by Rick Goeld
“A few weeks … hopefully.”
“It’s no big deal, Eddie.”
“Hey,” Eddie said, punching his little brother lightly on the shoulder, “you’re going to embarrass me. See?” he said, pointing at his face. “Tears.”
“You always were a crybaby,” Mark snorted as he grabbed the last piece of garlic bread.
Eddie smiled. Memories rush over me. We called each other “crybaby” when we were kids.
9
Saturday, March 4, 2000
A persistent buzzing, like flies caught in a screen window, woke Eddie out of a sound sleep. He glanced at the clock radio—just after seven—reached under the bed, and picked up his cell phone.
“Hey,” he mumbled.
“Zit, it’s me, Jerry.”
Eddie yawned. “Jer. Why you calling so early?”
“Did you see The Dan on Letterman last night?”
“What?” He sat up.
“Steely Dan. They were on Letterman last night. Didn’t you get my message?”
Eddie turned on a lamp and held the phone under it. The message indicator was blinking away. “Shit no, I never got your message. I must’ve crashed after dinner. When did you call?”
“Right before they came on. After midnight. I turned it on just by chance. It was just dumb luck, my friend.”
“No shit.”
“No shit. The Dan on Letterman. It was unreal. They were hyping that new CD they just released.”
“Two Against Nature.”
“Yeah. They played something from it.”
“What? What did they play?”
“I don’t remember … but I taped it for you. Right over The Sopranos.”
“Shit. I don’t believe I missed it.”
“You missed it, Zit.”
“Shit.”
“Zit, I’ve got to go. I’m opening the store today.”
“Okay. Hold on to that tape for me.”
“I will. Hey, Zit, you know what this means?”
“What?”
“Fagen and Becker. They’re both in the city. In Manhattan.”
10
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
Subject: REQUEST FOR HELP
I am a big fan of Steely Dan. I got your email addresses by searching the web. You guys all maintain SD related websites, or refer to SD on your website, or are mentioned as “knowledgeable fans.” You might be able to help me out.
I have not been able to find much SD memorabilia. There is almost nothing worth buying on eBay or any of the other sites that sell memorabilia. I’ve checked some stores in Manhattan and also struck out. By the way, I’m from New Jersey but living in Manhattan temporarily. Any of you living in the City?
So anyway, I figured, maybe I can at least get an autograph at one of Fagen or Becker’s “infrequent” appearances in Manhattan. I know they’re in the City since they appeared on Letterman this week. Do any of you know where they hang out? I thought about hanging around Fagen’s neighborhood (the best address I could come up with is 1675 Madison Avenue) and see if I could spot him, and maybe get his autograph. Or, maybe I would have better luck hanging around their recording studio (River Sound at 312 East 95th Street).
Any suggestions or help would be greatly appreciated.
Thanks in advance…
EZEddie
*****
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: FUCK OFF, PSYCHO
Hey, psycho, if you know anything about the Dan, you would know that they value their privacy. Real fans know enough to leave them alone. So go back to your hole in New Jersey.
*****
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: REQUEST FOR HELP
Thanks for your email!! It’s always good to hear from another Dan Fan!!
Anyway, I live in Seattle and run the SD Fan Club out here. We have over 100 people on our mailing list!!! I’ve never been to New York, and have no idea how to reach Fagen and Becker. Hey, you know Becker lives in Hawaii, right? Most of the memory-belia I’ve seen out here is from the tours the Dan did in the 90s. I’m not much for memory-bilia myself. I just groove to the sounds!!
Have you listened to Two Against Nature yet? (assume you have if you are a Dan Fan) It is unbelievable!!!!!!!!
Have a nice life!! Give me a shout if you are ever in Seattle!!
Fuzzy
*****
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Thanks
Hey, thanks. Yeah, I know Walter lives in Hawaii. I forgot to mention it in my first email.
…EZ
*****
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: SD
EZEddie, I get all the SD newsletters and monitor all the websites. Fagen and Becker are nearly invisible. Of course, Becker lives in Hawaii, but he hangs in New York quite a bit, if you believe the newsletters. Sometimes Fagen sits in at one of the jazz clubs in Manhattan. You might try asking around at Iridium or the Blue Note.
Albert
*****
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: You’ve got the wrong address
EZEddie, your search must have picked up the reference I have on my personal website. (Steely Dan Rules!) I don’t know how you came up with 1675 Madison, but that’s not it. I have it on good authority (I’m not saying how I found out) that Fagen lives at 59 East 88th Street. You’re right on with River Sound, but that’s no big secret, you can probably find it in the telephone book.
Hope this helps
MarKau
*****
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Thanks
MarKau55, thanks for the info, it helps a lot. I see we have the same domain. We can IM each other. Where are you located?
