by Jason Starr
Scott knew that “you-know-what” meant his identity as Ant-Man.
“Thank you,” Scott said. “That means a lot to me.”
This was refreshing—having a normal, amicable conversation with his ex-wife. Wouldn’t it be great if it were always like this? If they didn’t have bitterness, hidden agendas, and underlying aggression built in to every interaction? Maybe they’d still be married.
“You’re a good man,” she said. “That’s one thing about you I’ve never doubted.”
* * *
IN THE morning, Scott made Cassie her favorite breakfast: French toast. Then, after making sure that Roger knew Cassie was actually in the apartment this morning, Scott and Carlos left for another day of work.
Scott was getting used to having Carlos around. For years, Scott’s life had centered around Cassie and his work—as Ant-Man and at his nine-to-five job—so he hadn’t had much time to develop new friendships. Carlos was a good guy from the Bronx, and had been with the FBI for twenty years. He was happily married and had two kids—a boy who’d just graduated from Fordham, and a girl a couple of years older than Cassie.
In the car, they made small talk about all the changes in Manhattan over the past twenty years. Carlos told Scott that the edginess of New York had almost disappeared, and now there seemed to be the same drugstores and banks on every corner.
“How’d you wind up in New York?” Carlos asked.
They were driving down Second Avenue now, moving slowly in traffic approaching the Ed Koch Bridge.
“I like cities,” Scott said, “and I’ve always wanted to be in Manhattan.”
This was partly true. He did like cities, but he probably would have stayed in San Francisco, or at least in the Northwest. He’d come to New York because Tony had offered him a job at one point. Also, it made the most sense for Ant-Man to be in Manhattan, the center of it all.
“But why the Upper East Side, man?” Carlos asked. “You’re not some stuffy business guy. I see you living farther out—Brooklyn, or maybe Washington Heights. But the Upper East Side?”
“I used to live downtown—Lower East Side, Ludlow Street—but then Cassie got into high school up here, and I wanted to make life easy for her. She’s had a tough life. You know about my past, and then there was a lot of moving around, with the divorce. I’m just looking to give her some stability for once. I think that’s important.”
“Cool, man,” Carlos said. “You love your daughter, I respect that. With me it’s the same way. Hurt me all you want, but you touch my daughter, there’s gonna be hell to pay. This protection situation has been hard on you, but I heard through the grapevine that the M.E. has a DNA sample and should make an official announcement about Dugan’s death sometime today.”
“Well, that’s great news,” Scott said.
They passed the bridge, and traffic started moving steadier. Scott would be at the office soon, which was great because he wanted Jeff to see that the order of protection wasn’t affecting his work—or at least his ability to get there on time.
“Hey, I have an idea,” Carlos said. “When this is all over and done with, you and I should go out sometime, get a couple of beers, watch a game. Or I’ll invite you up to the Bronx, take you around to some places in my neighborhood. Show you how real New Yorkers live.”
Ten years ago, Scott had been a felon, working with Willie Dugan, and now he was making plans for a boys’ night out with a federal marshal? And, oh yeah, he was also Ant-Man. How things had changed.
“Yeah, I’d like that a lot,” he said.
* * *
AFTER another long, absorbing day at work, Carlos drove Scott home. As they were getting out of the car, Scott spotted the dark-haired woman he’d seen yesterday. She was coming toward him, and she smiled when she noticed him noticing her.
Not wanting to miss another chance to talk to her, Scott said to Carlos, “Hey, can you give me a little privacy here?”
“Sure thing,” Carlos said. “Buena suerte, bro.” He went across the street.
“Hey, excuse me,” Scott said to the woman.
She stopped near Scott, looking even prettier up close. She was dressed casually in jeans and a thin black leather jacket, and she had her black hair back in a ponytail today.
“I think I saw you the other day,” Scott said.
“Don’t worry, you weren’t imagining it,” she said.
“Wow, you remember?” he asked.
