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.
I'd seen a little of it on my last trip, but the Ginza must be one of their favorite haunts. They take me to a restaurant that has the best food I've ever eaten—and refuse to let me pay the check. Then I tell them I want to buy a dress or two—Rick shoved some money in my purse—and they giggle and take me to a shop that they assure me carries stylish clothing.
I see a dress in the window that I decide I must have. It's white with a softly gathered skirt that hits about four inches above my knees. It has pencil stripes that waver in a psychedelic pattern. On the front are printed yellow and orange flowers. It's sleeveless with a boat neck and it is screaming, "You want me, you want me!"
"This one," I say and point. When I try on the dress it fits like it was made for me. I add a black patten leather belt and black sandals with high chunky heels. I turn around and gaze at my reflection in the mirror and know that Rick is going to love it.
Rick's back in our room when I return and asks to see what I bought. "Bad luck to see the dress before dinner," I tell him and he lifts an eyebrow as if to say, "Oh really?" Then he puts his arms around me and lets me know there is something else on his mind.
It's been over two months since we made love. Emotions are surging through me and I start to get weepy which I try, with no luck, to hide from Rick.
"Hey," he says softly, "It's all right, I've missed you, too. I know how hard this has been for you, I wish it could be different but it's my work, babe."
I bury my face in his chest, "I know, I know. Can we just make love, please, and not talk?"
We take a shower and get dressed for dinner. I dress in the bathroom and then come out, turning around so he can take in my new dress. He whistles and tells me how sexy I look which is exactly what I want to hear. There is nothing like a new dress to make you feel good.
Dinner isn't just dinner; the band is being feted. I get looks from our Japanese hosts which I ignore. After dinner the boys are taken to a "Men's Restaurant" and all I say to Rick is, "Don't get too drunk." I've brought along B-complex and will get it down him before he goes to bed so his hangover won't be so bad.
I don't mind being left behind, I'm more than ready to sleep. Six concerts are coming up--I'd be happy with only a couple, but I'll be the supportive girlfriend. I just hope I'm not his "substitute Elizabeth", which I don't want.
Rick comes in about three, goes straight to the bathroom, and starts throwing up. I wash his face with a warm washcloth and when he slows down, I give him the vitamin B-Complex and make him drink two glasses of water. I help him to bed and take off his clothes.
"Try to get some sleep," I tell him, "You'll feel better in the morning." He mutters something that sounds like, "I doubt that" but I have faith in my hangover cure. It turns out I'm right, in the morning he feels better than he expected, although sake is a wicked drunk. He's in better shape than the others, but after food and great quantities of coffee, they are ready to face the day.
Interviews, sound check, then the first concert of the series. I get to skip listening to the interviews but Rick drags me to soundcheck and I sit in the back of the theater thinking how good they are sounding. They will never sound like "The Band", the original, that is, but this is a different sound for a different band, and they sound good.
We go back to the hotel and I change for dinner. My black dress has a plunging neckline and I put on a necklace of black coral and freshwater pearls. The hem is almost indecently short, showing off my fishnet stockings and black heels. If our Japanese hosts think I'm just a groupie I'll make sure I don't disappoint them. And for the final touch, I put on huge hoop earrings like the Latina girl I am.
The boys eat a big dinner and then the car arrives to take us to the hall. It's eerily quiet now, but soon it will begin to fill with people. There are Canadian, Japanese, and an American flag hanging as a backdrop, sort of lacking imagination—I wonder whose idea that was. People are coming in, the dignitaries, the DJs, concert promoters, all the usual people you see backstage at concerts.
I'm getting stared at and it gets annoying, but I know this culture. Rick and I make a handsome pair, both dressed in black. He's wearing a black kerchief around his neck which I threatened to take off, it's much too "Roy Rogers". I think he should get his ear pierced and wear a small diamond, but he scowled at me when I suggested it—I don't think I'll give up on the idea. With his dark Russian Gypsy looks it would look good on him.
It's time to hit the stage and the announcer introduces the Cates, then the members of the Band. They break into "Rag Momma Rag" for their first number, then follow it up with "Long Black Veil" and "Up on Cripple Creek". They are using their basic repertoire and the audience is loving it.
Rick plays mostly acoustic guitar but switches occasionally to his base for numbers like "Makes No Difference". They play audience favorites like "The Weight" but there's some R & B and blues thrown in. Levon plays a mean harp, maybe not as good as Butter but no one cares.
They close with "Blaze of Glory" and "Willy and the Hand Jive" and leave the stage. The audience starts clapping in unison and soon they're back and closing the show with "Ophelia" as an encore.
Next, it's the party. I'm grateful for the coke Rick gave me, I could easily fall asleep without it. I am hoping we can get away at one a.m., but it's five o'clock before we get back to the hotel. We make love, tired as we are, then collapse and fall asleep.
The rest of the tour goes pretty much the same. We hit Osaka for two shows, then back to Tokyo to finish up. This tour has been amazing, the crowd response is wonderful and you can feel the energy they're feeding to the band. The guys are enjoying themselves; as busy as we are, we do some sightseeing, to get out of the hotel if nothing else.
I'm happy for them, they're feeling pretty up. This is exactly what they need, musicians may have overblown egos but there's insecurity at the basis of it. To be loved the way the audience loves them gives them confidence and they are going around with smiles on their faces.
They do one last show in Tokyo, and Rick and I slip away from the party early—for him—which surprises me. We go back to the hotel and make love, then just lie and hold each other.
He surprises me by sitting up, "I have something I have to tell you, and I need to tell you now because I don't know when I'll see you again."
This does not sound good and alarm bells are ringing in my head. That nagging feeling is coming to the surface and I know that something is up, something I won't like.
"I've got to end it with you, Dacy, this isn't fair to you. You could be with someone if it weren't for me, have a real relationship. I can't do this to you anymore."
"Do I have any way in this?" I ask, "I've been happy with our relationship, it's unusual but it suits me. What if I don't want you to end this?"
He shook his shaggy black head, "No, it's no good. I love you, I do, but I've been selfish. You're beautiful, you're smart, you're kind, you're funny. You should find someone who'll treat you the way you deserve to be treated."
Tears are forming in my eyes. I'm not much of a crier and I don't want to cry now. "Couldn't you have told me this before? Why did you ask me to come with you to Japan if you knew you were going to leave me?"
"Because I'm selfish, I wanted to have you with me one last time. Dacy, you're starting to get your life together, you're going to school, you're making friends..."
"You're wrong about the friends, all my friends are in California. I gave up my life there, for you, for you, Rick. For years now there's been no one but you." Well, not entirely true, but close enough to the truth.
"What about Weir?" he asks and my jaw drops.
"How did you find out about him?" I don't know if this is a point or a cheap shot.
"We move in a small world, remember? And I hear he's treated you well. You deserve to have someone like him."
"Bob doesn't want a relationship, we're just friends. How can you do this to me, Rick? Does Elizabeth know about us, is that what this is about?"
"No, it's not. We've had our ups and downs but it's been a good eight years, let's leave it there. I don't want to be your enemy, Dacy, you know I couldn't bear that."
I grab a pillow and a blanket and start to leave the bed, but he pulls me back. "Don't," he says and I go back to bed.
On the flight home, I pretend nothing is wrong. I laugh, I smile, I pretend to be my happy self. I can't disagree entirely with Rick, maybe he's right, maybe it is time, but when I get home, I'm going to call Bob Weir and ask if I can come and see him. Bob will listen, Bob will understand. I just hope that Bill leaves me alone.