EZEddie
*****
MarKau55: I live in the East Village, and work at Zabar’s on 80th and Broadway. Have you ever heard of it? We have the best smoked fish in the city…MK
EZEddie32: I’ve heard of it, but never been there. Hey, as a way of thanking you for your help, can I buy you lunch? How about tomorrow (Tuesday)? I don’t have to be at work until two…EZ
MarKau55: Why not? We both have to eat, right? I’ll do you one better, I’ll bring the food (you can pay me back). How about nova, sable carp, bagels and cream cheese, etc? I can meet you at noon, right in front of Zabar’s … Okay? If it’s not too cold, we can eat on one of the park benches…MK
EZEddie32: Sounds good. I love nova, but never tried sable carp. How will I know you? EZ
MarKau55: I’ll be wearing my SD hat from the 1994 tour. Sable carp is just another kind of smoked fish. See you tomorrow…MK
11
Tuesday, March 7, 2000
Standing on the corner of 80th and Broadway, Eddie scanned the sidewalk, looking for a Steely Dan hat. Zabar’s had five doors facing Broadway, each under its own archway, with each archway sporting a bright orange “Zabar’s” sign. A bit redundant … He wore his own hat from The Dan’s 1994 tour, figuring if he didn’t spot MarKau, at least MarKau would have a shot at spotting him.
It was another one of those cold, beautiful days in March: bright and sunny, with no wind. Perhaps forty degrees, Eddie thought. Trucks and busses lumbered by, spewing exhaust in his direction, and every so often he felt the rumble of the subway beneath his feet. The sidewalks were relatively clean, but still crowded with shoppers and delivery men.
He walked north, noting that the first door was the entrance to Zabar’s coffee shop, the second was an entrance to the store itself, and both the third and fourt
h doors were exits. There was still no sign of MarKau as he approached the last door.
“Hey, Easy Eddie,” someone shouted from behind him.
He turned and spotted a Steely Dan hat sitting on the head of a pretty young woman carrying a shopping bag. He waved and walked in her direction.
“You must be MarKau,” he said, hiding his surprise as he approached. She was wearing a black leather jacket, a red sweater, jeans, and sneakers. He offered his hand, and she took it.
“Marcie Kaufman,” she replied.
Nice smile. “I’m Easy Eddie … Zittner,” he stammered, then managed to blurt out: “Eddie Zittner. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, Eddie.”
“Uh, you’re not what I expected,” he replied, then immediately added, “I mean, I don’t know what I expected . . .”
“What did you expect?” she said, frowning, adding to his embarrassment.
“”Uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. I just—”
“You expected a guy, huh?”
“Yeah … I guess so.”
“The Dan has a lot of female fans, you know.”
“What can I say . . .?” I’m blowing it.
“Look, do you still want to have lunch?”
“Yeah, sure, why not? Always happy to meet another Dan fan.”
“Well, it’s too cold to eat outside.”
“Agreed.”
“We can eat in the coffee shop. You’ve never been to Zabar’s, right?”
“Right.”
“Follow me. I’ll give you the nickel tour.” Marcie turned and pushed through the last door. He followed as she worked her way through the store, first squeezing past waist-high barrels of fragrant coffee beans, and then turning left into baked goods, where he was overwhelmed by the smell of warm onion rolls. Continuing on, Marcie introduced him to Sal and Morey, the two guys that ran the smoked fish counter. They finally exited through the cheese department, another olfactory delight. A minute later, they were in the coffee shop. Marcie put the bag of food on the table, and then took off her jacket and swung it over the back of a chair.
“This is it. Nothing fancy, but it is warm.” She smiled, her eyelids fluttering over blue eyes that reminded him of Liv Tyler. Finally, she took off the hat and shook her head—just a little, just enough to free up her auburn hair—and sat down. Very nice. He swung his jacket across the chair opposite hers. After standing for a few seconds, looking like a nebbish, he sat down and tried to think of something intelligent to say.
“Oh, this is great.” He grinned. “They won’t hassle us about bringing food in here?”
“No. It’s all the same food. Anyway, I work here, remember?”
“Right. What kind of work?”
“Oh, this and that. Mostly I work behind the counters. Sometimes I do check-out.”
“Well, thanks again. This is great.” She had a nice smile, he thought; cute, with a dimple on her left cheek. She had those little stickpin-style earrings: two on the left, and two on the right. He didn’t know if that was significant, not being up-to-date on the latest trends in ear fashion. He hadn’t seen much of her body, but she looked slim and athletic. He guessed she was in her mid-twenties.
As he watched, Marcie busied herself unpacking the food. First she laid out the nova and sable on the paper it had been wrapped in, which was stained with grease. Then she took out four bagels, already sliced, and laid them across a couple of paper napkins. Good selection, he noted, spotting a sesame, a plain, an onion, and one with what looked like everything on it. Then she took out two containers of cream cheese, one plain and one with chives. Finally she laid out napkins, plastic knives and forks, and two bottles of water.
“Do you want coffee?” she asked.
