𝅘𝅥𝅮 When the Levee Breaks - Led Zeppelin

28th March, 2009, Saturday.

20:07

"They had nothing against the Bruins, no way." Eric thrust forward in his seat, punctuating each word.

"Yeah but they've been on a roll lately, I mean, you gotta respect what the Wildcats been doing this season." Sam settled deeper into his chair.

"Absolutely! It's like they've found their groove. That last game against the Rangers? Epic!" Nigel's fist punched the air.

"I thought for sure it was going to end in a tie, but then bam! That last-minute goal! Pure magic." Sam traced the winning shot's trajectory with his finger.

Eric shook his head in disagreement, "But with Olson gone, they still got a load of shit to sort out."

Slash, his friend Sam, his producer Eric and Eric's buddy Nigel had gathered at Slash's MGM Grand penthouse, waiting for the catering team. Their passionate debate about March Madness left Slash out of his depth.

"Man, and the Trojans—they pulled that upset last year, and you know they'd love to ruin UCLA's run again." Nigel stretched his legs across the cream leather couch.

"We'll see. And the NBA playoffs are right around the corner—think the Lakers can make a deep run this time?" Sam directed toward the group.

Slash feigned interest, wishing they'd switch to soccer—at least there he could contribute a little.

Juno was already directing the waiters and catering company reps, setting up the bar and food buffet both inside the suite and along the wraparound terrace. Without his PA handling everything, Slash would've been completely lost.

Josh Freese and Clayton "Clay" Whitaker arrived, fifteen minutes early in fact. Josh had carved his path from The Vandals' drummer in the late '90s to A Perfect Circle and Blink-182 in the 2000s, and stepped in with Guns N' Roses after Slash's departure. Now he was set to play for Slash's solo album.

Clay, a Vegas-based session drummer, had crossed paths with Josh on various projects over the years, becoming tight along the way.

"Hope we're not too early! You know how traffic is, we just had to be cautious," Josh explained, claiming a nearby chair.

"Hey!" Clay made a beeline for the bar, tossing hellos across the room.

The greetings bounced around as Juno wrangled the sound system to life. Kajagoogoo's "Too Shy" poured through the speakers, hitting sweet spots for the bass lovers.

"Finally! Now it's a party." Slash's tension melted at the sight of familiar faces.

"Just keep the drinks flowing," Josh took in the penthouse view. "Got fuckin' high expectations up to here." He pointed over his head.

"Well?" Sam caught Slash's eye. "Not sure if that's whatcha gonna get today though." He chuckled.

"Yeah, drink responsibly and shit." Slash said with a boyish grin, unlit cigarette and lighter in hand.

"As long I finally meet Ozzy, I'm good." Eric chimed in.

"Jesus, I've never met Ozzy!" Nigel pressed deeper into the couch. "Is he coming though?"

Before Slash could answer, Timo, his security, stepped up quietly. "Hey, uh, Rico and I will just grab some ribs downstairs real quick."

"Oh cool, yeah," Slash raised his Mountain Dew. "Take your time."

***

The party had grown to twelve, everyone drifting between the buffet and bar. Animals' "When I Was Young" filled the space. At 10:30, Mia was still MIA—probably wrapped up in her own afterparty adventures.

Slash slipped into the shadowed hallway, phone in hand. Screw it, he thought, and dialed. One ring, two rings, three... Dead air.

He pocketed his Blackberry and turned toward the noise, but as he reached the main room's archway, his screen lit up with "Mia Curtis".

"Hey," he answered, stepping back into the corridor.

Her voice crackled through. "Hey!"

"Where you been? You're missing out."

"I guess I can get out... right about now."

The unexpected reply caught him off guard, as he thought she was not coming afterall. "All right!" he said,  "I'll come pick you up. Where are you?"

"Really!" She had a foxy phone-voice.

"Really." he chuckled.

"Uh, it's the Sand Dollar, Spring Mountain."

The location clicked. "I'll be there in... 15." He ran a hand over his stubbled chin.

Back in the main room, Steve Miller Band's "Rock'n Me" competed with the buzz of conversation. He caught Eric's eye on his way through.

"That girl Mia is coming. Turns out I'm picking her up..." Slash explained absentmindedly.

"Who's that?" Sam broke from his chat with Clay and Sen Dog.

"This girl from an LA band. Just had a meeting with her today for the album..." Slash adjusted his RayBans.

Clay's eyebrows shot up. "Woah, Mia Curtis you said?"

"Yeah." Slash's smirk returned.

"Frau Jailor?"

"Yeah."

