Author’s Note: In this excerpt, Easy Eddie Zittner meets Bernard Sterling, an editor from Rolling Stone magazine. Sheila Cheung is Sterling’s assistant, and Lois Lane Smith is a reporter from the New York Post. The meeting takes place in March, 2000, three weeks after the release of Two Against Nature.
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Arriving back at the apartment just after three, Eddie changed his clothes and decided to walk the mile or so to Pete’s Tavern, which was located just south of GramercyPark. Lois had described Pete’s as “an ancient and venerable watering hole, replete with dark wood and old whiskey bottles.” He figured she was reading that verbatim from a restaurant guide. It sounded awful, but he could tolerate anything for an hour.
It was cold and overcast as he worked his way through Little India, catching an occasional whiff of curry as he passed restaurants and take-away shops. Just after four, he arrived at Pete’s, pushed through the doors, and looked around. The place was nearly empty—too early for the “drinks before dinner” crowd—and he spotted Lois sitting with the man and woman he assumed were from Rolling Stone. Walking toward the booth, he noted the preponderance of dark wood, lots of old whiskey bottles, and a hand-painted sign extolling the virtues of Tendy’s Ale. Tourists must flock to this place.
Lois stood, quickly said hello, and led the introductions.
“Eddie Zittner, this is Sheila Cheung, my friend at The Stone.” Sheila, still sitting, offered her hand, which he shook and released. “And this is Bernard Sterling.”
Sterling rose and extended his hand. “I hear you’re mad about Steely Dan.”
Mad? “Uh, yes, I am.” John Denver with a British accent . . . in a Tom Wolfe suit. He shook Sterling’s hand.“Nice to meet you, Mr. Sterling.”
“Call me Nardo.” Sterling handed Eddie a business card, which identified him as an Editor-at-Large. Soon they were all seated, with the men facing each other by the window, Lois sitting beside Eddie, and Sheila sitting beside Sterling.
Eddie took a good look at Sterling’s wrinkled face. John Denver for sure, if he’d lived to be seventy.
Lois signaled the waiter, who glided up to the table and asked Eddie what he wanted. Sterling had a glass of whiskey, neat, sitting in front of him. The ladies were sharing a bottle of wine which Lois described as “an acceptable chardonnay,” considering the limitations of her entertainment budget. Eddie asked the waiter to bring another wine glass, and then turned back to Sterling. “Are you drinking Scotch, Nardo?”
“Oh, no, dear fellow, Jack Daniels.” He lifted his glass and took a sip. “Your most wonderful export, I always say.”
Dear fellow? “You’re obviously English.”
“Astute observation!”
Eddie smiled. “Speaking of observations, do you know you look just like—”
“John Denver, yes.” Sterling smiled knowingly. “Quite a coincidence, eh?”
“The resemblance is striking.” Eddie grinned.
“So I’ve been told, so I’ve been told.”
“Did you ever meet—”
“Denver? Never had the pleasure.” Sterling’s eyes twinkled. “Never even been to Colorado.” This set him off, and he cackled like a rooster on speed. Then he raised his glass and toasted his new-found companions. “RockyMountain high, chaps!” he proclaimed, setting off yet another round of cackling. Finally calming down, he wiped tears from his eyes and said, “Jolly good.”
“Yeah, jolly good.” What a character. Eddie glanced at Lois, who was grinning to herself as she wrote on her notepad.
Sheila tapped her watch. “Why don’t we get down to business.”
“Oh, Sheila,” Sterling beamed at her, “looking after me, as always.”
“It’s a job,” Sheila replied, which set Sterling off again.
She looked confused. “What’d I say?”
More cackling, and gasps of “please, no more.” Sterling once again regained his composure.
Eddie smiled. The man was a character . . . but likeable.
Sterling cleared his throat. “Eddie, I’d like to ask you a few questions about Steely Dan, to test your depth of knowledge, so to speak.”
“Fire away.”
“Well, Lois, who is charming, by the way,”—Sterling blew her a kiss—“has filled me in on some of your background. I guess the most critical question is: Why are you so intent on meeting Mr. Fagen and Mr. Becker? I mean, lots of fans want to meet their favorite rock stars, but most don’t pursue it as an avocation.”
“Why do I want to meet them? Well,” Eddie looked to Lois for encouragement, “the idea came to me a few months ago. I guess I got a little bit angry because it was so hard to find any Steely Dan memorabilia.”
“Angry?”
Eddie sensed that Sterling was sizing him up; trying to place him somewhere on a scale between normal and lunatic. “Perhaps frustrated would be a better word.”
“Frustrated. Yes, I can see how you might get frustrated.”
“And,” Eddie played with his wine glass, “I thought meeting them would be a good way to get their autographs.”
“And what else would you do, if, indeed, you met them?”
“Well, my idea was to shake their hands, get their autographs, and buy them a cup of coffee. Or a beer. Whatever.”
“Coffee. How quaint.” Sterling smiled and took a generous gulp of whiskey.
“Forget the coffee. Just meeting them and getting their autographs would be great.”
“What is it that makes you like Steely Dan so much?”
“Have you listened to their music?”
Sterling wrinkled his brow. “I listen to gobs and gobs of music. I’m sure I’ve heard most of it, if not all of it.”
Eddie thought for a few seconds. “How about ‘Do It Again?’”
“Do it again?”
“Yeah, ‘Do It Again,’ their first hit single.”
Sterling looked uncertain. “Oh, I’m sure I’ve heard it.”
