, "Okay, fine. But you're paying."
"Whatever you want," he smiled, "I just wanna spend some time with my best friend."
"Awww, aren't you being sweet today? Can I expect roses and an invitation for a threesome later?"
He raised an eyebrow,
"If you want it."
"Come off it," she nudged his shoulder, "Just collect me at six tonight, and we're having dinner after."
Christine smiled at the leaflet, an exhibition of paintings and prints. Maybe it would be fun. Lindsey seemed excited enough, but she wondered if they'd be able to walk freely. That was something she hated about now being famous. The lack of anonymity. She hadn't joined Fleetwood Mac to become famous and do cocaine off of Mick's stomach (she shivered, remembering witnessing Stevie doing that). And at times, she wished they could be quiet again, touring Europe- just with Lindsey this time.
She dressed quickly in some tight little dress she'd found at a boutique in Paris. That was a perk of the job- pretty clothes that she wouldn't have cared for years ago, and the money to afford them.
She hadn't felt good enough to just go out and have fun in ages; staying at home for ages, feeling empty. That's what she needed- a nice night out with Lindsey. She applied her lipstick, almost wishing it was a date, but brushing away the thought. They'd already decided they were better off friends, even if Richard had said he was cool with Lindsey also seeing her. Whilst it seemed perfect to her, she knew it wouldn't last. It was easier to avoid heartbreak that way.
Lindsey walked by her side, pointing out things on the street and making her giggle as they made their way to the car. She moved her hand to rest in his, feeling how gentle and soft his palms were in contrast to his rough, callused fingers. He raised an eyebrow at her but squeezed her hand.
Their hands didn't separate until they walked into the gallery, conscious of people's prying eyes. They walked through the first exhibit, Chris studying the paintings and almost writing up her "personal response's" in her head, as she had done in school. She giggled and rolled her eyes. Lindsey was staring at a nude portrait and she couldn't contain her laughter, much to an old woman's annoyance, muttering "youths".
It had been a long time since she had been a "youth" but Lindsey made her feel young again, and incredibly carefree and happy.
"Someone likes men's bodies," she whispered teasingly in his ear, leaning up on tiptoes.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of blue hair on the balcony above her but thought nothing of it. It was 1980, punks and new wave fans were everywhere- it wasn't the first time she'd seen it, not even in France.
"Oh, absolutely," he whispered back, "Who doesn't like a good, hard cock?"
"Lindsey Buckingham?" a voice said behind them, making them both groan.
She managed to slip around the other side of the board unnoticed, she was just another blonde woman in the room. She made it up the stairs to the next room, walking into a room filled with stunning portraits on one side and abstract art in a range of reds and oranges on the other.
"If everyone she paints is so happy, then how come her self-portrait is so sad?" she overheard by one of the abstract ones, and it drew her over to look at it.
It was sad. She didn't know why, but something about it felt like heartbreak and pain. A flash of blue across the canvas felt odd like it shouldn't be there.
"Why the blue?" the woman next to her asked her partner.
"She's the one with blue hair," he nodded towards a young woman on the other side of the room, the one Christine had seen earlier.
She made her way around the rest of the room, walking back out to find Lindsey stood by the doorway.
"You escaped?"
"We have to go, the press know we're here, I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Don't worry, let's head off. We can have room service later."
"That sounds good," he laughed as they entered the car, "Hey, Chris?"
"Yeah?"
"Even if it was short, that was so much fun," he whispered, leaning forwards and pecking her lips, "I'm- I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking!"
"It's okay," she smiled, "Give me another."
"What about us not-"
"We both know we won't last, but why not have a little fun, Buck?"
"You're sure?"
"Yeah, come and give me a kiss, darling."
June 5th, 1980
"Indigo?" a familiar voice behind her startled her.
She whipped around, wishing it was the blonde she'd seen yesterday- the one unmistakable for Christine McVie.
"Gary!?"
"I had to come to see the show," he grinned, "My wife showed me the poster, and I knew it was you."
"Thank you!" she said, stunned, "You remembered?"
"Of course I did, I always tell people about the mural in the backyard."
She felt a tear come to her eye.
"I'm sorry, did I say something?"
"It's just a bittersweet memory, I'm sorry," she laughed sadly, "I saw Christine last night, I haven't in over a decade, and she didn't recognise me at all."
"You saw her?"
"She's a big rock star now, in Fleetwood Mac, the pianist."
"I've always been looking for the name "Perfect"."
"She married the bassist."
"A man?"
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry, I always thought you two were good together. Built to last."
"I did too."