"Dude I know her! She coming over now?" Clay leaned forward enthusiastically.

"Yeah, I'm just gonna go get her." Slash collected his Gitanes from the marble table.

"That's so dope!" Clay nodded with a smile.

"Alright, be right back," He turned to Eric and Sam. "You two are the hosts now."

On his way out, he caught Juno's eye, signaling his brief departure.

***

22:47

Slash pulled into Sand Dollar's back alley, expecting to wait, when a tall figure in a sleek black mini dress emerged through the exit, legs commanding attention.

"Hey! Where's your entourage?" Mia slipped into the Lincoln's passenger seat.

Slash caught himself admiring her tanned legs before answering, "They're having ribs. I had to convince Timo to leave me alone for a sec."

"Thanks for picking me up," she turned, meeting his gaze. Her cleavage was also hard to miss.

"It's a pleasure." The weariness in his bones lifted slightly. "How was your gig?"

"It was a blast." She punctuated with a nod.

"Oh, you're making me feel bad that I wasn't there to watch," he said, speeding up on the highway.

"Your loss," she watched the city lights blur past, smile intact. "How did the auditions go?"

"Busy," Slash exhaled. "I saw three bass players and three drummers, but it all took very long. I had a chance to take a nap in the hotel though, so I'm fuckin' wide awake."

"Good to know. The night's young!" she said, fingers tapping against her lap.

"It fucking is, yeah." He blinked away the last traces of fatigue.

At Tropicana Avenue, he called Juno—without Timo around, Slash needed the secure entrance cleared.

A building security guard, briefed by Juno, guided them to their parking spot. The lot sat mercifully empty of cameras and fans.

In the private elevator with its security detail, Mia turned to him. "Who exactly are we hiding from?"

"Uh, just being cautious. People do all sorts of weird shit." The words tasted bitter—he hated coming off as some paranoid rock star, which couldn't be further from his thing.

Mia carried herself with natural grace, thin yet softly curved in her black silk dress, her waves of blonde hair still looking pretty despite her festival performance.

The elevator opened to the top floor where Timo greeted them with a nod, fresh from his feast with Rico. Inside, Free's "All Right Now" caught Mia's attention immediately. She flowed into the room, hips and shoulders moving to the beat, pure joy in motion.

"Alright! Love your party already!" she called over her shoulder while Slash followed, enjoying the view.

Her entrance sparked a wave of greetings, Clay first up for a warm embrace.

After trading stories about their Chicago days, Mia made her rounds with Sam, Josh, Eric, and the others.

Perfect timing on their return - within minutes, the real circus rolled in: Michael (aka Flea) from RHCP, Nick Oliveri, Kid Rock, Sen Dog, Taylor Hawkins and many others. And with Ozzy's arrival, this officially became Vegas's most kick-ass rock n' roll gathering of 2009.

***

23:41

Slash could not be happier. His favorite people filled the Vegas penthouse suite - musicians, friends, not a single face he didn't want to see. And getting these people all in one place felt like catching lightning.

Ozzy was on stage at Mandalay Bay the previous night, performing at a charity event in which Slash also played for one song. Ozzy agreed to stay one more day just for the sake of Slash's party.

Slash still stood with Ozzy, Josh, Eric and Nigel as the night already wound down for Ozzy. Even through his reddish-brown rounded shades matching his hair, wearing a navy shirt under a black vest, Ozzy's excitement about their collaboration radiated despite his obvious exhaustion. Despite being only 60, he was often fatigued due to some past lifestyle choices and he had to carefully manage his stamina.

After walking Ozzy out, Slash scanned the room - the appetizer platters needed refreshing, and there was no sign of Juno. He stepped onto the balcony terrace, cigarette between his fingers, and caught a waiter to handle the buffet situation inside.

As he crushed his cigarette in the standing ashtray by the glass railings overlooking Vegas, footsteps approached. Only two female guests were there tonight, and he recognized this silhouette instantly.

"Thought this party would lean more on the mellow side," Mia said with a smirk.

"That's... naive," Slash mumbled, "...and a bit offensive to my reputation, I must say." he added with a chuckle.

She beamed, "I mean, fucking Ozzy was here, if I didn't dream it. But still, nobody is throwing any TVs out the window, so..."

Slash spotted Flea heading their way. "You can throw out that guy if you want to," he quipped, pointing at his old friend.

Flea planted an uninvited and surely unexpected kiss on Mia's cheek. "Hey! You're that girl! I saw you guys perform today!" his face split into that trademark grin.