“Uh, later would be fine,” he replied as he spread chive cream cheese over half a sesame bagel. Then he laid a generous piece of nova on top. “This is great.”
“You’ve already said that.”
“But it is … great.”
“That’s four times now.”
“Okay, I’ll stop.” he said, and, attempting to sound at least semi-intelligent, continued with “So, how long have you worked here?”
“I’ve been here for a couple of years,” she said, carefully chewing a mouthful of sable and onion bagel. “I’m working my way through law school: N.Y.U.”
Law school. He re-assessed the young woman sitting opposite him. “When do you finish?”
“December 16th.” He started to respond, but she interrupted: “No need to say ‘great’ again.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
They grinned at each other. Marcie continued, “So what do you do?”
“I’m just living in Manhattan, you know, temporarily. Working at a bookstore.”
“No kidding. I guess you just pick up girls on the internet as, what, a hobby?”
“Uh . . .” He stammered again, glancing down at the wedding band still on his left hand, “yeah … I mean, no. Hey, I didn’t know you were a woman.”
“True. I’ll give you that.”
“And, uh, I’m separated from my wife. She left me,” he quickly added.
“She back in New Jersey?”
“Yeah. How did you know?”
“You said you were from Jersey in your email.”
Time to re-assess again … a lawyer-to-be, and sharp as a tack. He finished his half bagel and reached for another.
“Why don’t you try the sable this time?”
“Okay. What’s good with it?”
“Try it on the onion bagel, or the everything. No cream cheese.”
“No cream cheese?”
“Well, that’s how I like it, but it’s up to you.”
He picked up half of an everything bagel, forked a couple of slices of sable over it, took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully for a few seconds.
“Good?” she asked.
“Yeah, not bad at all. Moist. A little salty. Different.”
“Subtle flavor, right?”
“Subtle would be a good way to describe it. I like it.”
“What’s not to like?” Smiling, Marcie decided to try the nova, layering it over chive cream cheese on the remaining half of the sesame bagel. “So, being a Dan Fan, I assume you’ve listened to Two Against Nature?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “It’s pretty good.” He had listened to it numerous times, and had grudgingly conceded that it was quality stuff. When played on the stereo system at his brother’s place, some of it was outstanding.
“I think it’s a little too jazzy,” Marcie said. “I guess I like the old stuff better.”
“Yeah, I can see your point.” He took a huge bite of his sandwich.
“I really like ‘Jack of Speed,’ though. You know, track six?”
“Mmm . . .” He nodded agreement as he wiped his mouth. “Yeah, you’re right, that’s one of the better ones.” He was relaxed now, and feeling more comfortable. “So, how did you know Fagen’s address?”
“Oh, I never give away my sources,” she replied.
“Come on, at least give me a clue . . .”
“A friend of a friend knows him. Or, rather, lives in the same building.”
“No kidding?”
“No kidding. And,” she continued, “I really had second thoughts about sending you that address, privacy laws being what they are.”
But you can’t very well retrieve an email once it’s sent.
The conversation rambled over less weighty subjects. They were washing down their third half bagels with cups of coffee when Marcie came back to the subject of Fagen’s address:
“So, what are you planning to do? Walk right in and knock on his door? Ask for his autograph?”
“Uh, I don’t know yet. I haven’t figured out that part of it.”
“I doubt that would work.”
In fact, he had thought about it. He knew very well that the wrong kind of approach would get him tossed on the sidewalk, or perhaps worse. “Why?�
�� he replied.
“Security. You wouldn’t get close.”
“Well, then, I might just hang around outside and wait for him to come out. Maybe carry a sign on my shoulder.”
“What, march up and down the street? Like a parade?”
“Yeah. Like a parade.” He hadn’t pictured it that way, but there was something to the idea. A parade … maybe he could recruit some followers.
Marcie thought about it for a moment. “Might work,” she concluded, “although, in that neighborhood, people don’t take kindly to that sort of thing.”
“What people?”
“The people that live there. And security. Doormen. Cops.”
“What about free speech? Or the right to walk up and down the street?”
“Yeah, there is that.”
“Hey, if I get arrested, will you defend me?” He grinned, and she grinned back at him. He continued, “Suppose I were to hang out—parade, as you said—on the sidewalk and wait for him to come out. Would you hang out with me? You know, strength in numbers?”
“Uh, I don’t think so.”
“What’s the matter? No guts?”
“I just don’t think hanging around on the street is a good idea. Too suspicious-looking.”
“I’m harmless. I just want an autograph.”
“This is New York City, remember?” she said, glancing at her watch. “Hey, almost one o’clock. I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Well, thanks, Marcie. It was great … I mean, very nice to meet you.”
“Same here.”
“Hey, I’ll send you an email if I have any success. Maybe we can stay in touch, you know? I’m new to Manhattan.”
She weighed the pros and cons. “Yeah, send me an email. I’d like that.”