“It was only yesterday. If I forgot already, I think I’d have some serious memory issues, wouldn’t I?”
“You never know,” he said. “Sometimes you see somebody and you see them again and you don’t make the connection. You see somebody at work, and ten minutes later you see them on the street and think, ‘Who is that? Do I know you?’ It happens to me all the time.”
“But it didn’t happen this time, right?” she asked.
She was funny. He already knew he liked her.
“Nope, not this time,” he said. “I’m Scott.”
“Jennifer,” she said.
“Jennifer,” Scott said, “I’ve always loved that name.”
“You have?”
“No,” Scott said. “I was totally lying about that.”
She laughed. After the date from hell with Anne, it was nice to meet a woman with whom he seemed to actually connect from the get-go.
“But it is a beautiful name,” Scott said.
“Thank you,” she said. “I think Scott’s a horrible name.”
She remained deadpan for so long Scott thought she was serious.
Then she laughed and said, “Got ya.”
“Yes you did, yes you did.” Scott was smiling. “So do you live in the neighborhood?”
“Yes, actually. Just moved here from Hoboken. How about you?”
“I was downtown, moved up here in the spring. I live right over there.” He pointed toward his building. Carlos was standing there, looking at something on his cell phone.
“Nice,” she said. “So, um, who’s your friend?”
“Who?” Scott really was lost for a few seconds. “Oh him. He’s just my, um, driver.”
“Your driver?” she repeated.
Scott, in his work clothes—jeans and a hoodie—didn’t exactly look like he had a driver.
“Yeah,” Scott said, “I’m not wealthy, but I’ve always wanted a driver, so I hired Carlos. Some dreams do come true, right?”
Scott waved to Carlos, and he waved back. Jennifer waved at Carlos, too.
“So,” Scott said to Jennifer, “do you want to get a coffee?”
“Right now?”
“Yeah,” Scott said. “I mean if you don’t have another plan, we can go to the diner right around the corner.”
“Um, well…” She hesitated, looking at her phone.
“Or another time,” Scott said. “Maybe we can exchange numbers. Or if you just want to consider this a drunk dial, we can go on with our lives.”
She smiled, then said, “Actually, I think I have time for a coffee right now.”
“Great,” Scott said. “Let’s do it.”
They went around the corner to the Green Kitchen, a diner on First Avenue, and sat in a booth toward the back. Scott, facing the street, saw that Carlos was hanging around outside. This protection thing was seriously cramping his style as a single guy in the city, but he was proud of himself for coming up with that story about having a driver. It had even sounded mildly impressive.
They ordered coffees and talked about their jobs. She was a freelance photographer and also did graphic design. Scott told her about his work in computer networking.
“How did you get into that?” she asked.
“I’ve always loved building things,” he said. “It started with the usual: model airplanes and cars when I was a kid. And when I was bored, I loved to take computers apart and put them back together.”
“That’s amazing.” She sounded genuinely impressed.
“It’s something I can d
o with my daughter. She’s fourteen, just started at the high school around the corner.”
“You have a teenage daughter?”
“Are you about to compliment my youthful good looks?” Scott asked with smirk.
She laughed, then said, “I have a daughter myself, actually. She’s also fourteen and lives with her father part of the time. She goes to that high school, too.”
“El-Ro?”
“What?”
“Eleanor Roosevelt? It’s the name of the school.”
“Oh, yeah, right. Yes, that’s the one.”
“Wow, this is very cool,” Scott said. “I mean that we have daughters the same age. I wonder if they know each other. My daughter’s Cassie. What’s your daughter’s name? I’ll ask her if she knows her.”
“Oh, my daughter hasn’t started there yet,” Jennifer said. “She still goes to school in Hoboken, but she’s starting at this new school next week. Her name’s Rebecca.”
“Wow, great,” Scott said. “I’ll tell Cassie to look out for her.”
