Title: Almost Famous: The Trade, Part I
Rating: R [language, drugs, sex]
Word Count: 6,597
Characters: Summer Dylan, Jimmy Page, John McVie, Mick Fleetwood, Stevie Nicks, Christine McVie, Lindsey Buckingham, Lily Walker, John Bonham, John Paul Jones, Benji LeFevre, and Cameron Crowe

Author's Note: This series is based on Cameron Crowe's Almost Famous. As the movie is autobiographical in nature, this series will gleam stories from the movies, based on real-life events and translate them into the world of DiF's epics. This one encapuslates Midnight Shift and Love Runs Deeper. Completely canon with the epic and WILL contain spoilers.

Summary: Summer is traded from one band to another, completely without her knowledge...





June 1, 1977
Orlando, Florida

Sipping on a glass of champagne, her third that night, Summer paid little attention to the roadies moving in and out of the hotel room. Life on the road with Led Zeppelin made the roadies family as much as the band. Most had probably seen her naked, drunk, stoned at this point. She had nothing to hide from the men. As she continued to drink, having decided Jimmy’s taste in expensive champagne suited her just as well, she giggled more and did not resist when Jimmy pulled her towards the bed. He waved everyone out and closed the door. They shared a dusting of powder before their clothing disappeared and their bodies united.

Once satisfied, Jimmy left her after a kiss, returning to the Orlando hotel party. Drunk and still quite a bit high, Summer rolled onto her side to rest, knowing he would be back for more, and perhaps not alone. As she dozed off, she did not hear two of the roadies enter the room – without Jimmy. They stood at the end of the bed, looking at her for a long moment.

“We can’t take her naked,” one of them commented.

“I bet she has great tits though,” the other responded.

“What did Grant say about her?”

“She can out-suck Linda Lovelace when it comes to cocks,” he smirked.

The other man chuckled slightly, “Then the band will appreciate her greatly.”

“We better get her out before Jimmy returns. It’ll be harder if he’s here.”

“Right, right.”

With a bit of a struggle, they managed to rouse the sleeping beauty and convince her to put on one of her designer dresses. They told her she was being taken to a party, prompting the intoxicated girl to put on strappy heels, run a brush through her hair, and fix her makeup. One elbowed the other as Summer snorted another line before turning and announcing she was ready to join the party.

Stealing the bottle of champagne, the two roadies led the blonde beauty from the hotel room. By the time they reached the car, Summer finished the bottle of bubbly and seemed mostly unaware they had not joined the Led Zeppelin party. She giggled as they sat in the back of a cab, babbling about something neither of them had any idea about. Unable to help themselves, they took turns touching her breasts. The older of the roadies even dared to slip his hand under her skirt. They arrived at the new hotel before either man managed more than just touching the young blonde.

With the girl on their arms, they headed directly into another band’s party. They released her into the partying crowd and quickly lost track and interest in the blonde girl. Both knew they would be seeing more of her. She was no longer Led Zeppelin’s property.



Shuffled into Caesar’s Chariot, the designated jet for that tour, Jimmy glanced around. It was not completely unheard of for Summer to not sleep with him every night. Sometimes Robert pushed aside Audrey and drew Summer into his arms. Sometimes the blonde sought solace in John Paul’s or Bonzo’s rooms, knowing neither would pursue her sexually. Jimmy understood sometimes, especially after a particularly passionate lovemaking session, the young woman merely needed her space. He had not worried when he returned to the room and found her absent.

He was worried now that he did not see her with any of his bandmates as they shuffled onto the plane. Dismissive of any attempt of conversation, Jimmy paced the length of the plane, searching for her. Not finding his princess amongst the roadies, groupies, press brigade, nor band, panic began to rise. Before he could reach Peter to complain about her absence, he was directed to take a seat and the plane took off.

Releasing his seatbelt the moment they reached cruising altitude, Jimmy jumped to his feet and headed directly to the band’s manager. Peter stopped his conversation and quickly turned his attention to the broody guitarist.

“Where’s Summer?”

“I do not track your girlfriend, Jimmy.”

“She’s not on the plane,” he declared.

“Are you sure she’s not with the other girls? Audrey? They seem to be on friendly terms,” he responded.

“She’s not with the roadies. She’s not with the groupies. She’s not with Robert, John Paul, or Bonzo. She’s not on the bloody plane, Grant,” he hissed.

The manager stared at the guitarist blankly for a moment, “Go sit down and have a drink, Jimmy. I’m sure she is on the plane somewhere. Just relax.”

“SHE IS NOT ON THE PLANE!” Jimmy seethed.

“Sit down, have a drink, have a smoke. I’ll have her brought to you,” he said evenly.