“It’s from their first album,” Eddie continued. “Do you appreciate the quality of that single? The music almost ‘shimmers.’”
“Shimmers?” Now Sterling looked confused.
“Shimmers,” Eddie replied. “Like heat waves rising in the desert.”
“Music that shimmers . . .” Sterling shook his head and turned to Sheila. “Make a note of that, will you?” Sheila nodded as she reached for her handbag. Eddie glanced at Lois, who was smiling as she wrote furiously in her notepad. Sterling turned back to Eddie, “I guess I need to listen to that one again.”
Eddie nodded, satisfied he’d made his point.
“All right, then.” Sterling sat up a little straighter. “Other than that one song, why do you like them so much?”
Time to make my case. “Well, if you consider their entire body of work, then, in my opinion, they’re one of the best rock groups of all time.”
Sterling raised his eyebrows. “One of the best?”
“If not the best.”
“Oh, come now. What about the Beatles and the Rolling Stones?”
“British bands.” Eddie caught himself. “No offense meant.”
“None taken, but why differentiate, dear fellow?” Sterling frowned.
Think fast, Eddie. “No reason, really. I like lots of British bands. I was just thinking of American bands.”
“Let’s see . . . American bands . . . what about the Four Seasons?”
Eddie cringed. “Bubble gum music.”
“Ah, right, perhaps that was a poor choice.” Sterling thought for a few seconds. “What about the Beach Boys?”
“Bubble gum west.”
“Oh, come now, isn’t that a bit harsh?”
“I’m talking about serious bands.” Eddie decided he would stand his ground.
“Define serious,” Sterling snorted. “I’d venture Brian Wilson would take exception to his band being called ‘bubble gum west.’” Sterling took another gulp of whiskey.
“Okay. Hold on. You want me to define ‘serious music.’” Eddie looked over at Lois, who was rolling her eyes. Sheila poured the last of the wine and looked around for the waiter. Sterling signaled that he was ready for another Jack Daniels. Eddie thought for a minute, grappling with the idea of serious and not-so-serious music. How did I get myself into this?
Sterling looked on with amusement. “Try defining commercial, old chap.”
“Commercial?”
“Precisely! Let me take it a step further. There’s music I would define as commercial, or popular, or mainstream—however you want to say it—and then other music that appeals to a narrower fan base. Then there’s the quality factor: there’s great music, and awful music, all up and down the scale—no pun intended.” Sterling beamed triumphantly around the table. “All up and down the scale . . . oh, that’s good! Make a note of that, will you, Sheila?” She nodded.
“Okay, I hear what you’re saying,” Eddie replied.
Sterling continued, “Steely Dan is one of those groups that never tried to be ‘mainstream.’”
“I agree. But wouldn’t you say they are among the best of the rock groups?”
“Among the best? Yes, I would say they are among the best. Under-appreciated by most people.”
“That’s a good way to put it.”
“Under-appreciated?”
Eddie smiled. “Precisely!”
Sterling drained the last drops of whiskey from his glass. “You know, they never did much to appeal to a broad fan base. They never toured when they were popular.”
“I know.”
The waiter arrived with another whiskey and a fresh bottle of Chardonnay. Sheila poured the wine. Sterling sipped his whiskey, smiled, and then took a generous swallow. Eddie wondered how many drinks Sterling had consumed today.
Another thought popped into Sterling’s head. “There was a book written about Steely Dan a few years back. Have you seen it?”
“The one by Brian Sweet? Yes, I’ve read it cover to cover.”
“Nice fellow, Sweet. An Englishman, you know.”
Eddie glanced at Lois, who seemed to be enjoying herself immensely.
Sterling continued, “Mr. Fagen and Mr. Becker value their privacy, you know. That’s why it’s so hard to get their autographs.”
“Have you ever met them?”
“Once or twice. Yes, twice, I think. Nice fellows. Dry sense of humor. Not your typical rock stars.” Sterling took another gulp of whiskey. “Lois mentioned that you were parading in front of Mr. Fagen’s recording studio.”
“Yes, River Sound.”
“Well, that won’t get you anywhere. Not now.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re not recording right now. They just released an album, remember?”
Eddie thought for a moment. “So where would they be?”
“Think about it, young man. You’re a journalist; at least that’s what Ms. Smith told me.” He winked at Lois and downed the last of his whiskey.
“I guess they’d be out promoting their new album?” Eddie saw that Sterling was getting a little bleary-eyed.
“Precisely, dear boy! Although Mr. Fagen and Mr. Becker don’t do what you would call ‘public appearances.’ I believe they’d have a good laugh if people began to queue for their autographs.”
Queue? “I guess you’re right.”
“And they’d be preparing for their tour right now, don’t you think?”
“There’s been no announcement of a tour—”
“There will be, shortly. And check out next week’s magazine. We’re running a modest article about The Dark Brothers.” Sterling began to lean uncertainly toward the window.
“Fagen and Becker?”
“Precisely!” Sterling straightened himself up and raised his empty glass, hoping that Sheila might order one more round.
But Sheila was having none of it. She tapped her watch. “Mr. Sterling, you’ve got another meeting. We’ve got to go.”
“Ah, Sheila,” Sterling beamed at her, “the mother I never had.”
Sheila stood and handed him his overcoat. “Mr. Sterling, I’m sure you had a mother.” She winked at Eddie. They quickly said their good-byes, and Sheila guided the unsteady Mr. Sterling toward the door.