In addition to learning that they had daughters the same age, Scott was thrilled to hear that Jennifer had an ex-husband—that they were in similar places. If this worked out, it could be perfect. They lived in the same neighborhood, could get together all the time. She seemed witty and interesting; if their daughters hit it off and became friends, that would be even better.
Then Scott saw the ant crawling along Jennifer’s napkin. Was this the story of his life or what? Just when things were going well, when there was the potential for something good and stable to happen in his life, something came along and messed everything up. Usually that thing was an ant.
“So when did you decide to become a photographer?” Scott asked, trying to distract Jennifer so she wouldn’t notice the ant. Wait, make that ants. Yep, there were two of them now—the other one was crawling along Jennifer’s spoon.
As Jennifer went on, talking about a photography class she’d once taken in college, Scott tried to send the ants a message to go away and give him some space. This had never worked when he wasn’t in his Ant-Man suit, and it didn’t work this time, either. Worse, a third ant had appeared on the table. It was only a matter of time before every ant living in every nook and cranny in the restaurant would come out to say hi. Normally Scott loved this, but not when he was trying to hit it off with a woman.
“I love taking pictures,” Jennifer was saying. “I guess I’ve always been visual that way.” Then she saw the ants on the table and said, “Oh my god.”
Here we go again, Scott thought. If she wanted to kill the ants, he’d have to defend his little friends— and then she’d get pissed off, think he was some kind of weirdo, and storm out of the diner, and that would be the end of another great date.
But she didn’t flip out. Instead, her expression brightened, and she said, “Wow, so cool.”
Surprised by her reaction, he said, “You’re not grossed out?”
“No, I think ants are amazing. Don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do—but I’ve met a lot people who don’t feel that way.”
“I know, it’s crazy,” she said. “Like, why are people so anti-ants? It doesn’t make any sense. I’ve always loved ants. When I was a kid, I used to stare at the ant colonies in our backyard for hours. Their behavior, how organized they are, is amazing, and they have no idea we exist. It makes you wonder if something bigger than us is out there watching. It seems logical that we’re like ants, and there are other levels of civilizations—life, whatever you want to call it—that’re more complex than our civilization, but we’re just not aware of it. I guess ants can teach you a lot about faith. I’m sorry— I’m rambling, I know, but do you get what I’m saying? You’re probably thinking, ‘Who is this crazy woman? Why did I invite her to have coffee with me? How can I get out of here without insulting her?’”
“So ants in a diner really don’t bother you at all?” Scott asked. “I mean, you don’t see them as a sign of uncleanliness?”
“What? No,” she said, as if that concept baffled her. “This is New York City. Ants are cleaner than most people who ride the subways.”
“I bet that’s actually true,” Scott said. He smiled. He liked Jennifer’s eyes. They were grayish-blue. He wanted to say something about them, but he’d just met her, and he feared it would come off cheesy. What would he say? Your eyes, they’re so beautiful? He didn’t want to be that guy.
“Your eyes, they’re so beautiful,” he said.
He wished he could suck that one back in.
“Thanks,” she said. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Really? I think you’re just saying that.”
“No, it’s true.”
“What do you like about them?”
“The color,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that shade of blue—they’re very arresting. And I love the depth. Some people’s eyes seem one-dimensional. You look at a person, and you don’t need any more information. But your eyes have layers, they tell a story. When I look into your eyes, I see a little boy with a big secret.”
More great eye contact.
Then she said, “It’s interesting, isn’t it?
“That we both like each other’s eyes?” Scott asked.
“No, that the ants only seem to be around our table. Look, there’s another one.” She looked at the wall next to Scott where a large ant was crawling. “And there’s another.” There was a smaller ant on the saucer beneath the coffee mug.
Afraid that their waiter, or someone else at the diner, would see the ants and try to kill them, Scott put out his napkin. While Scott couldn’t communicate with ants outside of his suit, the ants were able to sense danger on their own. They also knew that Scott was a friend, so all the ants on or near the table wisely and obediently crawled onto his napkin.
