Searching for Steely Dan

by Rick Goeld

  She gestured toward Ray’s Famous Pizza at the corner of 95th and Second. “Why don’t we go over there?” Soon they were seated across a table, Eddie with a greasy slice of pepperoni and a coke, and Lois with a cup of coffee. Eddie’s Steely Dan Rules! sign was leaning against the wall a few feet away.

  She took out a pen and notepad. “Let me start by asking you who you are, where you’re from, and what it is you’re doing?”

  “That’s a lot of questions.”

  “Well, I am a reporter.”

  “Okay. My name is Eddie Zittner. I’m from New Jersey, living temporarily in Manhattan.”

  “Zittner with one ‘t’ or two ‘t’s?”

  “Two.”

  She started taking notes. “And what is it you’re doing out here?”

  “I’m trying to get the musicians from Steely Dan to come down from their studio and give me their autographs.”

  “Their autographs. Who’s autograph? And why do you want their autographs?”

  “Do you know who Steely Dan is?”

  “Yeah, they’re a rock and roll group. They have some good tunes.”

  “Good tunes?”

  “Yeah, tunes. Songs.”

  Eddie stood up. “You don’t know anything about them, do you?”

  “I’m not an encyclopedia,” Lois replied, giving back a little attitude. “I’ve heard some of their songs. Okay?” She stared hard at him.

  “No, not okay.” Eddie grabbed his sign, ready to resume his quest.

  Lois stood and confronted him. “Hey! I’m a reporter. I can’t know everything about everything.”

  “Obviously.” He returned her stare. They stood there, eyeball to eyeball. An elderly couple at the counter turned and watched them.

  “Hey!” She said, almost shouting. “Take it easy. I’m just trying to do my job.”

  The elderly couple flinched and hurried out of the store. The man behind the counter hollered at them: “You two! You’re costing me business!”

  Eddie ignored the man and continued to glare at Lois. “Tell your boss to send someone who knows music next time.”

  Lois glared back. “Well, fuck this. I didn’t come all the way up here just to have you jerk me around.” She shoved her pen and notebook into her handbag, and headed for the door.

  Eddie, shaken, did some quick thinking. Remember, idiot, that a little publicity might help your cause? And he hadn’t meant to come across like a jerk. “Wait a minute,” he said.

  She turned back to face him. “What?” She spat the word at him.

  “Hey … I’m sorry,” he said, calming down. “I’ve had a bad week. I’m sorry I lost it there.”

  She took a deep breath. “You gonna cooperate?”

  “Yeah,” he said, contrite. He sat back down and composed himself. Then she sat back down and took out her pen and notebook .

  “Okay. Where were we? Tell me about Steely Dan.”

  “Steely Dan . . .” He gathered his thoughts. “Steely Dan is probably the best rock group of all time.”

  “Of all time. That’s your opinion, right?”

  “Yeah, and the opinion of lots of other people.”

  “Are you part of a fan club or something?”

  A fan club? He’d never join a fan club. “No.”

  “So you’re doing this on your own.”

  “Well, sometimes other people join me while I’m walking.”

  Lois looked out the window, down 95th Street, as if searching for his followers. “It’s pretty quiet around here. Not many people.”

  “There are, sometimes.”

  “Let’s go back to Steely Dan. What makes them so good?”

  This was the question he had contemplated on-and-off for months—years, really. “It’s a lot of things. The music is excellent. Exceptional. And the lyrics are, well, unique. Sometimes funny, other times sarcastic.”

  “So it’s really good music, with clever lyrics?”

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Okay, let me ask a different question. Why are you on this particular street?”

  “River Sound, their studio, is just down the block.”

  “River Sound.” She wrote the name in her notebook.

  “Yeah.”

  “And how do you know River Sound is their studio?”

  “Research.”

  Five minutes later the interview was over, and they were back on Second Avenue. Lois pulled a camera out of her handbag. “Do you mind if I take a picture of you holding that sign?”

  He thought for a moment. A newspaper article was one thing, but his picture in the paper? After some discussion, she took a picture of the sign as it leaned against a tree. They said their good-byes, Lois thanking him and telling him to look for the article in tomorrow’s paper. She turned and walked down the street, looking for a taxi.

  Uninformed, but she had a really nice walk.

  19

  Wednesday, March 15, 2000

  Searching for Steely Dan

  Exclusive

  By Lois Lane Smith

  Eddie Zittner is on a quest. He is marching up and down the sidewalks of Manhattan, trying to get the autographs of two of rock’s most reclusive stars.

  “My goal is to meet them, shake their hands, and get their autographs,” Zittner said, referring to Donald Fagen and Walter Becker, founding members of the rock group Steely Dan.

  Zittner, 29, marches in front of River Sound on East 95th Street. He believes that he will spot Fagen or Becker coming out of the studio. He has marched three times in the last week, dressed warmly and clutching a sign that states “Steely Dan Rules.” So far, no luck.

  “I’m doing this on my own,” he said, noting that occasionally people march with him.

  Zittner has been a fan of “The Dan” since he was a teenager. He is not associated with a fan club, or any other group. He is a New Jersey native, living temporarily in Manhattan, and manages the Borders bookstore in Murray Hill. He said he is married, but would not comment further on his personal life.