“You better, Grant. You bloody better,” he turned and stalked towards the bar.

Despite the manager’s assurances, Jimmy did not think this was going to end well. At. All.



Waking to a knock at the door, Summer stretched and rolled out of the bed. She wiped her bleary eyes, rubbing some of the black mascara from under her eyes, and headed to the door. Opening the door, stumbling a bit as she apparently slept in her heels, again, her bloodshot eyes focused on the man in front of her.

“Hurry up, girls. We leave for the plane in an hour,” the roadie barked, glancing over Summer’s shoulder at the other girls in the room.

He walked away as she closed the door. Not put off by the fact she was in a room with four other girls, as she did sometimes end up with the girls after a night of partying, Summer headed into the bathroom. She was quickly swept into the flurry of girls heading down to waiting cars. Even though she did not recognize the roadies or the groupies, it did not worry her. She did not spend much time with either to really know their names or faces, especially sober. She would just board the plane with them and go find Jimmy for some in-flight cuddling.

As they arrived at the airport, Summer remained with the girls and headed towards the plane. They lined up to ascend the steps, happily chattering about nothing and everything at the same time. Keeping out of conversation for the most part, Summer’s eyes glanced over the plane. It was not the Caesar’s Chariot. It momentarily alarmed her, but she reasoned it away that their regular plane needed repairs and this was a temporary solution to get the band to New York on time.

Forced to wait until the plane was in the air to seek her lover, Summer got to her feet once they reached cruising altitude and headed up the plane. The more people she passed, the more she realized this was not her plane. No one looked familiar at all. Turning around, she paced back down the aisle, her blue eyes looking over faces once more.

No one glanced at her as she passed, making her feel even more anxious. Finally a man glanced up, his eyes meeting hers. Seizing the moment, Summer stopped, holding his eyes.

“Um, excuse me,” she spoke softly, trying to keep her voice from wavering in fear. “Could I perhaps…?”

Saying nothing, he moved to the empty seat next to him, leaving the empty seat for her. With a slight smile, she sat down. He remained speechless, but offered her his glass of whatever. Another meek smile, Summer accepted the drink, sipped it and discovered it to be whiskey, took another drink, and handed it back to him.

“I’m Summer,” she declared softly. “And I don’t belong here.”

“I’m John,” he responded and sipped his drink. “I don’t belong here either.”

Summer smiled again, “Then maybe we should escape together.”

His dark eyes locked with hers, “And where will we go, love?”

Picking up on his British accent, her eyes lit up, “Wherever you want, John.”

Over the course of the flight, she sat chatting and drinking with the man. He seemed impressed that she kept up with the whiskey with him, did not seem too inebriated by the time the plane touched down in Birmingham, Alabama. Summer felt a bit better than she had prior to sitting down. At least she now knew someone on the plane – and knew she now traveled with Fleetwood Mac.



Standing in the hallway, John Paul smoked a joint, his eyes focused on the closed door in front of him. It had been some time since Bonzo tore up a hotel room. He usually reserved that for when Keith Moon was around. Had Summer been there, he would have sent for her, so she could calm down The Beast. Then again, had Summer been there, Bonzo likely would not have become The Beast.

Seeing Benji headed down the hallway, John Paul flagged him over, “Any word?”

The assistant shook his head, “Nothing. No one has any idea where Summer is. The groupies haven’t seen her. Audrey hasn’t seen her.”

“She is not the kind to disappear,” the bassist declared. “Something has to be going on.”

“I agree,” he nodded. “I have been trying to ring her father, but I haven’t located him yet either.”

A large crash sounded in Bonzo’s room, causing both men to flinch slightly.

“Call Cameron,” John Paul suggested.

“Oh, good thinking. I’ll try him after letting Jimmy know what I know. Should I send someone for Bonzo?”

“No,” the bassist finished his joint. “It’s too dangerous for anyone to go in there now. Not until we have some news about Summer.”

He nodded, “Hopefully, I’ll be back soon with something.”



Passing by the phone in the kitchen, Cameron took a bite of his sandwich. As the gooey peanut butter squished out from between the two slices of bread, the phone rang. Expecting an overdue phone call from his best friend, he mumbled swearwords and hurried to chew and swallow his bite in time to answer the phone. Wiping his hand on his jeans, he quickly snatched up the phone as he swallowed.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Cameron? It’s Benji LeFevre, Robert Plant’s assistant,” the man spoke.

Cameron instantly frowned that Summer was not the one calling, “Oh, hello.”

“I hope I have not caught you at a bad time.”

He glanced at his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, “No, not really.”

“Good. I was wondering if you have heard from Summer lately.”

“No…,” Cameron responded cautiously. “Not for about a week. Why? Is she okay?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. She has gone… missing.”

