ᴄᴏꜱᴍɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ☾ jimmy page

I.

july, 1973.

as far as I was concerned, I had everything I needed.

I had a suitcase full of beautiful clothes, a purse full of cash, a nice hotel room, and a penchant for black velvet and aleister crowley.

at least, I thought I had everything I needed.

I'd always been somewhat of a vagrant. I'd traveled from place to place, city to city. I made money through fortune-telling; palm-reading, tarot cards, the works. I'd saved up nearly a thousand dollars in three months, and I was living comfortably in nice hotel rooms wherever I found myself.

I woke up facedown on my bed in a hotel room in chicago. I'd consumed an entire bottle of wine the night before, and I was still in yesterday's clothes. the smoggy sunlight spilled through the windows, blinding me as I sat up. I shuffled into the bathroom and bathed, dressed, and wandered out onto the street in search of somewhere to get coffee and breakfast.

in a hungover daze, lost in an unfamiliar city, yet I strangely knew where I was going. as I walked down the sidewalk, a police brigade roared down the street, followed by two black cadillacs and another wall of cops on motorcycles. I'd heard something about led zeppelin coming into town, and I figured it was them.

I felt something land at my feet, like it had been thrown from one of the moving vehicles that had just passed by. I looked down and before me was a lanyard with two bits of paper tucked inside; both of them bearing the name led zeppelin. one was a ticket, one was a backstage pass.

what the hell, I thought. I swiftly picked it up and tucked it into my purse, and kept walking.

I found a little cafe three or four blocks down the street, and I decided to take my breakfast there. I discreetly pulled the ticket and the pass from my purse and studied them, still shocked that I had them in my possession.
should I go? I wondered. it was for that very evening. I'd never been to a concert before, but I liked zeppelin. maybe it would be fun.

-

I started getting ready that afternoon, dressing myself in dripping black velvet; flares, a burnout top, sturdy heels and my favorite black velvet coat.

the doors opened at 6:30, and the show would start at 8pm.

the venue was within walking distance of my hotel, so I started making my way there, my pass around my neck and my ticket clutched tightly in my hand; I was nervous and I couldn't figure out why.

I was one of the first people to arrive at chicago stadium, and I walked up to one of the security guards at the front door, holding my ticket in plain view. the man noticed the backstage pass hanging from my neck and he proceeded to give me a good once-over, and he smirked at me.
"aw, sweetheart, you don't need this," he said, taking my ticket from me. "let me escort you to the special entrance. follow me."
"um, alright," I replied, a little reluctant.

I followed him to the back of the venue to a door that said "stage entrance". he knocked on it and another man answered.
"who's this?"
"she's got a backstage pass. be good to her, she's the prettiest one I've seen so far."
I could feel myself blushing and becoming increasingly awkward.

I was gently pushed through the door and escorted to the backstage area, where drinks were being served and rockstars were being fauned over; robert plant was within fifteen feet of me, and he had a girl on each knee.

no one seemed to notice me, so I sat down awkwardly on a long velvet couch next to some road cases, taking everything in. did the security guards assume that I was a groupie? I had nothing against groupies, but I wasn't exactly one myself, because that would require having a relationship with a rockstar, which I obviously hadn't.