Turn My Page | Led Zeppelin

You Shook Me

  Jimmy smiled and started the car, pulling out of the parking lot and heading back toward the Sports Arena while Vicky climbed up front and took her gifts. "What are these for?" she asked.

  Jimmy turned to face her, a big smile on his face. "Happy birthday," he replied simply with much aloofness. Vicky neither said nor did anything. Jimmy wasn't worried. Eventually they had made it back to the Sports Arena and both hopped out. 

  Vicky didn't know what had kept her in that car, but she was glad she stayed. All the better to yell at Jimmy in person. They walked into the auditorium and up on stage where Jimmy handed his keys to his light producer.

  He turned and led Vicky, along with her armful of flowers and stuffed animal, back to the dressing room where Robert and Jonsey were dancing around with no shirts on and a bottle of different brands of alcohol held high above their heads. Groupies clapped and some waited impatiently near Bonzo, who literally had his mouth full of groupies. 

  Jimmy sat down on the long leather couch and patted the arm in signal for Vicky to join him. She set her stuff on the ground near the door and sat next to him. He looked up at her. "Would you like to join the rest of our North American tour?" he asked. 

  Vicky looked down at him. "If you hurt me again, I swear to God I'll beat the shit out of--"

  "I promise. I ask because, it may sound silly, but I--"

  "You don't have to explain yourself," Vicky interrupted. "I forgave you when you bought me those flowers and that bear. Although, the kidnapping was a bit rash."

  "I apologize," Jimmy told her sincerely. "I guess you American birds aren't into Britain's idea of romance." He laughed and Vicky smiled.

  "Lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time," Robert babbled as he and John Paul danced around, giddy on whisky. Three groupies tried to get with Jimmy, but he shooed them away.

  Instead, he grabbed his Les Paul from against the wall and took Vicky's hand. He pulled her out on stage and plugged his guitar into one of the large amps, then began to play the into to Black Dog.

  He stopped suddenly and looked up at Vicky. "You said you played," he recalled. He took the guitar from around his neck and put the strap around her, situating his famed guitar on her. The strap was much too long, but Vicky held it up, ignoring the heavy weight. Then he handed her his white pick.

  "When did I say that?" she asked. 

  "When I first met you," Jimmy replied. "I told you; I found you... special. You're everything I wanted to be." 

  Vicky eyed him with her icy stare and shook her hair behind her shoulders. Then she squared herself, glanced down at the guitar, placed her fingers, and made the first strum. The Gibson vibrated in her hands and she couldn't keep a smile from her face. 

  "A girl?" she laughed. He smirked and shook his head. She laughed again and looked down at the heavy guitar. Suppressing a long breath, Vicky repositioned her fingers. She strummed halfway down the chords and repeated the motion in tune with the riff she was imitating. Whole Lotta Love, her favorite song.

  Before she finished the riff, Jimmy had stopped her. She had no clue why. He took the guitar from around her and set it against the amp. Then he looked down at his wrist where three bracelets were adorned. Two were woven, one was silver.

  He pulled off the silver one and handed it to Vicky. She took it and examined the bracelet. Around the outer band read: "Way down inside, I'm gonna give you my love, Whole Lotta Love!"

  She looked up at him. "Where did you find this?"

  "I found it on the floor in that hotel room you and I were in," Jimmy replied.

  Vicky smiled and pursed her lips, looking down at the bracelet, then up at Jimmy. "You're so much better than the news papers say. You're an arrogant ass, yeah. But you're also very sweet."

  "So will you join us for the rest of tour?" he asked.

  Without taking time to properly consider the work that she had yet to complete at home, she slid the bracelet onto her wrist and pulled Jimmy in for a kiss. "Yes," she told him, their faces inches from each other.

  That night the band, as well as their groupies, piled into a floor of a hotel room in north San Diego. (Tomorrow the band would be going to a press conference to answer questions and what-have-you.) Music like Blue Oyster Cult, Aerosmith, and The Rolling Stones blasted in the main room of the floor-- the room everyone occupied-- as the band made out with their groupies and smoked. Vicky kept to herself and Jimmy danced around, high as a Kite.

  Eventually the band had taken to bringing their ladies into a seperate room of the floor, leaving just Jimmy, Vicky, a groupie, and two passed-out producers. Jimmy expressed some tiredness and grabbed Vicky's hand, pulling her off the maroon corduroy couch and out of the room.

  He then pulled a key out of his pocket and opened a door to a vacant room with a balcony. It was a nice hotel room; a normal one, but it was welcoming.

  The image of what had happened the last time she and Jimmy had been alone together in a hotel room replayed itself over and over in Vicky's mind. She tried to forget it, but instead it multiplied and she was forced to ignore Jimmy completely and walk out onto the balcony.

  She heard a voice in her ear say, "What do you think?" and turned quickly. Jimmy was right behind her, his face on her neck.

  "Is this going to happen again?" she asked. Jimmy kissed her neck.

  "It's me, Jimmy Page, I don't think you have a choice, love. But if you did, I'm sure you'd say yes."

  "Oh, because I'm a weak little girl. Ri--"

  "No, please, stay that weak little girl," Jimmy whispered. He turned her around quickly and planted a kiss on her mouth, instantly making her relax even past his weird comment.