[wondergirl9847]

Call Me Crazy
by Anne Heche
(c) Scribner, 2001
pp. 154-158

As luck would have it, I got an offer to go to North Carolina to act in a TV-movie of Young Indiana Jones stories. I couldn't believe it, I was going to meet the man who made the very first movie I saw - Mr. George Lucas. I didn't contain my glee at getting parts, I still don't. Every part I get I scream for joy. I feel lucky when I get hired, and when the luck is this good, I jump and shout. Each and every one of my roles I feel I got for a reason. A reason that would shape the rest of my life and lead me to the next place that I was supposed to go--not only in my career. Every single thing that happened in my life happened for a reason, and I mean everything.

Without my father, my mother, and my childhood, I wouldn't be where I am today. Without each part, each role, each place, I traveled I wouldn't be writing this book. If I hadn't done the Young Indy series, I wouldn't have met Lindsey. And Lindsey was worth a meet.

There was a layover in the flight from North Carolina to LA and I got off the plane. As I liked to do back then, I played the game of "Who's the cutest person in the airport?" If you've never played, it's really fun, and it's played exactly like it sounds. You ask yourself who the cutest person in the airport is and then you find them. Well, my eyes were gazing and my mind straying when I came upon a guy in all black. Black from head to toe.

Now, we were in the boonies, remember, and not many people were dressed in black. In fact, no one was. We're talking floral and flannel. Black was way too mod in these parts. Of course I had to move closer. I was really curious now because the guy was standing in line for my plane. He was really skinny, which also made him stand out, because along with the floral and flannel look these people had goin', they were not turning down cheese and pie at the dinner table, if you know what I mean. He was wearing sunglasses, this guy, so I couldn't really see his eyes, but either way, he got my vote. If not for looks--at least originality.

I got on the plane and lo and behold who was I sitting next to? Mr. Black on black on black himself. I scooted into my first-class seat (I got to sit in first class when a movie company flew me around) and tried not to look under his glasses to see if he was worth the vote. He was paying absolutely no attention to me but was fiddling with a cassette player and headphones, which interested me as well. As I was casually looking absolutely nowhere, he plopped a tape down in that middle section between the seats and I casually had to look right at it. It was labeled DRUM TRACKS. What are drum tracks? I wondered, thinking it was obvious, but kind of wanting to know
from him.

"Are you a drummer?" I innocently asked as he was readying to put on the earphones.

"Ah . . . no. No, I'm not."

"Oh." I was still curious. "Are you a musician?"

"Ah . . . yes. Yes, I am."

"Neat," I said--and could have popped a lollipop into my mouth. "What do you play?"

"Guitar" he answered simply and sort of smiled, but more like a Mona Lisa kind of smile, not the real thing.

"Neat."

That got a for-real smile. I guess he liked the word "neat."

"You ever play with anyone I might have heard of?"

Now he was full-on smiling. I guessed that of course he hadn't. Didn't I see the Podunk town we were flying out of?

"You ever hear of Fleetwood Mac?"

"Fleetwood Mac?" I said it like I had to chew on it. "I don't think so, no. Why, should I have?"

By the way he was looking at me, I thought he thought I should have. "No, not especially."

"I still think it's neat, though. Are you going to LA to try your luck?"

"Something like that, yeah," he said. And then he took off his glasses. He didn't know that I was playing a game, but if he had, I would have told him that he was worth the vote. Well, wouldn't you know he never got those phones to his ears? We talked the whole flight back to LA.

"This is gross . . . " he said as the plane was landing. "I've never asked a girl for her number on a plane ride before, but how about if I give you mine and you can call me if you ever want to go out and have a cup of coffee sometime?"

"Neat," I said. And accepted the cutest guy in the airport's number.

Betsy the playwright was picking me up at the airport. I met her down in Baggage so she wouldn't have to park her car.

"How was the flight?" she asked.

"Great, " I answered. "I met this really nice guy who gave me his number."

"Gross." She was disgusted.

"I know. I'll never call him, but he was nice."

"What was his name?" she asked as we put my bags in the backseat of her Toyota.

"Lindsey something."

"Lindsey who?"

"I can't remember," I said. "He's a musician."

"A musician?"

"Yeah."

She paused and looked at me sideways as she slammed her door. "Is he famous?"

"I don't think so," I said. "Maybe, though."

She was getting frustrated. My lack of pop culture knowledge had gotten in the way of our communication before. "Was he sitting in first class?" she asked.

"Yeah. That's how we met. He was sitting next to me."

"Buckingham? Was his last name Buckingham?"

"Yeah! That's it." I said it all excited like she had won the quiz.

"Lindsey Buckingham just gave you his phone number? Do you have any idea who he is, Anne?"

"Obviously not, B."

"He's the f**king lead guitarist of Fleetwood Mac, Anne!" She said it like I was a little stupid.

"Well how the hell an I supposed to know who Fleetwood f**king Mac is?"

Betsy rolled her eyes as we pulled into the airport traffic.

"You're calling him," she said. "If for no other reason except for me to meet him."

"You got it."

We drove for a minute.

"I can't believe you met Lindsey f**king Buckingham and didn't know who he was."

"I can't either." I wanted to agree.

"Was he cute?"

"He won my vote."

"Was he old?"

"Old? What's old?" I figured her definition and mine would be different.

"Does he have wrinkles?"

"No, no wrinkles."

Betsy and I were doing another play together that she wrote about abortion. Clinton was up for election and we were dead set on doing anything in our power to get the Republicans out. It was a one-woman show and I was the woman. I figured it would be a great excuse to call Mr. No Wrinkles. I asked him to come to the show after I made sure he was a Democrat.Older men I could handle, but Republicans were out.

He brought me a CD before we went to the show and I was blown away. I was blown away, and then he was blown away. At least that's what he said. Men will say anything to get a girl into bed, I'm aware of that now. I wanted to believe him, and he may have told the truth, but that doesn't negate my notion of older men and their need for youth. I was on board with another guy in his forties/almost fifties who was trying to be in his twenties.

Lindsey and I traveled together for a while while he was on tour, and I tried to be the good girlfriend groupie. We had fun for about a year. We played, we sang. But I was playing for him and not for me. I needed my own career and wasn't willing to sacrifice it for a rock star. I had just gotten cast in a John Frankenheimer movie and it seemed like the perfect time to make the split.

Good-bye Lindsey. Hello, Nashville.