  When asked if anyone objected to his marching, he said “I know my rights. I have the right to walk on the sidewalk, like anyone else.”

  Steely Dan was well known in the 70s, when they had a number of hit records. They fell into obscurity in the 80s, but made a comeback in the 90s, playing oldies as they toured the United States. Zittner noted that the rock group has just released a CD—Two Against Nature—their first release in almost 20 years.

  Zittner said, “Steely Dan is probably the best rock group of all time.” He plans to continue his lonely quest until he gets those autographs.

  *****

  Eddie woke up early—it was eight-thirty, and his brother was already gone—dressed, and went downstairs to get a copy of The Post. He buzzed with anticipation as he walked a block to the nearest newsstand. It was warm and breezy, so humid there were wisps of fog in the air. He bought a paper and stood on the sidewalk flipping pages. He found the article at the bottom of page seven, beneath a picture of his Steely Dan Rules! sign. He tingled with excitement as he read the article. His name in the paper! Publicity for his cause! How could Fagen and Becker ignore this?

  He read the article a second time, and a feeling of concern began to creep over him. He wasn’t the manager at Borders, and he wondered how his boss would react to that. On the other hand, a little free publicity for the store wouldn’t hurt, would it? And Lois wrote that The Dan had fallen into obscurity in the 80s. Where did she get that idea? And oldies? He’d never thought of The Dan’s music as old. He folded the paper and tucked it under his arm as he hurried back to the apartment. Maybe he should call The Post and set Lois Lane Smith straight. Maybe they would print a clarification tomorrow.

  Two hours later, he was sitting on the sofa, reading Harlan Coben’s Drop Shot and listening to Katy Lied on the stereo, when his cell phone rang. He used the remote to switch the stereo off, and noted the time: just before eleven. He needed to be at work by one. It was his father. A
fter quick hellos, Harry Zittner came right to the point.

  “I saw that article in The Post.”

  Eddie could only respond with a tentative “Uh-huh.”

  “What the hell were you thinking?” He kept quiet as his father began the ass-chewing. “How do you think Alison will react when she sees this? Have you totally given up on your marriage?”

  He swallowed, trying to get the saliva flowing again. “No, Dad, I haven’t.”

  “Then how do you think she’ll react? Did you ever call her?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “I don’t know what to say to you anymore.”

  Eddie took a couple of breaths, thinking how he might respond. “Dad, listen, the reporter came to me, and asked to interview me. That’s how it happened.”

  “Three times you’ve been out on the sidewalk, carrying a sign?” Eddie couldn’t think of an answer to that. His father continued, “I don’t remember you telling me or your mother about your plan to do this.”

  “Well, I was trying to keep it quiet.”

  He heard his father cough, or laugh, or maybe choke. “And this article, that’s part of keeping it quiet?”

  In his mind, Eddie conceded that he’d lost this argument. He was never really in it. But he did want to try to have an adult-to-adult conversation with his father. “I see your point, Dad.”

  “Well, it’s about time.”

  “Has Mom seen it yet?”

  “I don’t know. She hasn’t called me about it. But I’m sure someone will show it to her.” Eddie could tell that his father was calming down.

  “Do you think I should call her?”

  “I don’t know. Look, Eddie, I’ve gotta go. Tax time, remember?”

  “Yeah,” Eddie remembered that he needed to get his and Alison’s tax records together. He’d have to get in touch with her about that. All the tax stuff was at the apartment in Somerset.

  “I just don’t know anymore, Eddie,” his father said, hanging up.

  *****

  At three, his cell phone rang again. He had just finished unpacking the day’s shipment of hard covers and paperbacks. He glanced at the display: it was his brother. He picked up and said hello.

  “Eddie,” Mark chuckled, “you sneaky son-of-a-bitch.”

  Nothing like being subtle. “You saw the article?” Not really a question, was it?

  “Yeah, I saw the article. I was wondering what you were doing in your spare time.”

  Well, now you know.

  Mark continued, “So where were you hiding the signs?”

  “Under the bed.”

  “And you usually come and go while I’m at work.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Like I said, you’re a sneaky son-of-a-bitch.”

  Eddie detected a lightness in his brother’s voice. He wasn’t angry, he thought, he was just giving him the business. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything. I just didn’t think you’d be interested.”

  “Hey, it’s okay with me. You can do whatever you want. Have Mom or Dad called?”

  “Dad called. He wasn’t very happy.”

  “I bet he reamed you out pretty good.”

  “Yeah, he did.”

  “The Post. You’re dragging the good name of Zittner through the mud.” Eddie could tell that Mark was having fun now. “Why didn’t you go to the Times?”

  “She found me, Mark. The reporter came to me.”

  “I believe you, Eddie. Look, I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “Mark, will I see you tonight?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be home. You take care of dinner, okay?”

  “Will do.”

  “Eddie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “One more question. What did she look like?”

  “Who?”

  “The reporter.”

  “Not too bad.”

  “Sweet. I’ve gotta go.”

