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Dedication

This one is for Alan Awane, for all the right reasons.

I

Jerry Stieglitz sat cross-legged in front of the stereo on the bottom shelf of one of the bookcases in his apartment. The thick red shag carpet was nearly as comfortable as the nubby nylon that covered the sofa. His powder-blue cord bell-bottoms almost glowed against the crimson and scarlet background, but he was too used to that to notice.

He had two cassette tapes. One came from his advisor. The other he’d bought a couple of days before at the Westwood Wherehouse. Without hesitation, he put the commercial tape in first.

He brushed back his long brown hair so his headphones fit more snugly. Then he turned the volume up. Side two of Pretzel Logic filled his brain. He’d liked Can’t Buy a Thrill and Countdown to Ecstasy a lot, and the new Steely Dan album was at least as good as the first two. Nice to find a band that didn’t run out of ideas after a couple of records. Too many did.

“Parker’s Band” and “Through With Buzz” … Jerry’s head bobbed up and down, enough to make him straighten his wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose. He’d worn cheaters for a long time; sometimes he straightened them even when he wasn’t wearing them. Anna’d caught him doing it once or twice. His fiancée thought that was hilarious. He just thought it was stupid.

After “Charlie Freak” ended, he hit the Stop button and took out the tape. For one thing, he didn’t like the last two tracks as much as the rest of the album. And, for another, he really wanted to hear the cassette Professor Krikorian had given him.

Because Jerry’d been working with Hagop Krikorian for five years now, he had no trouble deciphering the scrawl on the tape’s label. “Humpbacks,” it said. “Northern Pacific, July 1973.” Only the summer before. Hot off the press, or near enough in marine biology.