See You at the Show

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 herself 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.