His heart plummeted into his white tube socks, “What?”

“Well you see…”

Cameron sank into the kitchen chair, listening to Robert’s assistant tell of Summer’s disappearance. When Benji paused, he immediately decided foul play was involved on some level. He knew Summer would not just take off, not in Orlando, not with as infatuated she was with Jimmy. Someone had done something; he knew it.

“What’s Grant saying?” he asked, once the story seemed complete.

“He has merely assured the band that he will see that she is found. But I do not think he is actually doing anything.”

Cameron sighed, “Okay. Where are you guys now?”

“New York City.”

“And you last saw her in Orlando?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Cameron paused. “I’m going to see if I can track her down. In the very least, I will fly out east as soon as possible.”

“If you find her, tell her… tell her the band is… missing her a lot.”

“Will do. Thanks for calling.”

Hanging up the phone, Cameron headed directly to his room to pack. His sandwich no longer mattered. Finding his best friend did.



“Are you sure?” John asked, looking down into her blue eyes.

Summer nodded, biting her bottom lip slightly, “I’m certain.”

“You really can, you know,” his eyes remained locked with her as he brushed a blonde curl from her eyes.

“I know. But I don’t know that I’m ready.”

Without saying anything else, he leaned down and kissed her slightly parted lips, “If you change your mind…”

“I know where to find you,” she smiled sweetly.

He stole another kiss, “I’ll come get you for the concert.”

“Thank you,” Summer smiled again.

Her eyes remained focused on the bass player as he left his hotel suite. Though very quiet, he seemed to be the perfect one to become attached too. Hardly anyone even attempted to stop him from going directly from plane to car to hotel suite. Alone in his suite, they shared another drink and she briefly explained who she was. Though she saw he did not quite believe that she was Bob Dylan’s daughter and Jimmy Page’s girlfriend, she knew he at least believed she understood the rock and roll lifestyle. He probably assumed she was a groupie, further supported by his few stolen kisses. Despite that, he left her alone in his hotel suite as he headed down to join his band for pre-concert press, giving her the opportunity to reach for the phone and try to find a way out of there.

Glancing at the closed door, she dialed the first number that came to mind: Cameron’s. The phone rang and rang and rang. With a frustrated sigh, Summer hung up the phone. She was pretty certain he was not on assignment anywhere, not that she had spoken with him for a week. Perhaps, he was traveling with some other band and she would not hear from him until… she was uncertain. He knew she was with Led Zeppelin, so he could track her down but… she was not with Led Zeppelin.

Sighing again, she stared at the numbers on the phone for a long moment. Led Zeppelin was supposed to be in New York City, only she was not certain on the hotel. She knew she could not call all of the luxury hotels in the city. Even if she did happen upon the correct one, asking for Jimmy Page’s room would only result in a dial tone. Everyone she knew was tied into that tour, except Cameron – and her parents.

Quickly dialing her parents’ California number, her frown deepened. Over a dozen rings filled her ear before she gave up and hung up the phone. With another sigh, she ran both of her hands through her blonde curls. Had everyone abandoned her? If she wanted out of this situation, she would have to find her own way. 

But she did not want to go her own way while still feeling her skin crawling with the previous night’s party. Without any luggage, not even her purse, Summer knew she would have to find the band’s groupies, the girls she had been left with, to borrow clothing and toiletries. With John’s key in hand, Summer headed out of the suite in search of those girls. It took little effort to locate the girls and even less to convince some of them to loan her things. With her arms full of clothing and a cosmetic bag, she returned to John’s room, not wanting to disappoint him by leaving his room empty, nor really wanting to spend any more time with the girls.

Showering erased all traces of Jimmy from her body, save for the love bites on the back of her shoulder from a few nights before, but she felt so much better once clean. She tried on a number of the random clothing pieces given her before deciding to wear blue bandeau top with white hot pants. Styling her short curls with her fingers, she carefully applied borrowed makeup before taking a step back to look her reflection over in the mirror. Feeling a bit exposed, though she often dressed in clothing as revealing around Led Zeppelin since Jimmy purchased it for her, Summer shifted through the pile of clothing again, but did not find a suitable shirt to layer over the top. She decided John would not mind and borrowed a white, button-up shirt from him, tying it closed at her waist but leaving it unbuttoned.

As she stepped out of the bathroom, she heard keys jingle in the lock. With a bright smile, Summer headed over to the door and opened it before he could. His dark eyes lifted to hers and he smiled, a bit of surprise in his eyes. Saying nothing, he stepped into his hotel room, letting her close the door. John headed over to the bar and quickly mixed them both a drink.

Returning to her, he held out one of the drinks, “You look… really good.”

