About Martin Ott
A former U.S. Army interrogator, Martin Ott is the author of six books of poetry and fiction, including the forthcoming books Underdays, University of Notre Dame Press and Interrogations, Fomite Press. More at www.martinottwriter.com
Part 2 of 6
Tuesday
OK, so I finally got out of my apartment to trek the five blocks over to Hollywood Boulevard in my Spidey-Bat costume. Of course, it took longer than usual in order to make sure I didn’t get run over crossing the street with limited visibility through eye slits. The only requirement in choosing my costume was to make sure that it had a full mask so that no one, especially Maria, would recognize how low I’d sunk. So how did I settle on something as dumb as a Spidey-Bat? For starters, it fit my budget as I found the requisite pieces of the costume in my studio apartment.
Several months ago, a couch-surfing former college roommate stayed at my place. He was a bit of a freak (some things never change) and he was unable to hide his full-on Batman fetish. He slept fully decked-out for crime fighting and Maria caught him on the floor early one morning masturbating with his little batman. This incident cut his LA visit short and he accidentally left his Batman boots, pants, and utility belt beneath the futon.
The superhero costume top was from the most recent Halloween when I had convinced Maria to play Maria Jane to my Spideyman. However, it was another Mary Jane, from too many bong tokes, that was to blame for me losing my spider pants that night at a rocking house party in my apartment complex.
When I passed my coffee joint Beano, Maria was there talking to the head barista Chuck she’d started to see after me, as though having an income was important. I hurried past them onto the strip, and it didn’t take me long to find a free spot to set up shop among the other costumed figures on Hollywood Boulevard between Mann’s Chinese Theater and the Kodak Theater.
I sized up my competition and tried to make sense about how they went about asking for tips. There was Zorro, who worked in tandem with a Dirty Bert from Sesame Street, drawing in the biggest crowds. The tourist girls hugged Zorro, while the children and Asian businessmen posed with Bert. A miniature Godzilla planted himself on his own star, next to a scary-looking Marilyn Monroe, Darth Vader, Shrek, and the blue-skinned girl from Avatar. To the east, the characters from Marvel ruled to the corner of Highland with three Spidermen, Thor, Ironman, and a skinny Hulk with a Mexican wrestling mask. To the west, the DC characters gathered with two Batmen (one big, one little), Green Lantern, Superman, and Wonder Woman who roped in the male tourists with an actual lasso.
I posed on an empty star in an alcove outside the subway entrance that gave me more room to operate. Yes, this would be as good a home as any for Spidey-Bat. It must have been obvious that I felt out of place because Dirty Bert strolled over to me and said, “Shove off, piss ant – you can’t be both Marvel and DC.”
I thought about that for a moment. Dirty Bert had a point. I was unique, which might be good for marketing. But to sell it I would need to create a genesis for my hero, a story that would make murdered parents and radioactive spider bites seem tame in comparison. Besides, Dirty Bert freaked me out a bit.
I decided that I needed to head home to gather my backstory, my motivation, and the last half bottle of Jose Cuervo stashed under the kitchen sink for just such an emergency. On my way out, I thought I caught a couple of smirks. Dirty Bert waved at me with his middle finger and his companion Zorro sliced a Z with a plastic rose before mouthing “loser” and planting his free hand on the lower back of a hot Swedish backpacker.
What did I do? I gathered up my wounded pride, and headed home.
to be continue...
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6