We All Headed Back to The Firm’s Hotel.
Bonnie wanted to sleep with Jimmy Page. It didn’t matter that he was just an old man (40), or that some woman in go-go boots was practically climbing on him, not allowing any of us to get closer to Jimmy Page than was absolutely necessary.
Bonnie held up a cigarette and asked Jimmy for a light. He obliged – and Bonnie pocketed his lighter.
The Firm’s lead singer, Paul Rogers, and drummer Chris Slade slipped out the door pretty quickly when they realized we were starstruck kids. Their darling British accents were enough to star-strike anyone, but Bonnie was out of her mind. She couldn’t believe she was talking to The Legend Himself.
Since Bonnie was suddenly overwhelmed with a need to follow Jimmy Page wherever he might go, I decided I would like to sleep with the guy with the big hair. Bass player Tony Franklin was very cute.
But Jimmy wasn’t interested in Bonnie; he already had his bizarre arm candy.
And Tony wasn’t interested in me, but Bonnie struck his fancy.
That left me completely ignored. So like a small child, I went into the bathroom and sobbed.
Bonnie, who hadn’t given up hope that she’d snag a night with her idol, quickly realized I was inconsolable. Not wanting to blow her chances with Jimmy, she left me alone in there – and sent the bartender to make sure I didn’t kill myself while she was hanging with the band.
The bartender – a nice young woman who’d probably seen this sort of thing a thousand times – tricked me into laughter with some kind of joke snot – yes, snot – that appeared to be coming out of her nose and hanging all the way to the floor. Drunk as I was, I actually fell for the rubbery trick. And while I am not normally a fan of gross humor, I admired her ability to make me forget why I was crying.
I rejoined the bar crowd. Shortly after I reappeared next to Bonnie, we all headed back to The Firm’s hotel.
There were at least two dozen people milling about in the suite. Alcohol was free for the taking in ice buckets around the room. People were smoking everywhere. Almost immediately, someone offered us cocaine.
That’s when I hunkered down near Phil, the guy with the rolled-up hundred dollar bill.
After even limited exposure to cocaine, I knew this was the drug for me. I don’t remember socializing anymore that evening, except when Bonnie and I went (together) to the bathroom in the adjoining hotel room. When I came out of the bathroom, she was holding a wallet taken from someone’s open suitcase.
“There’s a million fucking hundred-dollar bills in here,” she said.
“What are you doing?” I scream-whispered. “Put that down!”
She pulled one hundred-dollar bill out of the wallet. “They’re not going to miss one of these,” she said, tucking it into her jeans like a gum wrapper.
Eventually Bonnie and Tony disappeared together (Jimmy long gone) while I spent the night with Phil Carlo, The Firm’s (and Led Zeppelin’s … and Bad Company’s) road manager. What I remember best is Phil showing me pictures of his two adorable kids and both of us laughing all night long.
Sex isn’t necessary when you have cocaine.
Bonnie and I felt guilty taking Phil’s money for a cab in the morning – but not guilty enough to stop us from going shopping at Chicago’s luxurious Waterworks Plaza with the stolen hundred dollars.
Bonnie bought a stuffed bear. I bought my favorite-ever neon pink DON’T PANIC! shirt.
We believed our lives had forever changed.