"Oh?" Mia's eyebrows lifted. "So it was true, I heard somebody say they saw you around." With her heels, she was much taller than Flea, which made her look down at him.

"You were just so fucking good, man. I mean, the band is great. But you are just... Wow." Flea barreled on, true to form - he'd flirt with a lamppost if it stood still long enough.

"Thank you," Mia kept her practiced smile.

"You guys always played this kind of music?" he bulldozed forward, "You should totally do blues, like classic, in your face blues!"

"Yeah, why not!" Mia sipped her drink.

"Not like covers though... You guys sound so much like, fuckin' White Stripes meets Iron Maiden. You know what I'm saying... You.-"

Slash felt like he had to cut in. "Hey, stop smothering her!" He turned to Mia, "Did you know that I went to junior high with this motherfucker?"

Mia's brown eyes widened. "Shut UP!" she looked between them.

"Yeah." Slash nodded, "We all used to play football in the street, and Michael—that's his real name—he would play trumpet for Steven Adler's grandmother."

"No way!"

Flea, or, Michael nodded as Slash shared stories of their elementary school pseudo-bike gang days with him and Steven Adler. Mia countered with tales of skating topless through Canadian winters, casually revealing somewhere in between that she was almost thirty years old. She was surely flattered by Flea's opinion on her looking 25 tops, she declared him her new best friend.

Flea suddenly bolted to corner Kid Rock on the terrace, his borderline disturbing nasal voice echoing through the night.

"You keep mingling and shit," Slash smiled, nervous and shy as usual. "I...Uh, go check on the guys inside."

"Go, go!" Mia smiled back, lighting up a cigarette. "I'll go check on my bestie."

Inside, Taylor, Sen Dog, Josh and Chris were having a heated debate on who scored more chicks in the 90's. 

"Here - We have a winner!" Sen Dog giggled, his arm on Slash's shoulder.

The guys all chuckled.

Despite being with Perla for so many years, Slash undoubtedly had a very sexually active life back in the 80's and 90's. He always thought it was a curse and a blessing that he had no recollection of most of his encounters due to obvious reasons.

He shrugged off the guys' teasing with a lazy smile. Tonight wasn't about the past—it was about right now, and right now felt pretty damn good.

***

"I have no idea why it went that way man, it was such a close call and..."

"And we were high as fuckin' kites." Slash chuckled softly at Sen Dog's tale of a '90s party gone sideways.

"To say the fuckin' least, bro!" Sen Dog shook his head, "And I turned around and saw Taylor here, over here," he gestured to phantom space on his right. "Like, where the fuck did you come from?"

The group laughed, the irony of their current sobriety not lost on anyone as they nursed their sodas and fresh juices.

From afar, Slash had caught a glimpse of Mia talking to Rocco DeLuca for a minute, and then he couldn't see her again. His scan of the room landed on Eric chatting with Beth Hart and Chris Chaney, waving him over.

Ten minutes with them, and the nicotine called. Back on the terrace, he slipped the waiter a generous tip while checking on the party's status. Cigarette lit, he rejoined the previous banter.

His eyes searched for Mia again. She wasn't inside - he was certain. He traced the terrace railings to the north end. Dead end. Back south, hope fading until he spotted two rattan chairs. There she sat, legs crossed, temple against her fingers, lost in the Vegas skyline like someone weighing life's big questions.

"Everything OK?" he kept his voice soft, careful not to startle her.

Mia turned with a smile. "Yeah, I was just about to, uhm..." she paused as he approached. "...go back to chatting with my new besties, Flea and Kid Rock!"

Tucked in this hidden corner, tension lined her features despite her words tinted with joy.

Slash finally gathered up the courage to remove his sunglasses. "May I?" he asked, before sitting on the yellow rattan armchair right next to hers.

Mia's smile widened as he looked right into his eyes, "Hi there... It's like I'm meeting you for the first time."

 "Haha, yeah, I get that a lot." Slash chuckled lightly, already regretting the decision to reveal his eyes.

"You're pretty shy, aren't you?" Her brown eyes held warmth that made the question feel safe. 

He answered with a nod and smile.

She tilted her head, "You make an introvert like me seem like an extrovert on speed."

His chuckle deepened. "No... I can tell you are also like me."

She faced the view, "I guess I get to be this strong persona on stage that I don't have that energy left for the rest of my non-performing time," she mused, leg swaying gently.

Slash joined her gaze outward. "It could be. I do hide behind my glasses most of the time, I guess. Besides I don't like how I look without them."

"And the hats?" she turned back.

"They are just for my inexplicable, curly hair." he said. He had no interest in talking about himself any longer. "You really are someone else on stage."

