There are streaks of light from the street lamps coming in through the curtains and I am afraid Rick can see the damage my face has suffered. I cover myself with my hands because I don't want him to see the lumps and the bruises. I hear the lamp switch click and I say, "Don't look at me, I look hideous."
He pulls my hands away with his gentle touch. "Let me look, I want to know what those bastards did to you. Robbie said you were pretty banged up."
"Robbie told you what happened?" I can't believe what I'm hearing. Why did Robbie call him?
"Yeah, he called me a few days ago, but today was the earliest I could get away. He was worried about you. Here, scoot over a bit so I can sit next to you, do you want a pillow under your head?" It's painful but I nod and he pulls out the topmost pillow and puts it under me. "Now, tell me how this happened?"
I close my eyes because moving is making the room spin. "There's not much to tell, I went to the little cantina down the street to have a drink then left around two. I was jumped by some guys who wanted my purse. I wouldn't let them have it so..."
"You knucklehead, why didn't you let them have it?" he asked, "If you had given them your purse you would have been better off, and this might not have happened."
"They made me mad and I wasn't going to stand for it. They thought they could just take it and I wouldn't fight back, but that's not what happened. I know," I sighed, "It was pretty stupid but I was damned if I was going to let them have it. They beat me up pretty good before a couple of guys passing by saw what happened and stopped it. I think they may have been in the cantina when I was there. They fought them off but weren't able to catch them when they ran. My rescuers called 911 and they took me to the hospital."
Talking is making my head throb and I don't want to discuss this, at least not right now. "Rick, please, can we discuss this later? Talking is making me feel sick and there's not a place where I don't hurt. I feel awful and I just want to sleep."
"Okay, I'm sorry. Here, let me take some of your pillows into the bedroom. I'll come and get you after I get your bed turned down." He disappears into my room then comes back and lifts me as if he's afraid that if he isn't careful I might break. He carries me into the bedroom and lays me down on the bed and removes first my clothes, then his.
"I can't do anything," I tell him, embarrassed, "Not until ten days have passed."
"I know," he tells me, "I expected that, just go to sleep, you need your rest." He takes me into his arms and for the first time since I was attacked, I feel like I can relax. I spend the night curled up next to him, savoring his warmth and wake feeling rested for the first time in days.
Early in the morning I open my eyes and notice he's not in bed. Afraid of getting dizzy, I get up slowly, and look around to see if he's left. His suitcase and guitar are in the corner, so I lay back down, satisfied that he hasn't taken off, and pull the covers over me. Now that I have him back, I don't want to let him go.
He comes in the door carrying Styrofoam containers with two large cups balanced on top. "I was awake so I got us breakfast and coffee. I figured you needed to eat." He handed a large cup to me, "This is one of those nasty mochas you like so well—careful, it's hot. I got scrambled eggs, hash browns, and toast. I know you have orange juice. I'll get some silverware, do you mind not using plates?"
I check an urge to shake my head. "No," I replied, "that's dishes that don't have to be to washed--and you'd have to wash them anyway."
He ignores me and sets the food down, saying, "I didn't have much to eat yesterday so breakfast sounded good."
We eat, saying little, communicating with our eyes and smiles. How long had it been since I'd eaten breakfast with him, naked? I miss these too few tender moments we used to share. He's over three thousand miles away from me now and we hadn't spoken in six months. I was supposed to start having a "whole relationship" with someone new in place of the half-relationship which had been the best he could offer me. Had he changed his mind?
When we finish he takes the dishes into the kitchen. "I'm not even going to ask if I can smoke," he smiles, "How are you feeling?"
"Better, maybe, I don't know. I feel a little queasy, a little woozy. I don't want to look in the mirror, I don't want to see what they've done to me."
He pulls off his clothes and crawls into bed with me, "I bet I can make you feel better."
What is wrong with him, he wants me when I look like this? And besides, the doctor said no exercise. Moving makes my head spin, is he crazy?
He seems to read my thoughts, "Don't worry," he whispers, "I'll be careful, you just lay very still and let me do the work," and he proceeds to make gentle, careful love to me. I start to relax and begin to enjoy his touch, my doubts fading as I feel his hands and mouth all over me.
"Are you all right?" he asks when he finishes and my only answer is a slow"um hmmm." I've forgotten about my face, forgetting that there are still parts of my body that hurt. It doesn't even matter that I didn't climax, all that matters is he's holding me again.
"I want you to move to Woodstock, Dacy, you're not safe here anymore. I was afraid that something like this would happen. What if something worse happens next time, and there could be a next time, you know."
"Rick, I don't know about that. You're asking me to leave a place that I love. I Venice, I love California. My life is here and I don't know if I want to uproot myself and move to New York. I'm not sure it's the right thing to do. For one thing, the economy's going through a rough stretch and how hard will it be for me to find another job? Working for the phone company has paid for three surgeries and now this concussion—how do I know I can find benefits like that anywhere else? Besides, we've just gotten back together, why rush things?
"Because I need to get you there before winter starts. I'm going to be busy touring after the new year—with exception of Robbie, the Band is getting back together."
"What?" I sit up too quickly and have to lay back down. I close my eyes for a moment, then the room stops spinning.
I can't believe what I'm hearing, but I'm happy for him, for all of them. This is good news, this is what he needs. Garth has kept busy, so has Levon. Richard and Rick seem to be the only ones who haven't been in demand. Richard's alcohol problem has been so bad I don't think he'd even be able to work. I've been worried about Rick, he's been kind of lost since the Band broke up, I was hoping he'd find a direction--now he has.
"We decided, Garth, Richard, Levon, and I, that we needed to do this. I've been gigging with different people, but I'm not making the kind of money that I need. We weren't sure if Garth would be on board for this, but he is. I think this will help."
Maybe it will. Will they be in demand like they were in the old days. Will they turn into a "cover band", even if they're only covering their own music? Robbie was the song writer, who'll step into his shoes--and they're big shoes to fill.
"Have you talked to Robbie? What did he say about it?" If he hasn't given his consent, I'll do anything to make him give it, even fuck him, maybe threaten him if I have to. I'll wear him down if he even thinks about refusing.
"Yes, we have, and he gave the go-ahead. I've been playing with the Cate Brothers and they've agreed to back us up. We've working on a schedule, a setlist, and need to get a road crew and sound techs—you know how much work touring is."
I do. How many times did I watch Rick get ready to go on the road? I'm thrilled for him, so happy that Robbie isn't going to stand in their way! I know this is no guarantee of success , but it might work, at least for a while.
What I'm worried about are the smack and Richard's drinking. Richard is fragile and he needs help, going on the road like this could help, but I am afraid this will break him. I'm afraid for him. The other guys don't seem to get how serious his drinking and drug problems are, they don't get alcoholism unless it's a skid road drunk.
"I am so happy for you, Rick, this is wonderful news and I understand how busy you'll be. It's just that I don't want to make a decision when I feel like this. You know a part of me wants to say yes, but I want to be practical. Moving to LA was an impulse decision, and I was lucky it worked out." I draw a deep breath, "I'm not twenty-three anymore, and I don't want to move to New York only to have you decide that you want to break things off with me again."
"Ouch," he said, "But I do understand that. I know I'm asking a lot, but I can promise that you won't regret it. Are you telling me that there is a part of you who wants to move to New York?"
"Maybe," I'm defeated and I know it, then he smiles at me and I know I'm in trouble but it might be worth it.