  *****

  From: MarKau55@nyc.rr.com

  To: EZEddie32@nyc.rr.com

  Subject:!!!!

  Eddie, I saw the article in the newspaper. I must say I’m impressed. And you haven’t been arrested. With this publicity, maybe you will have some success meeting Fagen and Becker.

  I wanted to talk to you (face-to-face) about what happened on Monday night, but maybe it would be easier in an email. I am sorry that I came on so strongly. All I can think to say is that I am attracted to you, and I didn’t realize you weren’t ready for “that kind” of relationship. You never told me how long you had been separated from your wife. I now know (I’m guessing) that it must not have been too long. Am I right?

  I would like to start again, if you are willing, and to take it slower (a lot slower if that is what you want.) How do you feel about meeting somewhere, a public place, this time?

  Please let me know … Marcie

  *****

  Just before midnight, a buzzing sound woke Eddie from a fitful sleep. Where the hell am I? He fumbled with the light and then managed to locate his cell phone.

  “Hello,” he mumbled, glancing at his watch.

  “Eddie? It’s your mother.” Words that were the rough equivalent of ice water running down his back.

  He gathered himself. “Oh, hi, Ma.” And to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?

  “I’m sorry to call this late. Did I wake you?”

  “No, Ma, it’s all right. I was just, uh, reading.”

  “Eddie, I’ve been lying here in bed, but I can’t sleep thinking about that newspaper article.”

  “Oh, you saw it?” He cringed. Could I have asked a dumber question?

  “Yes, I saw it. I believe everyone in the office tried to show it to me at least once. Some people more than once.”

  That can’t be good.

  His mother continued, “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep unless I get this off my chest.”

  Resigned to whatever fate awaited him, he replied, “What is it, Ma?”

  “You’re an idiot, Eddie.”

  He couldn’t think of a good response to that.

  “You’re an idiot. You call me when you come to your senses.”

  “Okay, Ma.”

  He heard her breathe a sigh of relief. “There. Now maybe I can get some sleep.”

  “Okay, Ma,” he said, as he heard his mother hang up the phone.

  20

  Thursday, March 16, 2000

  Eddie sat on the sofa, sipping coffee and staring out the window. Across the river, Brooklyn and Queens spread out like a vast urban desert. The apartment was as quiet as a tomb. He thought about yesterday’s events: the newspaper article, the call from his father, the call and then dinner with his brother, and the email from Marcie. Not to forget the late-night call from his mother. He knew that what he really needed to do was call Alison. It had been more than two weeks since she had thrown him out, or had walked out on him—however he wanted to think of it—and if he was going to try to save his marriage, now would be a good time to start. He picked up his cell phone and speed-dialed her number.

  She picked up. “Alison Zittner.”

  “Alison, it’s me, Eddie.” Silence on the line. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Eddie. I see you’ve been busy.”

  He had assumed she’d seen the article—God knows, everyone else had—and that she would give him some shit about it. “You saw the article?”

  “Me and a few hundred thousand other people.”

  He thought for a few seconds, but couldn’t come up with a meaningful response. Finally, he said, “What can I say?”

  “There’s not much you can say, is there?”

  “Look, Alison, I think we should sit down and talk.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “Us. Our marriage.”

  After a pause, she replied, “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  “I have, too. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

  “You must have plenty of time as you’re marching up and down the sidewalk.”
>
  “As a matter of fact, yes, I was thinking about you as I marched.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Is this how you’re going to be? Nasty?”

  “As opposed to stupid?”

  “Look. Do you want to talk, or not?”

  She paused for a few seconds, then replied, “Yes, Eddie, I think we should talk.”

  “Okay,” he said, relieved. He didn’t think he could meet her today; he was scheduled to work a full shift. And Alison’s schedule … she might be anywhere. “Where are you tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Where are you right now?”

  Right now? “I’m at my brother’s apartment. East 32nd Street. Where are you?”

  “I’m in Midtown. I’ve got a meeting with a client in half an hour. I could meet you after that.”

  He glanced at his watch. Just after nine-thirty. “What time?”

  “Say, eleven?”

  “I can do that. I don’t have to be at work until one.”

  “You have a job?”

  “Yeah. I’m working at a bookstore. As a temp.”

  “Another bookstore?”

  Is that sarcasm? “Yes, another bookstore.”

  “Well, at least you’re working. How about eleven o’clock at the corner of 50th and Broadway? In front of the Denny’s?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Okay. See you then.” She hung up.

  *****

  He arrived at Denny’s just before eleven, and stood near the entry, scanning the sidewalks as he tried to keep warm. The sun had disappeared behind ugly grey clouds, and a cold front was on the way. He soon retreated into the warmth of the restaurant. Alison showed up at eleven-fifteen, spotted him through the window, and pushed through the revolving door.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said, “the meeting took longer than I expected.”

  Right. She took off her scarf, gloves and overcoat, revealing a well-cut business suit. No skimping when it comes to dressing for work. Five minutes later, they were seated in a booth, opposite each other, waiting for coffee. Since sitting, Alison had busied herself making notes in her personal organizer. He tried to read her mood, but she was giving nothing away.