Incredible Spider-Man Men

TIMES SQUARE CAN handle several Jumbotrons and countless cineplexes, scores of signs and billboards, even an endless string of chain restaurants and souvenir stands. It can hold thousands of theatergoers and sightseers and shopkeepers, all going about their business.

But the Big White Way may not be big enough for more than one Spider-Man. Since the success of the movie's sequel earlier this summer, Steven Mercier has held court in front of the flagship Toys "R" Us store on 44th St. and Broadway, clad in nothing but a nylon Spider-Man costume, posing for pictures with wide-eyed kids, hoping for the attention and cash of curious tourists.

"People seem to love it!" he shouted above the din of the lunch-hour crowd.

Like the Naked Cowboy across the street, Mercier's shtick was, if not original, at least one-of-a-kind. He doesn't swing from buildings, but if someone wanted a picture with Spider-Man, instead of some naked guy in tighty-whities and a Stetson, Mercier was the only game in town.

That is, until a few weeks ago. Mercier arrived at his usual spot, only to find it occupied by his worst fear: another Spider-Man. And not just any Spider-Man, mind you, but a better-looking and more buff carbon-copy of the original comic-book superhero. His red and blue outfit, smothered in webs, perfectly hugged his fit and trim frame, while his flashy web-shooting gesture had flocks of kids lining up for a picture.

Mercier looked on, dejected. "I was out here yesterday and then he moved to within three feet of me," said the 33-year-old street performer. "That's how much of a jerk he is."

Though outmatched, Mercier was undeterred. Sure, his six-feet-two, 215-pound frame is not tailor-made for a Marvel Comics superhero. While not overweight, he is far from the lithe Tobey Maguire. He sports a small paunch, wears a $100 outfit that's wrinkly and two sizes too large and his mask reveals far too much of his scraggly unshaven neck. Still, he continued to get courteous stares and smiles along with the familiar line, "Hey, it's Spider-Man," even though most passersby, given the choice, seemed to prefer the leaner, more life-like Spider-Man down the block.

"When people see me they're saying, 'That's the real Spider-Man,'" said Spider-Man number two, who insisted his real name was Peter Parker. The 24-year-old native of Woodhaven in Queens has a confident voice, muffled by the mask. "I know how to communicate with people. I try to make it seem exactly like the movie."

"People are very critical," he continued. "They'll look for every nook and cranny and will criticize any stains they see."

No worries there. Parker's suit, licensed by Marvel Comics, is shiny and spotless and looks almost custom-made for his body. "That's part of the reason I get a lot of attention," he points out.

The other reason is his routine, which he has down to a science. Unlike the wax figurines in nearby Madame Tussauds, Parker crouches and gestures to passersby, mostly to kids, with his pinky and pointer finger extended, as if spinning a web and ensnaring them to pose with him. The gesture works, as kids, almost trance-like, hustle over for a picture, their parents in tow (cost: $5). He pulls out his Polaroid, poses and then slips the money, a portion of which he donates to a battered women's shelter, into his plaid suitcase.

"That's a horrible costume," one mom said, shaking her head in the direction of Mercier up the block. "It looks like he's in nylon pajamas." Her three kids then posed for a picture with Parker hunched over in his signature web-shot pose.

Parker claims that he's been doing his Spider-Man routine for years in front of Toys "R" Us, and just took a hiatus this summer. "This guy [Mercier] was always on the [traffic] island? Then he started doing everything I do, copying my style, my approach."

Parker also resents having to come out earlier to snag the good spot directly in front of the giant toy store. "The sun makes me sweat," he said. "I didn't use to come out until after five."

Mercier shrugged off the complaints, shaking his masked head. "He wasn't even born yet when Spider-Man came out."

What draws two wannabe Spider-Mans to the same swath of sidewalk in the heart of New York is no mystery. Times Square is in the crosshairs of all things pop-cultural and commercial, driven by the dollars of tourists and media moguls. At any given time of night or day, there are dozens upon dozens of mimes, magicians and musicians.

Many of them crave the attention, the spotlight, the performance aspect. Like an Elvis impersonator or a cover band, they might catch a passing whiff of what it feels like to be famous.

What's more, it beats most gigs. "All the jobs in Saratoga Springs kinda suck," said Mercier of his hometown. He used to work at Wal-Mart; The Naked Cowboy was once a stripper.

But make no mistake-no one dons a Spider-Man outfit in 90-degree weather unless there's money to be made. In the old days, a few claps and a dollar was the standard tip. No more. Now performers can rake in hundreds of dollars a night. The Naked Cowboy, in addition to his Letterman and Howard Stern appearances, reportedly earns a six-figure salary, most of it in one-dollar bills. He's brought in a thousand dollars on a four- to six- hour shift.

Mercier is no slouch either. Twelve hours of work on a weekend can net him anywhere between $300 and $400. His side projects on the off season include donning pin stripes as Mr. Yankee in the Bronx and a torch as Lady Liberty in Battery Park. Good gigs, but not as lucrative as Spider-Man.

"Hey Spider-Man!" shout a bevy of schoolchildren. Mercier strikes his superhero pose, but the kids pass by uninterested, snickering amongst themselves. Down the block, Parker is encircled in a throng of shutterbug tourists, waiting patiently to pose with him. Mercier looks and shrugs. "I'm hoping I won't be doing this in another few weeks," he said.

No doubt, the appeal of posing with a Spider-Man may have a short shelf-life. The buzz over the movie is all but dead and, unlike the Naked Cowboy, Mercier is not, as James Traub, author of The Devil's Playground, put it, a "merchandising phenomenon, a brand name, a self-created cartoon character."

This in mind, he plans to go to Las Vegas in September to push a new line of toy mascots he's made themed after the 50 states (Alaska: polar bear). "Wal-Mart's interested," he told me.

Parker, who works in film and photography on the side, says he plans to bring in an Incredible Hulk to the block.

Meanwhile, would Mercier shed a few pounds and hone his physique to boost his business?

"Nah," he admitted, his confidence sagging as much as his suit. "I know I'm probably bigger," he said, gesturing to his slim doppelganger down the block. "But he's like 80 pounds and looks like he's in the fifth grade."o