They've decided to hold their final concert on Thanksgiving at Bill Graham's Winterland. It was already scheduled and most of the tickets sold, but now things have changed. Either ticket holders will have to shell out more money or accept a refund for their tickets. The new price for admission is now more than twice the original fee.
Their hardcore fans are not discouraged but pony up the extra money. News that this concert will be more than a mere performance resulted in a flood of new ticket sales. Soon the event is announced as sold out. I wonder how many people wished they'd forked over the extra money.
No one in the band is really happy, except for maybe Robbie. He sees their going out as one big party like it's something to celebrate. I think he is the only one celebrating. The rest of them are trying to treat it like just another show although they all know better. There's a finality in the air that no one can avoid.
I hate this, I hate even thinking about it. I don't want to go but I've promised Rick--I know Elizabeth will be there, but he told me he needs me there too.
I've poured my first cup of coffee when someone knocks at my door. I open it to find a courier standing there holding a big box which I have to sign for. I scribble my name and he hands it to me, tipping his hat as I shut the door behind him.
I tear off the wrapping to find a box labeled "Nordstrom". I open it and lying on top is a VIP backstage pass on a gold ribbon with my name written on it. With it I find two business-sized envelopes, one holds airline tickets and the other the reservation and confirmation for a hotel room at the San Francisco Hilton. I wonder if he's staying in the same place or had put me up elsewhere as a precaution. I hope it's somewhere else.
Underneath is a black jersey dress with cutouts decorating the long sleeves. The same cutout pattern borders the edges of an open back. Hidden in the folds of the dress are a silver necklace and earrings set with turquoise.
I read the note that lay on top of the dress. "Find yourself a cute hat. You'll be the prettiest girl at the ball." I don't know about that but the hem is short enough to draw attention to my legs. If he wanted me to be ignored he chose the wrong outfit.
I love the dress but this whole thing makes me sick, it's nothing but a farce that will make a great party for the attendees. Bill Graham's milking it for all it's worth, but who could blame him? They'd always been one of his biggest drawing acts. He promoted their very first concert in the same venue where they'll be performing their last. It would look like they were going out with a bang, but if you paid close attention, it was really a whimper in disguise.
Rick showed up that night—at his usual 3 a.m. and wanted me to try on my dress. He tried to cajole me into modeling it for him, but I refuse at first, saying,
"It's bad luck to see the dress before the date—or something like that. Anyway, I want to surprise you."
"I already know what the dress looks like, I bought it for you! I want to see it on you, now, and don't bother with any underwear."
"Oh, so you're going to go all male chauvinist on me? Is that an order, sir?" He ignores my mocking tone.
"Yes, it's an order—especially the no underwear part." He wriggled his brows as if to emphasize what he was saying.
I hadn't tried the dress on yet. I slide it over my head, the jersey feels erotic gliding over my bare skin and I've always looked good in black. I come out to the living room and turn around slowly so he can see me.
"Do you like it?" I flutter my lashes at him then come and sit on his lap.
"Oh yeah," he breathed, "Almost as much as I liked that nightie I got you." He begins to roll up the dress above my waist and I have no desire to spoil the mood. Part of the reason he's here must be a desire to see the dress on me because he should be at the studio rehearsing. We've had so little time together lately that we were willing to grab whatever we could.
He had to leave right after we made love. I wanted to complain, beg him to stay a little longer but I know better so I kissed him and saw him out the door.
I've been backstage at concerts before but I've never seen anything like this. "Organized Chaos" are the words that come to mind, it's crazy.
Celebrities are milling around everywhere. I keep bumping into people that I know: Woodie, Eric, Neil, Butter, and others whose faces I know but have never made their acquaintance. Whether or not Dylan is going to show up and play is still up in the air. After all these years he keeps his mystique and undependability.
Bill Graham has done his best. No one is allowed backstage that doesn't have a VIP pass. A few groupies have snuck through, but that's part of the business of rock and roll. What would it be without the girls?
What bothers me is I am forced to see Rick with his wife. He's stolen a few glances and smiles for me, but she's there on his arm, reminding me that the man I love belongs to someone else. I have no doubt now that she is the one who was in my hospital room but that knowledge is far from reassuring.
She's prettier than me, but her skinny body possesses almost no breasts. I am curvier than she is, and my hair hangs in a long sheet down my back. Her auburn hair curls around her face, but we both have dark eyes. Clearly, Rick doesn't favor one type over another.
"She may be prettier, but you're sexier," someone whispers in my ear and I turn to see Eric standing next to me. "You know, there's not a man in this room who hasn't been checking you out."
I smile, taking comfort from his words for they are exactly what I need to hear. His girlfriend is in London for her photography exhibition so we are both alone for the night. I don't know what he has in mind, but musicians are not exactly known for their fidelity. I have never considered being unfaithful to Rick—until now—but if Eric is interested, I may spend the night with him and Rick will have nothing to say about it.
