See You at the Show Read online

  SEE YOU AT THE SHOW

  When the performance of your life isn’t all you have to give …

  By Michelle Betham.

  Copyright © Michelle Betham 2011

  All rights reserved.

  The story, characters and events in this book are a work of the author’s imagination, and are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to any actual person, places or events is purely coincidental.

  DEDICATIONS & ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  For my husband, who once again helped me get this show on the road, and to all my friends – your continued support is so very much appreciated. Thank you.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The stars were clear and bright in the black Ibizan sky, none of them disturbed in the slightest by the mixture of thumping club music and heavy rock coming from several large speakers placed around the gardens. It was almost 3 a.m. but the temperature was still over thirty degrees and the party was showing no signs of ending any time soon.

  Stevie stood up from the wall she’d been sitting on that overlooked the huge oval-shaped swimming pool and glanced up towards the imposing white stucco-walled villa a few yards away. She loved the warm weather, this heat that carried on well into the night on these Mediterranean islands at this time of year, but it was becoming incredibly stifling with the intense humidity. If she went inside at least she’d have the air conditioning.

  She started walking back across the beautifully tiled patio area, criss-crossing her way through the mass of people still drinking and dancing their way into the early hours, towards the large three-storey house, and as she walked she looked down at her feet and the black biker boots that she always wore, even here in the heat of the Balearic summer.

  Stevie didn’t do heels or sandals, or anything fancy and fashionable, not unless she was forced to and even then she’d been known to put up one hell of a fight. She didn’t really do fashion full stop. Stevie Stone was an original, a real-life rock chick. She spent her life travelling the world with a famous rock band but she wasn’t a groupie, she never had been. Stevie Stone was a roadie, one of the few female roadies in the business in a world still dominated by men. A world that, although slightly more open than it once had been to the appearance of women on the scene in a capacity other than that of groupie, still wasn’t one hundred per cent sure that she could do her job as well as her male counterparts. But Stevie was quite happy to continue proving them wrong.

  Born Stefanie Fredriksen in Gothenburg, Sweden, she was thirty-three years old and loved her life, but it hadn’t always been that way. Her family had moved to the North West of England when she’d been thirteen due to her father’s work in engineering, but when his contract had come to an end three years later her parents had moved back to Sweden. By that time, however, Stefanie had been sixteen years old with a firm grasp of the English language, a whole new set of friends and a desperate need to be independent. Moving back to Sweden hadn’t been on her agenda; she’d wanted to stay in the U.K., and as a stubborn and ambitious teenager her parents couldn’t change her mind. They’d reluctantly let her have her way and left her behind in Manchester where she’d thrown herself head first into her new and exciting life.

  But she’d been young, and things hadn’t exactly worked out the way Stefanie had planned; things had got tough. Things had got very tough. She’d gone through a lot, most of which she was still trying to forget - even now - and at nineteen, after three years in Manchester, she’d taken another long, hard look at her life and knew that, because of what had happened, she’d had no choice but to leave the North West. So she’d packed a suitcase and moved to London. She’d wanted to put a lot of things behind her and London had seemed as good a place as any to get lost in. It had been the right decision.

  Once there she’d found work as a promotions model to earn some much needed money, before enrolling on a sound engineering course at college. She’d always had a love of music and ever since she could remember she’d always harboured a dream to eventually work in the industry – the technical side rather than the performing side – so it had been the perfect route for her to take. And she’d loved being one of the few girls on the course. She’d always got on better with men, always been a tomboy, always been surrounded by music; and after just a few weeks she’d known that that world was where she definitely belonged. It had felt right, and when something felt right she usually ran with it. She’d started to get a feel for where she’d wanted to go with her life, and make that new start she’d so badly needed. Slowly but surely it had all started to fall into place. But she’d still needed that final transformation. She’d still needed to start putting Stefanie behind her, so she’d cut her long, white-blonde hair short, putting vibrant red and black streaks through it - something which she still did now, years on – and that had been the beginning of the new person she’d slowly started to become.

  At five feet six inches tall, with long slim legs and light tanned skin she was an extremely beautiful girl, in a very unconventional way. Her most striking feature were her piercing cobalt blue eyes that people noticed even more once her hair had been cut shorter, and along with her straight, almost perfect nose and a full mouth in a heart-shaped face that carried the most incredible cheek bones, she was different, quirky; stunning. Because of this she’d been able to find work as a photographic model alongside her P.R. jobs to pay her way through college, and despite an agency wanting to sign her up for beauty work, it hadn’t been where her heart lay. She’d known the direction she’d wanted to go in and it hadn’t been modelling.

  She’d started hanging out with some of the guys from college at rock bars and clubs, immersing herself in a world she’d fallen in love with - the music, the motorbikes, the whole culture and vibe was something she’d wanted to be around. It was where she’d felt comfortable. She’d wanted to live in that world. It was so far removed from the one she’d left behind and that’s what she’d needed; somewhere she could hide away, to become the person she’d needed to be. A completely different person. And that’s when the name change had happened, when Stefanie Fredriksen had finally become Stevie Stone - Stevie, after her rock heroine Stevie Nicks, and Stone just because it flowed nicely. Her new life had well and truly been born.

