Les Masques

The man sat alone on the boardwalk on top of an aged briefcase. To his left was an ice cream shop, to his right, a public bathroom, well maintained by the city. An old, tattered fedora rested on the ground in front of him. Coins and bills littered the inside of the hat. The man’s plaid shirt was unbuttoned, the setting sun beating on his bare chest. People walked past him without looking, others paused and threw change in to his hat. Couples walking, friends roller-skating, people accompanied by their dogs, each person was potential income. The man scratched at the stubble on his chin.

“Help for a lost soul? Change for an unlucky one?” He called his normal pleas.

Some heads turned, casting scrutinizing glances at the man on the ground. Others fell to his appeals and put money in his hat. Most walked on, indifference or averted gazes from those not willing to help the man. His face remained unchanged, expecting, relaxed.

“Thank you sir. Thank you ma’am. Thanks buddy,” he changed his thanks, always with a bow, to the people dropping money in his hat.

The man took money out of his hat, stuffed bills down the front of his pants and coins in his pockets, filling his shoes with whatever he could. The day’s collection in his hat looked sparse once again.

“Help for a lost soul? Change for an unlucky one?” He continued his calls.

As the sun fell further behind the water, the crowds began to thin out. Shops closed their doors and lights flickered to life over the boardwalk. The sticky, stagnant air cooled as a breeze blew in from the ocean. Darkness fell and the flow of people trickled to a single person or couple every few minutes.

The man took the bills out of his pants and stuffed them back in to his hat. He stood and picked up his hat and briefcase. He walked in to the bathroom and inspected each stall before stepping out again and looking either way at the deserted boardwalk. He walked back in and set his things down in one of the stalls. He opened his briefcase and stuffed his full fedora beside several others, the same style, all similarly full. He emptied his pockets in to the hats, took off his tattered shoes and shook their contents in as well. Beside the hats was a pressed suit, complete with jacket and sterling silver cufflinks, covering a pair of shined, black, dress shoes. The man took off his plaid shirt, torn jeans, and yellowed socks, setting them in the briefcase beside the hats. He stepped out of the stall, suit in hand and stood in front of a sink. He dressed himself quickly and smiled at himself in the mirror as he tightened his tie. He took a small bottle of hair product from the inside of his jacket and tousled some of the product in to his hair, sweeping his bangs out of his face. With some paper towel and water he washed the dirt from his face.

He took to the boardwalk again, walking a short distance before turning inland, towards a parking lot. There were three cars in the parking lot. He made his way to a shiny, black, new, sports car. He patted his jacket for his keys and unlocked his doors. The man stepped inside his car and smiled a wolfish smile at himself in the mirror.

The man drove to a house and parked his car. It was a large house, two levels, plenty of clear windows, and a fence around the perimeter. He stepped in the front door.

“I’m home honey,” he called inside.

A woman came down the stairs to him. She walked in to his open arms and greeted him with a kiss.

“Hi sweetie,” she smiled up at him.

There was thudding on the floors upstairs as three children ran to him.

“Papa!” They cried.

“Bonjour mes amours!” He hugged them all at once.

“Long day at the office?” The woman asked him.

“It was indeed, but I made it,” he said as he put down his briefcase. Coins rattled inside, muffled slightly.

“I wish you would get rid of that thing,” she frowned at it.

“We couldn’t live without it,” he answered.