The Boy from the Band

Unfaithful Servant -Japan 1983

Rick said he would have a car pick me up at 6:30, but I forgot to ask if that was "Danko Time". I was ready and packed at 6:30 just in case, but it was 7:30 when I heard the bus pull up, horn honking, making me hope my neighbors were awake.

I heard familiar footsteps coming up the stairs, and the door opened to reveal Rick standing at the threshold. He took three steps and put his arms around my waist, lifting me up and spinning me around.

"Um, I am so glad to see you, you look great," he sniffed at my neck, "And you smell good too! Are you ready?"

"Since 6:30," I said and smiled, "Are you running late?"

"Not very," he picked up my bags and we headed down the stairs and out the door. Immediately I was greeted by three very goofy guys hanging out the windows and doors, yelling, "Hi Dacy!" at the tops of their lungs.

"Gee thanks, guys," I said, "I hope the neighbors are already awake," and they burst into laughter.

It was nice to see Richard, Levon, and Garth again. These are my favorite guys in the world, and they have kept their knowledge of Rick and me to themselves. I feel loved and accepted and for this I am grateful.

We catch up on the drive to the airport. Rick must have told them I'm going to nursing school because I get teased and asked if I had to clean bedpans and do I give sponge baths? I'm sure at some point on the drive or the flight I'm going to get asked if I'll give one.

Rick keeps his arm around me and I lean my head on his shoulder. I haven't been sleeping well and last night I barely slept at all. I'm happy to be included on this trip but I am uneasy. There's no good reason, but something is nagging at me.

The rest of the band trickles into the airport, waiting in the lounge for foreign flights. They've chartered a plane so the crew and equipment fly with us. There are unfamiliar faces, but I've met the Cates and Levon's nephew Randy Cagle so I don't feel surrounded by strangers.

It's 10 hours to Narita Airport, two hours less than flying from Seattle. The guys have taken the cabin in the front of the plane and everyone else is in the "tourist" section. It doesn't matter much; we are all given equal treatment. As soon as it is safe to leave our seats, guitars are taken from the racks and an impromptu jam session begins. Patient flight attendants distribute drinks and spirits are high.

This has to be the best flight ever, better than the trip I took to Japan with my mother. The jam doesn't end until everyone has to take their seats and get ready for the approach to the airport. When we land the equipment is hustled through customs, it takes longer for the rest of us before we can board the bus that we'll be using. It's ten in the morning Tokyo time and our Japanese hosts seem to have forgotten there is such a thing as jet lag. Even worse cameras are clicking and I can't avoid being photographed with Rick, nor a graceful way to avoid it. I settle for not posing, turning my head against his side, and trying my best not to scowl.

"Don't worry," Rick whispers to me, "Elizabeth won't see the pictures, these are local journalists and Japanese paparazzi. They'll probably think you're my girlfriend, I'll tell anyone who asks you're the band's assistant. They won't believe it but they'll leave it at that."

"Oh yes," I respond, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, "The Japanese are very polite." He laughs, "Cheer up, you'll be all right."

We're given a few hours to rest, then the meetings with radio stations and dignitaries begin. The Japanese don't quite know what to do with me. I'm not his wife and when Rick says I work for the band they nod and say nothing. They find two girls in their early 20's who they assign as my escorts. There isn't time for serious sightseeing so the girls take me to the Ginza to do what we women like to do—shop and eat.