sidekick?”
“You’re not prepared to do this alone.”
“With all due respect, I’ll be the judge of that,” Overman replies.
“Jesus Christ, what’s the matter with you? Batman, one of the greatest superheroes of all time had a sidekick, but Mr. Fancy Pants here thinks he can go solo.”
“Superman didn’t have a sidekick,” Overman points out.
Rosenfarb reminds him that he is a far cry from Superman. “That’s like me comparing myself to... John Hampson for Christ’s sake!”
“John Hampson?”
“The first American to patent Venetian blinds,” Rosenfarb spits out, as if Overman is an idiot for not knowing this information.
“I’m just going to say it one last time. You’re making a mistake.”
“Duly noted,” Overman assures him.
A tinge of paranoia creeps into Rosenfarb’s disappointment. “You don’t have another sidekick in mind, do you?”
“I have no other sidekicks,” Overman assures him.
The rest of the ride to Steinbaum Mercedes is more than a little icy. That said, Overman is pleased because he has laid down the law, refusing to let this interloping bug put a damper on what is his and his alone. “How’s Rita?” Overman asks, an admirable attempt at meaningless conversation.
“She’s having her tits redone for the third time. I can’t believe the amount of money I’ve spent on those things. Especially since I never get to go near them.”
Overman feels a rush of sympathy for his friend. Yes, it could be a ploy to get him to reconsider, but the truth is that Rita knows no bounds in what she will take from her husband, giving little if anything in return. If he were Rosenfarb, he’d jump at the chance to be a sidekick, too. But he is not Rosenfarb and grateful for that.
“Thanks for lunch. I’ll definitely get the next one,” Overman says, jumping out of the passenger seat.
“Call me if you need anything,” Rosenfarb pouts.
“Take care, Jake.”
As Rosenfarb speeds off, Overman is sky-high. His elation has nothing to do with alleged superpowers. It comes from his successful deployment of a self-defense mechanism. An unlikely sexual encounter and the ostensible willing of a fire were one thing, but having the balls to impede a seasoned guilt monger like Jake Rosenfarb was in another league entirely.
The rest of the day unfolds, presenting Overman with a slew of realizations. Realization Number One is that Maricela and Rodrigo are still together. When he picks her up at work she reacts as if there were never an Overman inside her. Yet she relates to Overman with a new warmth and understanding, as if they are the deepest of friends with an unbreakable bond. Overman rather likes this. While some men, after a night of marathon sex with a score like Maricela, might feel the need to continue the affair, Overman has stored it in his brain as a once-in-a-lifetime trophy: an unforgettable memory that will serve as his gateway to a life that matters.
Realization Number Two is that he feels like he can now sell a car to any customer he wants. It is just a matter of how much stamina he can muster to invoke the necessary willpower. Which leads to Realization Number Three: that he needs to get in shape so he can build strength. Realization Number Four is the proclamation first voiced by Rosenfarb: in the event that Overman actually has extraordinary abilities, where, when, why and how he chooses to use them will be of paramount importance.
On the way home, Overman checks in at the Jungle Gym to investigate some sort of fitness program. A clueless shill named Chuck tries to rope him in for three years at $250 per, but is sorely outclassed. Even the old Overman could browbeat this rank amateur down to a hundred a year, the new one closing the deal at a cool $79. From the gym, it’s off to the comic book shop and the video store, where Overman stocks up on “Iron Man,” “Batman 1-3,” “The Incredible Hulk,” the two “Spidermans,” and as a nod to diversity, the poorly received “Hancock.” While he firmly rejects Rosenfarb’s superhero theory, he recognizes it as a possible learning tool. In fiction as in life, the powerful are faced with difficult choices, so it might be useful to see how pop culture archetypes approach moral dilemmas. The heroes naturally take the side of Good rather than Evil, their equally powerful nemeses skewing to the wicked and self-aggrandizing. While Overman never imagined himself using any of his “skills” for nefarious purposes, he knew there were gray areas and was curious to learn how others approached them.
Sitting down to study his fictional forbears, what is most striking to Overman is that virtually all these characters came from backgrounds far more dysfunctional than his own. Peter Parker was a nerd, mocked incessantly by his peers before becoming Spiderman. Bruce Wayne saw both his parents murdered before he turned into Batman. Iron Man’s mother and father died in a car crash. By comparison, Overman’s background seemed downright bucolic: the misfires of his life hadn’t converged into a spectacular pile of shit until he grew into adulthood. The other universal theme he discovered was that the transformation from helpless to invincible inevitably led to vigilantism. Power was a natural breeding ground for revenge. Overman pondered whether this was where he might be headed. To be sure, there was a laundry list of bastards who should have treated him better: teachers who picked on him, bosses who fired his ass, friends who betrayed him. If he truly had superpowers, he could go back and serve justice one scumbag at a time. But would it even be satisfying to avenge their idiocy so many years later? It seemed like a lot of energy for precious little gain.
Overman chose to envision his future in more modest terms. It would be enough to sell a bunch of cars, put some money away, maybe move out of the shithole apartment and buy a condo. Nothing fancy, but enough to carve out a life. It never seemed to be enough for the heroes of those comic books and movies. Of course if it had been, the story would be over and the publishers and movie studios couldn’t make any more money. Playing devil’s advocate, Overman then reminded himself that his personal evolution was just starting to kick into gear. Limiting his options at this early juncture reeked of Thinking Small. No need to close the door on anything right now. Stay fluid, be open to the opportunities that present themselves. The first order of business was to keep selling cars and get in shape.
He is about to crawl into bed when the phone rings — not the cell, but the landline that has been dedicated to wrong numbers since the day public television took him off their call list, having finally realized that his fifteen-dollar donation was a once in a lifetime affair.
“Overman,” he answers, as if it’s the finance department buzzing him about a lease deal.
“Sorry to call you this late, Mr. Overman. This is Dr. Gonzales from the Clearview Vision Center.”
The car salesman brightens. He never got to thank the man who was seemingly responsible for the Overman game-changer.
“Dr. Gonzales. I’ve been meaning to call you. I’ve been so pleased with your work.”
“I know,” Gonzales responds. “One of your friends has been calling me every day about Lasik surgery because he loves the job I did on you.”
“Oh, no,” Overman whimpers. He knows what’s coming.
“The thing is, his vision is fine and there’s no reason to do anything. But he won’t listen. Can you give me any advice on how to handle
