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then caught a handful of coins: five dollars and fifteen cents. It was more than he’d made on that table of four he’d waited on yesterday for an hour.
    Patrick placed the now-empty cup on the sidewalk, stood up, and studied the round paper vessel as coin after coin dropped into it.

    T he moment he arrived home, he called the deep-dish place. He’d come down with a twenty-four-hour thing. They understood. Patrick sat in his apartment in front of the bathroom mirror, his old acting makeup case out. The small jars of face paint, liquid latex, spirit gum, and patches of facial hair lined the shelf just under the medicine chest. The Shylock mask was gone. He wetted a sponge under the faucet and began to apply an undercoating of pancake in a white skin tone.

    P atrick looked at his handiwork of the last half-hour. The face that confronted him looked like something out of a Victorian Christmas lithograph: a white-powdered face, rosy red cheeks, outlined lips, and a bushy beard all topped off with a large curly wig he’d worn years ago in a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream . From the small Christmas tree in the far corner of the apartment he picked two small ornaments and hung one from each ear. He put on a green velvet robe he’d once worn in Julius Caesar, taken from the back of Linda’s closet, where he still kept all her costumes. And last, he took the green wreath from his own front door and set it down around his head.
    He stood in front of his living room mirror and looked at himself from head to toe. Two pillows from the couch stuffed under his robe completed the picture. Patrick smiled at himself and let out a large Christmas-cheer laugh, letting the sound echo through the apartment like a child’s bouncing red ball.
    â€œI am the Ghost of Christmas Present!”

Chapter 7

    STILL THE MAN IN GREEN
    T he next morning, the Ghost of Christmas Present descended the stairs into the Midtown subway station. One head turning led to two heads turning, and that gave way to a gasp and then a chorus of laughs as people parted in front of him. He swiped his MetroCard and pushed through the turnstile.
    Necks craned the length of the station to catch a look at the large, green-robed, bearded man standing on the platform who stared straight ahead. The arriving train pulled into the station, came to a stop, and its doors opened. The Ghost stepped into a car and walked past faces that looked up at him with laughs and great smiles.
    The Ghost didn’t say a word but walked to the far end of the car and took sanctuary in the corner. Patrick looked down the length of the subway car, every face staring or whispering, and chided himself for thinking this was a good idea. What was he thinking, that he’d hit the streets as the incarnation of the spirit who’d taken Ebenezer Scrooge through the present-day journey of his Christmas world? Yes, that’s precisely what he’d thought was a terrific idea only last night, but now it seemed madness.
    The train pulled into a station as people got on and off. He decided he’d jump off there as well, run home, rip off the insane costume and character, and head for the deep-dish pizza place. But his feet stayed put and the doors began to close.
    Suddenly they opened again at the last second as a late-arriving passenger jumped on board. “Hello, earthlings!” shouted a voice. Patrick’s mouth spread into a smile as he recognized the space traveler, still wearing a wool cap with the two antennae made of aluminum-foil-covered balls. “I hail from the Planet Neptune, and my spaceship has crashed upon your fair orb. I am in need of only a small sum of money to fix my craft and be on my way. If you wish to make a donation to my journey back home, I promise to take Charlie Sheen with me!”
    The car broke into laughter as the alien made his way down the line of people. “A one-spot from the man with the red shoes! I thank you,