"Indeed, we all are." she nodded thoughtfully.

"No," he chuckled, "I mean you, you are."

"Oh." Color touched her cheeks.

He thought it was a good time to be candid. "I think the first time I remember seeing you, was when you guys were doing a cover of Kashmir. I think it was the Rainbow Bar."

"Yeah, we love doing Kashmir."

He bit his lower lip. "You were mesmerizing. I was just stunned by your performance and your whole presence. I thought like, man who is she."

Her smile balanced confidence and humility. "Thank you! Remember when this was?"

His eyes drifted up. "Not sure. I guess like a year ago.. I distinctly remember how impressed I was." He met her gaze. "I asked around about you and they told me you weren't really a recording artist, and I didn't understand why... It was fucking impressive."

Her eyes brightened, "You know this means the world to me... I love that song to death, Johnny and I are die-hard Zeppelin fans.."

"Who isn't."

Her voice lifted, "Kashmir is almost always on our setlist. It's like a ritual."

He beamed, "I could tell you were really into it, with your dancing and all."

"It was the last one before the encore today!" She set her empty glass aside.

"And what was the encore?"

"Mother, Danzig."

"Fuck, I missed all that." He leaned forward, elbows on knees.

"Haha, yeah you did. Next time." Her foot still swayed.

The woman sitting next to him was definetly an amazing artist, who took her potential, her gift all very lightheartedly, as if not really into having a carreer in music. He just had to ask:  "Again, how the hell are you still not a huge superstar? I'm sorry, I just don't get it."

She laughed, "Well, I am pretty huge around Hollywood, apparently." she said with a wink, pointing out to the fact that many people in the penthouse already knew who she was.

"Seriously." Slash grinned,  "You just entered my party like a beam of sunshine, you turned all heads. You have all the star quality in the world, and you guys can write good songs..."

Mia jumped in, impatient. "Guess we just wanted to perform, be on stage... but did not need the fame. Although after some point, success and fame do go hand in hand, right?"

It could not have been said it better, actually. "I could write a book on that. As a matter of fact, I did." He reached for his Gitanes.

"Haha, what, you wrote a book on fame?" 

He asked for it, go big or go home... "Actually, it's like an autobiography... Got published like, two years ago."

Her gaze held steady, "I have to read that!"

He exhaled smoke, "I can tell you whatever you want to know. It's a fuckin' long book."

"OK... How did you get sober?"

A story still unfolding. He took another drag. "Short version: I wanted to survive. I was told that I had 6 weeks to live at some point. And a bit longer version is... Booze became a reminder of good times I used to have. But it no longer brought back those good days. It was too disappointing each time. And booze comes with drugs. So...One day I just checked myself into rehab. Clean ever since."

This little story seemed to move Mia, as she also shared her wish to stop smoking. Which prompted her second question: "Dare I ask? How many?"

"Around 3 packs." he replied, realising he even downplayed it.

"And only Gitanes," 

Slash smirked, "Only the Gitanes yes. I have the lady in the Gitanes logo tattooed on my back."

Her fingers traced her collarbone, "Oh so you are married to Gitanes! Do you ever want to break up?" 

"Absolutely. I tried before when my first son was born, but I couldn't keep it." His eyes dropped to the ceramic tiles. "And now my mom has stage 3 lung cancer. And I know I should stop. I just can't." he explained, second guessing if he overshared.

 "Sorry to hear about your mom." she murmured.

He hated the fact that he dulled the spark in her eyes. "Yeah. Nowadays I visit her in the hospital a lot. Every time I feel that anxiety that this could be me soon and I can't do this to my family, my kids... I just get out and light up like two, back to back. It's like a compulsion." he elaborated, fascinated in his long winded sentences.

"I get that," Mia nodded.

Their smoking confessions continued until Mia checked her Blackberry. "Jesus, it's almost two."

"You need to leave?" Slash asked, caught between disappointment and host duties calling.

Mia had a radio interview in the morning before leaving Vegas, so she had to go back. Slash insisted that Rico gave her a ride back to the hotel. 

After walking her to the door, they promised to keep in touch once back to LA.

***

"Dude, there is NO fucking way, I'm telling you. Forget about it." Flea grinned holding his glass, from his perch on the sofa's armrest.

Slash chuckled as he adjusted his hat, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

"That chick's WAY outta your league, man." Flea took a drag, now smoking inside the penthouse. "Leave it to the pros."

Slash sipped his coke. "By pro, you mean perve and just fuckin' obnoxious like you?"

