bats fly. If his name’s Batman, he should fly.”
“Batman doesn’t fly. He dresses like a bat and uses powerful gadgets, end of story.” Rosenfarb is starting to get mad. As a child, Jake collected comic books and was considered the neighborhood expert on all creatures super and fantastic. A person could name any superhero and Rosenfarb would bark out the character’s assumed identity, followed by a precise description of his or her powers.
“I’m trying to help define you,” Jake tells Overman as the ahi arrives, decoratively presented on crisp, greaseless wontons. “We need to know where you fit in the scheme of things so we can figure out your next move.” On a historical note, he informs Overman that he is not the first Jewish superhero to arrive on the scene. Ira is pre-dated by a character named Atom Smasher, real name Al Rothstein, Blue Jay, AKA Jay Abrams, and Wiccan, the esteemed William “Billy” Kaplan.
“Can I bring up one small point?” Overman interjects.
Rosenfarb nods, picking at his friend’s ahi.
“These superheroes that you know so much about? They’re fictional characters.”
“So?”
“So I’m not a superhero. I’m a regular guy whose luck has changed.”
Rosenfarb decides that this would be the ideal time to educate Overman on Jungian archetypes and how his new powers are modern incarnations of previous human experience. As he launches into a pretentious discourse on Celtic mythology and its contemporary equivalents, Overman’s eyes glaze over. He can’t help but wonder why, if Rosenfarb knows so goddamned much, he is installing blinds for a living.
Rosenfarb can tell from Overman’s bored facial expression that he isn’t making much headway with Joseph Campbell so he switches to a more brass tacks approach.
“Here’s the bottom line, Ira. Superman could do a whole lot of great shit, but he had enemies who hated him, like Lex Luthor.”
Overman reminds Rosenfarb that he already has scores of people who hate him, having nothing to do with the alleged supernatural powers his friend has ascribed to him.
“Fair enough,” Rosenfarb admits. “But what if you have a kryptonite?”
“Huh?”
Rosenfarb explains the way it works. If you were able to do things normal humans couldn’t, the possibility existed that some object or herb or chemical that was harmless to normal humans was now capable of hurting you. And it was imperative that Overman recognized this.
Overman shakes his head. “I’ve just got to ask—”
“Of course. You must have lots of questions,” volleys Rosenfarb the expert.
“You’re putting me in the same category as Superman—”
“No way. You can clear traffic. But you can’t fly.” Rosenfarb pauses for a moment. “Can you?”
“Rosenfarb!” Overman is fed up. “Just because you’ve read lots of comic books, doesn’t mean I’m a superhero.”
“Don’t get bogged down in semantics, Ira—”
“It’s not semantics. Have you ever met a superhero?”
“Besides you?”
“Yes, besides me.”
Rosenfarb goes silent. Overman decides to make use of the precious available airspace.
“Have you had coffee with Atom Smasher? Have you golfed with the Fantastic Four?”
“Why would I? They’re already a foursome—-”
“You know what I’m talking about, Jake. This is apples and oranges. Fiction versus reality.”
Rosenfarb says that all he is trying to do is make sense out of an extraordinary situation. “I just think I can help you, Ira.”
Overman can’t imagine how. Rosenfarb lays it on the line. With power comes responsibility and decisions have to be made as to the hows, whys and wheres of using it. Rosenfarb’s take is that based on his own vast knowledge of superheroes, their failures as well as successes, he is in a unique position to advise Overman on how to proceed.
“And what’s in it for you?” Overman asks, curious to know what Rosenfarb has up his sleeve.
“You’re my best friend. I’m here to serve.”
“And?” Overman knows him too well.
“And nothing. I only wish for your success.”
“That’s very nice of you—”
“Because I know you’re the kind of person who shares his success with others.”
There it was. The window man wanted his piece of the pie. “And how exactly will I share my success, Jake,” Overman wants to know.
“There’s plenty of time to talk about that,” Rosenfarb scoffs it off. “Right now we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
As the waiter brings the check to the patio, a thought occurs to Overman. If he lets Rosenfarb pick up the tab, it is an implicit acceptance of the deal on the table. The broad strokes of the deal are that Overman is at the precipice of enormous change and will need help navigating the dangerous twists and turns in the road ahead. The fine print suggests that Rosenfarb’s “guidance” is a euphemism for constant meddling with the ultimate goal of capitalizing on Overman’s abilities.
“Why don’t we split it?” Overman says, making an honest attempt to grab the check.
Rosenfarb, much too quick on the draw, will have none of it. “You’ll get the next one. Heck, maybe you won’t ever have to pay for meals again. You can just “will” the restaurant to comp you,” Rosenfarb laughs.
It is a grim vision of the future. Something good finally happens to Overman and he’s got Rosenfarb tailing him around like a dog, angling for dinners and free trips to Vegas. This guy was annoying enough at a party or on the tennis court. Overman decides to nip it in the bud before it gets out of hand. As soon as Rosenfarb stiffs the valet and they’re back on the road, he states his case.
“Jake, you know I’ve been thinking—”
“Willpower Man,” Rosenfarb interrupts, beginning to spitball superhero names. “Nah, too cumbersome. Maybe we need a ‘the’ name. You know, like the Hulk.”
“Jake, I don’t want any help with this,” Overman states.
“I don’t mind, Ira. Really, it’s my pleasure to share my insights with you. Hey, here’s a great idea: Over Man. You had the name all along.” Then he thinks better of it. “Maybe it’s not so good, because it has the negative connotation of implying that things are over.”
“I appreciate your offering to help, but this whole series of events has been a very personal kind of—”
“Overman, you
