That One Time I Accidentally Became a Groupie

Tales from the Rock-n-Roll Scene of the 1980s

Yep, ya’ll it’s confession time. Well, it’s not like nobody else knows this story. It’s not a secret; in fact, I alluded to it in my memoir, Phoenix from the Ashes, which was first published in 2013. The thing is, though, that I didn’t drop any names. Under the influence of my new friend, Annie Trevaskis, I’m dropping them. Why not? It’s my story.

In 1986, I returned to Phoenix for the first time as an adult because my parents had moved back. I followed them after a divorce hoping to make a new and exciting life for myself. While searching for jobs, I happened on an opportunity to join the all-female road crew for a band that thought that would be a cool schtick. You know, “the all-male band with the all-female roadies.” Huh. Anyway, there will be stories about that experience to come. This is not one of them. I only mention it because it was through that experience that I ended up working with bands in the first place.

This story comes later that same year.

In those days, if you were into heavy metal and lived in Phoenix, there were a few good clubs, but the BIG one was Rockers. Everyone who was anyone in the scene played Rockers then. Even rock bands whose stadium days were long past gigged at Rockers. I spent a lot of time at Rockers. The little promo company I was working with booked Monday nights for benefit concerts to raise food and funds for St. Mary’s Food Bank in central Phoenix. I would work at the front door for those shows, taking in donations, then I’d sometimes work security at the stage doors. Most of the time, I did this on Monday nights only, but once in a while, we were asked to provide some help on other nights when it was expected to get unusually wild.

This night, we had been asked to cover the stage door because Dio was in town, and there was a sort of “all-star” jam night happening on stage. I was excited to be there and had driven straight from my day job in an office; wearing a business dress, pantyhose, and heels. These days, I’m shocked to think I was able to stand up all night in those shoes! The task was rather uneventful. I watched bottles of Jack Daniels and Wild Turkey walk through the door, probably along with a white powder or two. Mostly, I spent my time keeping a couple of underage girls with obvious fake British accents from sneaking into the backstage area.

On stage, the more popular local musicians jammed with members of Dio and Pantera (who had not yet hired Anselmo and transitioned to the sound you are probably most familiar with). It’s likely members of Keel joined in, since this is Ron’s hometown, and he spent a bit of time at Rockers, too. I know it was a raucous night, but I didn’t see any of the show!

Then came after-hours. A couple of the guys from Dio decided they’d like to have a party at their hotel in Scottsdale. Ronnie James was not among the jammers or partiers that night; it was understood that he was back at the hotel with Wendy, and not feeling well. Their show was the next night, so rest was more important than partying.

Two of my friends and I joined the others at the Scottsdale hotel. When we arrived, we were led to a room at the end of a second-story walkway. By the time we arrived, the music was already blaring and the party was on. Boy, was it on. I walked into the room and the first thing I noticed was the underage fake-Brits leaning over the glass table covered with long, thin lines of white powder. They were surrounded by people I knew and many more I didn’t, holding bottles of beer and waiting for their turns for the coke on the table. On the other side of the room, a handful of folks sat sipping beer and having a conversation. One of them was the resident of the room, our host — Jimmy Bain, the bass player for Dio. He invited me to sit on the chair with him.

I hesitated, then slipped onto the arm of the chair. I wasn’t about to sit on this guy’s lap! I remember he whispered something in my ear that made me laugh, and just after that, there was a knock at the door. Jimmy got up and I slid into the chair. He opened the door. Security. Turn down the music. He nodded, turned down the music, thanked them, and closed the door. Then he just stood there for a few minutes. I guess he was waiting until he thought the security guard was far enough away, because he then turned up the music, made a rude gesture toward the door, and came back to perch on the arm of the chair next to me. This answer the door for security, turn down the music, turn up the music, rude gesture dance happened multiple times throughout the night.

Conversation ensued, then my friend Louis, who had a huge crush on Jimmy, managed to entice him away from me. Louis was absolutely blasted, and so was Jimmy, who ended up passing out after a few minutes in the bedroom. While he slept, Louis drew designs all over him in silver permanent marker. I’m fairly sure Louis’ dream did not come true.

An hour or so passed, and most of the coke cohort left. Louis fell asleep. My friends weren’t ready to leave, and I wasn’t ready to drive. We had come in my car. One other person was awake, and we chatted about all kinds of things that are not the usual fare for parties, but that’s one of my fortes. I have been known to talk about deep esoteric spirituality in the middle of a thrash set at a house party. We were doing fine and being what most would consider somewhat boring when Jimmy woke up.

He came out of the room and sat on the chair next to me. There were plenty of places to sit, but he chose to sit next to the boring blonde in the business dress and pantyhose. I felt a little thrill. The three of us who were awake talked for a few minutes. As the third person began to drift into sleep, Jimmy stood up, took my hand, and nodded toward the bedroom. I followed him.

Sometime during the next hour or so, he offered me backstage passes for the show the next night. I declined. I didn’t even have tickets for the show. He told me he could give me some. Again, I declined. We whispered about his history with Ronnie James, my wishes to write about music and rock stars, and the occult. We fell asleep. When I awoke, I discovered my friends had gone. I still don’t know how they got home.

I wrote a note explaining why I didn’t want to take tickets or backstage passes. I wanted the night to be a little more special than that. I have no idea if he read the note. Even if he did, I wonder if he would have understood. Goofy romantic, I.

I certainly didn’t know then that he was married, or that he had a young daughter who would only have been about 5 that year. I was only a year out of my own abusive marriage and was trying hard not to think about things like that.

Louis passed away in late 2010, alone in the world because he had cut himself off from everyone. I think he may have died of AIDS. There’s no one left who knows. I do know he’s buried in the cemetary for the indigent west of Phoenix.

Jimmy died in 2016 of lung cancer. He’s buried near Ronnie James Dio at Forest Lawn Memorial Park in the Hollywood Hills.