  Knowing that she was never going to be destined for a nine-to-five office job she’d got herself the tattoos she’d always dreamed of having – a large, colourful and elaborate sleeve design of intertwined roses, thorns, guitars and snakes that ran all the way from her left shoulder down to her wrist; and a large black cross on her upper right arm. She’d loved them - she still did - and once they’d been completed she’d finally started to feel like that new person she’d needed to become. In the brand new world that she’d needed to live in. More tattoos had appeared over the years but those first ones on her arms, they’d been very important. They’d been the start. They’d been necessary. They’d buried the past.

  Because of her outgoing personality she drew people in wherever she went, and once she’d left college she’d begun to put the word out in the bars and clubs where she hung out that she was looking for work. People loved her sense of humour, the way nothing shocked her or stood in her way. She was one of the guys. She was forthright and upfront. Her male friends loved the fact that they could say anything in front of her and she’d never bat an eyelid and before long she’d got regular work helping local bands out at gigs all over London. She knew her stuff but it still hadn’t been easy. Sexism had been rife amongst some of the promoters and tour managers and Stevie had had to put up with many derogatory and sometimes offensive remarks, but she’d handled herself with ease, giving as good as she’d got and because of that she’d gained the respect and friendship of many in the rock world. She’d put he
rself out there knowing what she’d been going to get, but it was a world in which she felt more at home than anywhere else she’d ever been in her life. It was her territory, and she knew how to work it any which way it came at her.

  It was while she’d been at a gig in Hammersmith one night a few years ago that she’d met Johnny Jackson backstage. A six foot tall Californian rocker, Stevie had heard of his band Black Rock Diamond on the rock circuit grapevine. They’d taken a lot of their inspiration from the classic rock of the 1970’s and 80’s, two of her favourite eras in music, and they’d just been signed to a major label at the time so the publicity wagon had been rolling big style. A lot of people had been really excited about them back then, and Stevie herself had been curious to see what all the fuss had been about, so when Johnny had invited her to a gig they’d been doing that weekend she’d jumped at the chance to tag along. And that’s when the rest of her life had really begun.

  She’d loved the whole atmosphere that had surrounded the Anglo-American rock group. Their music was her favourite blend of classic rock undertones and guitar based rock and roll, and the guys themselves were the kind of people she loved to be around. They were out and out rockers, living and breathing the world she adored.

  She’d hung out with them a lot after that night, getting to know them better, and Johnny had fast become her best friend, the kind of guy she could both party or chill out with, but they’d never been a couple, despite the fact that the odd night together did happen every so often. It was the world they lived in, it wasn’t unusual. But he was a friend, nothing else. Somebody she could talk to. And it had been during one of their late night drinking and chilling sessions at his London flat that he’d asked her to join the band, as a permanent member of their road crew. They’d liked the novelty of having a female roadie on board, and they’d liked Stevie. She’d taken about three seconds to say yes and she’d never looked back.

  Within a couple of years of Stevie joining them, Black Rock Diamond had become one of the hardest working and most successful bands around, and they’d deserved it. Now, with all those years of hard work behind them, they were about to embark on their first ever stadium tour, and thanks to their loyal and extremely supportive following excitement and anticipation about the gigs was rife. They’d made it big not only in the U.K. and Europe, but also in the U.S. too, which Stevie knew, more than anything, had been Johnny’s dream. World domination was in progress and she was part of that ride. And loving it.

  They were here in Ibiza to play at a week long rock festival on the island, renting this amazing hilltop villa for the duration of their stay. They’d been here for two days – they were due to play their set on the final day of the festival tomorrow - and all they’d done so far was party hard and sleep very little and she was starting to feel the effects of it all catching up with her as she opened the French doors that led into the open plan kitchen and living area. She couldn’t help looking forward to her bed, or whoever’s bed it was that she eventually slept in, she didn’t care. She was just looking forward to sleep.

  Grabbing a beer from the counter top she took a long swig, nearly choking on it as somebody grabbed her from behind, their soft, low Californian drawl immediately giving away their identity.

  “Hey, I wondered where you’d got to.”

  Stevie turned round and smacked his arm. “Jesus, Johnny! You scared the fucking life out of me!”

  Johnny started laughing and she smacked him again, laughing herself.

  “Mark’s looking for you,” he said, grabbing the bottle from her hand and taking a drink.

  “Is he now.” It wasn’t a question. And she’d stopped laughing. She snatched the bottle back and leaned against the counter top.

  Johnny put his hands in his pockets and looked at her. “He’s sorry you know.”

  Stevie took another swig of beer. “He’s always sorry, Johnny. So yeah, I know he is.”

  She put the almost empty bottle down and pushed herself up to sit on the counter top, tucking her legs up underneath her.