The band is waiting to go on and there's a palpable tension in the air. After tonight this is it, it's over. No more band, no more brotherhood. I am starting to feel weepy and emotional and it would be easy to break down. I look around the room and I can see that my eyes aren't the only ones that look a little moist. It's a very emotional moment, not just for the band but for all of us who have been associated with them. I'm grateful for Eric's arm around my waist because I'm feeling a little unsteady on my feet.
Bill is running around, trying to control everything. I must say this has been very well thought out and there is nothing haphazard about it. There was a generous buffet for the audience but the spread backstage is first class, no expense spared. The hors d'oeuvres are first class, along with meats like ham and salmon. The champagne is Moet et Chandon, but there is also whiskey and beer. The spread looked beautiful but now it's a mess, waiting for the aids to clean it up.
The house lights are out and I hear Rick say, "Well, guys, the sooner we go on the sooner we'll get off," though it will be hours before that happens. They file out of the room to the stage and we VIPs are herded to the area they've set aside for us, away from the steaming flock. This is it.
Eric stays with me. "I'm not on until the second set," he says, "I'm here to give you moral support," and god knows I am grateful. I wonder what madness took hold of me when I agreed to come to this concert. I would not have missed this for the world but now I am wondering if I would have been better off down in the audience. Elizabeth and I keep sneaking looks at each other, sizing each other up and I wonder just how much she knows and if she will ever confront Rick.
In the meantime, I am glad I am looking my best. The dress Rick bought for me accentuates my curves and the hat I am wearing has red roses around the brim and black netting that falls just below my eyes. I know that I look desirable, and yes, as Eric said, I know that men have been looking me over and it gives me a tiny thrill. If Elizabeth knows about me, she must be wondering just what kind of rival I am.
I hear Levon's voice say, "Good Evening" and they begin to play the opening bars of "Up on Cripple Creek" and the audience goes wild. We VIPs kind of go wild, too. The atmosphere is electric and you can feel the energy flowing even from where we sit. The band is sounding tighter than they ever have as if they intend to go out in a splash of glory—even one that most had not intended.
We sit, smiling, enjoying the music from the privileged place close to the stage. I have a good view of Rick and every so often he catches my eye and smiles, a smile meant only for me, but he must be smiling for Elizabeth too. I am horribly jealous and even with Eric sitting next to me with his arm protectively around my waist only makes me feel a little better.
They finish their first number to thunderous applause. The crowd is here for them, for the last chance they will have to see them, and they want their appreciation to be known. I wonder if anyone besides Robbie really understands what this means. Is this concert a hail mary? A desperation measure? Or is it meant to ease Robbie's conscience? Or an opportunity to line his pockets?
No matter how they are feeling, when they are on stage they are true professionals. They run through their first set without a mistake, then go on to introduce their first "guest", their mentor from long ago. Without him there would be no band, for he brought them together, taking the best talent from each band that impressed him. He was established and they were young and hungry so each went with stars and visions of success in their eyes. Their mentor was a hard taskmaster, but the result was the group we saw playing on stage.
At last, the first stage was over and they took a thirty-minute break. "You'll have to excuse me," Eric said as we VIPs were herded backstage, "I'll be on stage for the second half. Just ignore Elizabeth, don't let her bother you. Rick shouldn't have brought you here, but the damage is done. Do what he intended for you, try and have fun. If you go to the party you are going to have to face her anyway, just remember she doesn't know for sure who you are. She can be a bitch, but she won't start anything, if she does remember that you can hold your own."
Backstage civilians and musicians mingle. Performers who had done their sets could have left but stuck around instead. The vibe was so good that no one wants to leave. This is history being made and we all want to be a part of it.
I can see Elizabeth but keep my distance. I talk to people I know and don't know. To the latter, if they ask who I am, I simply answer that I am an old friend of the band. I'm not, but it distinguishes me from the groupies who made their way backstage in spite of Bill's precautions.
Elizabeth excused herself, no doubt for a trip to the ladies' room where I'd soon have to visit myself and Rick makes his way to my side. He takes my arm and leads me to a secluded corner and kisses me.
"How are you doing? How's the show?" he asks, "You look beautiful. I'm so glad you made it, it means a lot to me to have you here." He put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed me, "I've got to go before I'm missed." Without further ado, he disappeared back into the crowd, and I didn't see him again until the party.
The half-hour up, they went back on stage, slightly tired but fortified by copious amounts of coke. They played another set then the guests took the stage, the band acting as backup. Eric smiles at me as he takes the stage, "Are you hanging in there?" his eyes seemed to say. He stayed on through Muddy Waters and Paul Butterfield, then thankfully left so he could get off his feet. The alcohol was calling him as it did these days, he drank way too much though tonight he seemed to exert a kind of mild moderation.
He found me in the crowd of VIP's and took his place by my side and we stayed there through the encore, then the next encore, then the next. The audience didn't want to leave so they didn't. It was almost two in the morning before the band played their last number and left the stage for good.
"Are you up for the party?" Eric asks me although he must know that I have to go, Rick expects me. I put on a brave face and nod, knowing there is no graceful way out of it.