“Wow, the ants seem to like you,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that.”
“Eh, it’s not such a big deal,” Scott said.
He released the ants safely onto the floor, where hopefully they’d avoid any ant traps or insecticide and make it safely back to their nests.
“Oh shoot.” Jennifer was looking at her iPhone. “I was supposed to meet my daughter at a friend’s downtown, and she’s waiting for me right now. I have to jump into a cab.”
Scott wondered whether this was just an excuse to get away from a bad date. He’d used various incarnations of the “there’s a family emergency” story himself when things seemed to be going nowhere on a date. Maybe he’d read too much into her comment about his eyes. Maybe the ant conversation had weirded her out, after all.
“I’m really having a great time, and I wish I didn’t have to take off,” she said. “But I don’t want to keep my daughter waiting.”
“Totally understandable,” Scott said. “I know how teenagers can be.”
She opened her purse and said, “I should give you some money…”
“Stop. It’s on me,” Scott said.
She thanked him. As they left the diner, Scott noticed that Carlos was across the street now, but Jennifer didn’t seem to notice him.
“Thank you again,” she said.
“No, thank you,” he said, and he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.
His stomach tightened, and his heart sped up. Scott had fought alongside the greatest super heroes in the world, battled the most dangerous villains, and—when he shrunk in his Ant-Man suit—was, pound for pound, the strongest of them all. But asking a woman out on a date still scared the hell out of him.
Mustering up the courage, he said, “So…we should, um, do this again sometime…I mean maybe go for dinner or to a movie sometime. I mean, only if you’re up for it. You don’t have to decide now. I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want to—”
“No, I’d like that very much,” she said.
Thinking, Whew, Scott said, “Great, let’s exchange numbers.”
She gave him her cell number, and he c
alled it.
“Perfect, got it,” he said.
“See you soon,” she said. “And tell your driver I said hi.”
Scott smiled, watching her walk halfway up the block.Man, what a woman.
Then he headed home in the other direction.
* * *
CARLOS insisted on escorting Scott up to his apartment to make sure everything was safe and secure. Cassie was in her room, doing her homework, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
“I think I can handle it from here,” Scott said.
“Cool,” Carlos said. “You know the drill. If you or Cassie gotta go anywhere, text Jimmy, the marshal who’ll be out there tonight. If the protection order isn’t lifted by then.”
Carlos and Scott shook hands.
“Seriously, I appreciate everything you’ve done for us,” Scott said, “and thanks for hanging back and giving me some space before.”
“Hey, guy’s gotta help a guy out, right, hombre?” Carlos said. “Besides, it’s been a long time since I’ve been single. I’m living vicariously through you, man.”
After Scott cooked dinner—okay, yeah, he microwaved a frozen pizza and heated up some frozen carrots and peas, but it was still a meal—he texted Jennifer:
Had a great time, thank you for being so spontaneous! Let’s hang out this weekend, dinner and/or a movie. Looking forward to it!
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so excited about a potential girlfriend.
As he cleaned up and did the dishes, he saw the usual ants crawling near the sink and fridge. Usual, because he’d seen and come to recognize most of them; as Ant-Man, he had communicated with the ants who lived in the apartment building. He knew that most of them lived in a colony in the wall behind his kitchen sink, and that they considered the apartment a safe haven in a building—well, an entire world, to the ants—full of poisons and enemies. Among their enemies were other city bugs—cockroaches, water bugs, silverfish, etc—but most of these bugs knew enough to stay away from ants, sensing the collective power of the smaller insects. When other bugs occasionally strayed into the apartment, Scott was kind to them, capturing them and freeing them outside, or even feeding them. Yes, he was aware that feeding cockroaches was an activity that most of society frowned upon. But since he’d become Ant-Man, he had learned to admire and respect all insects.