Flea's expression stayed put. "Seriously, you having a thing for her? Obvious as fuck."

Slash shook his head, expression stern. His fondness for this girl was completely platonic, just like with that random stripper he'd met two months ago. Michael was onto nothing.

"Hey," Flea's voice cut through his thoughts, lounging on his cushion throne with cranberry juice, energy undiminished by the hour. "You keep zoning out bro."

Slash ran a hand through his curls. "I'm beat, Mike."

Flea raised an eyebrow. "Right, yeah. When you got a pretty girl on your mind..."

"For fuck's sake," Slash shot back with a grin, but warmth crept up his neck. No shades to hide behind anymore either.

"I know a crush when I see one." Flea leaned closer. "She the one who made you take off those fucking Raybans??"

"Yeah, yeah," Slash waved him off, smile refusing to fade. "It's you who got the hots for her."

"Me? She called me her new best friend, dude. I'm fuckin' friend zoned." Flea chimed in, grinning like a devil with a soft side.

"Good for you!" Slash mumbled with a smile. "You two hit it off, you went on and on about her band." He fixed his shoelace, foot propped on the coffee table.

"I was being real though, they're pretty fuckin' good. Matter of fact..." Flea gazed upward in thought. "Well, too soon."

Slash gave him a puzzled look, not bothering to decode his rambling.

Flea grinned again, "I know you'll eventually end up doing her, man. Mark my words."

Slash exhaled deeply, crossing his arms.

"And when you do ask her out, just make sure to keep the fuckin' shades on." Flea quipped as Slash chuckled, this time with his own genuine grin.

Eric approached with heavy steps. "Hey, mind if I took off, man?" Exchanging hand slaps with Flea and Slash. "We gonna see each other A LOT, right?"

Slash nodded, "Yeah, fuckin' every day for a while."

Eric smirked, "I'm telling you, you're gonna miss home."

Flea jumped in loudly, "Hey, if it makes him less of a hermit..."

"Less of a hermit?" Slash kept his cool. "I'm fuckin' social. Very much so."

"Right, right. Social like a cat on a roof." Flea teased, but their familiar rhythm made Slash feel lighter.

"Michael's on a roll tonight, among many other things," Slash turned to Eric with a smile.

After Eric and others filtered out, the party continued buzzing between corners. Mia's infectious energy lingered in Slash's mind, mixing with thoughts of his nebulous marriage status and the strange feeling of shedding his ball and chain after nearly a decade. Who knew if Mia was into him? Or maybe something worth investigating really did exist. But fresh from the water, focusing on his album made the most sense. An obvious conclusion.

When he finally hit the pillow at 03:45, exhaustion blocked out any attempt to process the day. And he fell asleep in less than a minute.

***

He jolted awake, panting. His Rolex confirmed the time: 05:50. His erection tented the sheets. Great.

His dreams usually vanished, but this one stayed sharp:

He's on stage with some unfamiliar and crowded band. Under the brutal afternoon sun, he stands shirtless, sweat already soaking through to his guitar. Who the hell scheduled an outdoor gig in this heat? The band fumbles through their tuning in front of the restless crowd while his monitor screams with feedback. His strings won't cooperate, and his bladder feels ready to burst.

Just as they're about to start, a fan's arm stretches impossibly long, snake-like, reaching for his zipper. Before he can react, she jerks him off, and he comes in mere seconds. He just keeps playing, business as usual, until his legs give out and he crashes to the stage floor.

His chest seizes - heart attack. Fever burns through him as chaos erupts, people swarming around his collapsed form. And there he lies dying, his last coherent thought not about the pain or panic, but genuine confusion about why he'd come so damn quick!

Confused and drowsy, Slash rubbed his forehead. A slight fever burned beneath his skin, and his bladder screamed for attention.

With his erect cock, being able to pee was out of question.

"Shit..." he grunted, dragging himself to the bathroom. He ran cold water on his dick in the shower, waiting for things to settle down. Once he'd finally managed to take care of his bladder, he splashed his face with cold water too. The tired face in the mirror didn't match the buzz in his head. Something about tonight had awakened something from his younger days—could've been the dream, —maybe it was the dream, maybe the fever, or maybe just the strange, electric feeling in the air that came with new beginnings.

Back in bed, he took a Tylenol and shut his eyes, willing sleep to return. The sheets felt too cold, then too warm. His thoughts drifted to the album. Good things were happening. Simple as that. No need to complicate shit with... whatever else.

He rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. Sleep. That's all he needed. Just... sleep. Though his body seemed to have other ideas, still humming with that restless energy that had nothing to do with music.