As she did not expect flowery words from the basic bassist, she accepted his compliment with a gracious smile, “Press went okay?”

“Yeah,” he responded, sitting in one of the armchairs.

Summer sat in the chair next to his and sipped her drink, “You drink good whiskey.”

He smirked, “You can tell?”

“If pressed, I’d say I prefer champagne,” she winked, “but a good whiskey is hard to find.”

They drank for a while, biding the time until he needed to depart for the concert. After his second drink, John began to talk, telling her about his history. By the time he reached the story of his now ex-wife, a knock on the door informed him it was time to head to the arena. Watching him, Summer was a bit surprised that he did not change out of his shorts and shirt. She supposed not everyone had stage clothes like Led Zeppelin, but the shorts, she just could not understand.

“Are you coming?” he asked, eyes settling on her.

“Would you like me to?” she responded, setting her empty glass down.

John nodded, “I would.”

Standing up, she flashed him another easy smile and slipped her hand into his offered one. As she had never actually heard any of Fleetwood Mac’s music, though she was familiar with the name and now their history, Summer felt a fluttering of excited butterflies in her stomach. At least if she was going to be lost with another band, she was going to make the most of it – and experience music outside of the Led Zeppelin world.



Sitting in what had once been Rolling Stone office before they relocated to the East Coast, likely to be there until he could catch his flight to New York, Cameron poured over articles and snippets, hoping to find something that would give him any sort of hint as to where Summer could be. He read through wire postings from Orlando and rang the newsroom there, just to check for any late-breaking story. Nothing seemed to be standing out at all.

With a sigh, Cameron glanced up at the clock and realized his cab would be downstairs waiting to take him to the airport. He pushed away from the desk, tidied up his mess, and headed towards the door. As he neared the exit, his sometimes editor approached him.

“I hear you’re going to New York,” Jann Wenner declared.

“Yeah. What are you doing here?”

He held up a Banker’s box, “Picking up the last of my memories. Share a cab to the airport?”

“Sure.”

By the time they reached the airport, Cameron explained precisely why he was going to New York. The editor certainly had nothing invested in the young writer and his friendships with bands or bands’ girlfriends, but he had met Summer at a party or two. And he knew Cameron cared more for her than he would ever admit, as if the fact he was flying across the country did not illustrate it.

“You know… this isn’t anything against Summer, but I’ve heard… rumors about the roadies and groupies. You should talk to the band’s roadies first and foremost. I bet you figure something out from them,” Jann suggested as they headed towards the plane’s gate.

Cameron paused, “What do you mean?”

“Just talk to them when you reach New York, Cameron. You and I both know roadies know more about what it going on than pretty much everyone else on the tour.”

After arriving in New York City, Cameron hurried to the resident hotel of Led Zeppelin. He rang Benji’s room from the front desk and glanced around the lobby. His eyes drifted over familiar faces, but he did not lift his hand to wave any of them. He was on a mission and none of them had to do with re-connecting with Led Zeppelin tour followers. Hearing the chime of the elevator, his dark eyes turned towards it and his hand lifted in a small wave at Robert’s assistant.

Stepping into the elevator with Benji, Cameron spoke, “Jann thinks I need to talk to the roadies and groupies, that they’ll know something.”

The older man looked at him for a moment, “Yeah, about that…”

“What?”

“I know exactly who you should go talk to,” he stated. “And I don’t think you will like their answer.”

Cameron stared at him for a moment, “What do you know, Benji?”

He shrugged, “Not much…”

He remained silent for a moment before repeating his question.

Benji sighed, “There’s rumors floating around…”

“About Summer?”

He said nothing, but nodded slightly, “I’ll take you to the two who might know something.”

The two men stepped out of the elevator on the lowest of the Led Zeppelin floors. Cameron trailed only a few steps behind Benji, trying to mentally prepare himself for whatever the roadies were going to tell him. He had a bad feeling about this, a very bad feeling.

They entered the room, Benji introduced Cameron, and left him alone with the two men. Finding the two of them very familiar at least meant they had traveled with the band on previous tours. That alone meant they were trusted by the band or minimally by Peter Grant. He drank a beer with the two men, hoping to establish some trust himself before asking about his best friend.

“So,” he set down his half-empty beer, “I was wondering if you could answer something for me.”

“Yeah, sure,” one responded as he lit up a cigarette.

Not entirely certain how to approach it, Cameron blurted out, “Where’s Summer?”

The other one smirked, “Your guess is as good as ours.”

“You know something. I know you do.”

“What makes you think that?”

Cameron said nothing.

“Have you ever played poker, Cameron?”

“I am not interested in playing a card game,” he replied. 

“Not precisely what I asked. But you do know that oftentimes the best bets in a poker game are very… valuable to the players, correct?”