  “I know what he’s like, Johnny. I’ve known what he’s been like for years so it’s ok. Don’t apologise for him. He’s big enough to do that for himself.”

  “And I will. If you’ll give me a chance.”

  Stevie looked up at the sound of that unmistakeable deep, Californian accent. Mark Cassidy. Black Rock Diamond’s front man- and the drug Stevie Stone just couldn’t give up.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Johnny Jackson and Mark Cassidy had grown up together in the same neighbourhood in Burbank, California, and all they’d ever wanted to do was to be in a band. Their band. A band that they’d put together themselves, and plans had been put into action almost as soon as they’d started High School. They’d taught themselves to play guitar, and by the time they were in college they’d put together several line-ups, tried different roles, but there’d only ever been one style of music. Rock was all it was ever going to be.

  They both had parents who’d brought them up to the sounds of The Who and The Rolling Stones, Genesis, Fleetwood Mac, and Free, to name but a few, and they’d used all of those influences, combined with their own style of heavier guitar based rock, to create the sound that was to unmistakably become Black Rock Diamond.

  After graduating college, neither of them had wanted to take that route to normality. Jobs, wives, kids – it wasn’t in their futures. Their parents had been - and still were - doctors and teachers and they’d expected their sons to forge out professional careers of their own. They’d thought that the music, the band, that it had all been a phase. At most they’d prayed it would stay nothing but a hobby. But Johnny and Mark had had a dream, and they’d been more than determined to follow it through.

  So, along with a couple of their college friends, they’d spent years setting up gigs and playing in towns and cities all across America, driving themselves in a beat-up old van with equipment they’d managed to put together through money saved from various jobs they’d worked throughout college. But after too many nights of half empty bars and seedy nightclubs, combined with the odd wedding and birthday party, playing to people who’d just wanted music and didn’t care where it had come from, both Johnny and Mark had known it was time to re-think their plans.

  When the other guys in the band had decided it wasn’t for them anymore, Johnny and Mark made the decision to try their luck over on the other side of the Atlantic. Scouring bars and clubs in London over a period of months they’d finally come across Billy Fox, a Manchester-born drummer who’d been spending his time gigging with any band that had needed him. He’d been – and still was - a quiet, unassuming man with a serious girlfriend and a love of gin and tonics and to look at him, with his short black hair and clean shaven face, nobody would have thought he was anywhere near rock star material. But after a couple of drinks and around people he felt comfortable with he could let his hair down and party with the best of them. Mark and Johnny had liked him immediately. He was a calming influence. They’d wanted him in their band and Billy had been desperate for a break. They’d had ambition and he’d liked that. Black Rock Diamond had their drummer.

  Two weeks later they’d met Jack Warner at a post-gig party. With his shoulder length dirty blonde hair, ever-present stubble and dark green, brooding eyes he’d looked far more like your stereotypical rock star. A young Keith Richards almost. But he was an amazing bass guitarist and he’d been looking for a new band, not to mention a new start in general. After marrying his childhood sweetheart in his home town of Edinburgh, he’d soon realised that settling down wasn’t for him and after less than a year he’d made the escape to London to chase his rock star dream. Divorced and living the life he’d always really wanted, Johnny and Mark had turned up at just the right time. And so Black Rock Diamond had been well and truly born.

  They’d spent years travelling around Europe and the U.K. getting their faces known and their music heard. They’d been hard working and more than ambitious. They’d known wha
t they wanted and they weren’t going to settle until they’d got it and that hard work had finally paid off when a record label boss had seen them at a German music festival propping up the bottom end of the bill. He’d asked them to send in some demo tracks, which they’d done with almost immediate haste, and less than a fortnight later they’d been signed up. The journey to the top of rock royalty had at last begun.

  It had meant more work, more gigs and hours in recording studios but they’d been on their way and their dream had finally started to come true. And, of course, they’d made the most of all the perks that came with being up and coming rock stars. There was never a shortage of women at the gigs they’d played, all of them eager to be the next rock star girlfriend, but for Mark, Johnny and Jack they were nothing more then an excuse for a good time. Billy, in the meantime, had gone and got himself married and stayed well away from the majority of post-gig parties, but that was just the way he was. Nobody minded because when he was on stage he was like the second coming of Keith Moon and that was all anyone cared about.

  It had been a long time in the making, but now Black Rock Diamond were finally there. They were at that stage where they could command a stadium full of people coming just to see them and it was no less than they deserved. The rock world had waited for a band like them to arrive for a long time and they weren’t disappointing anyone, and as far as the fans were concerned, a lot of that had to do with Mark Cassidy. Despite both he and Johnny trying the role of front man, it had become clear very early on that Mark was the only one who could really do it justice. He had it all. The looks, the sexy swagger, the strong, smooth vocals that had more than a nod to Bad Company and Free front man Paul Rodgers with just a touch of Sammy Hagar. He made sure that Black Rock Diamond had the female following that any self-respecting rock band should have.