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Silence had become something alien to Meyer as of late. There was always someone, always something, never a moment of peace where he could even think without someone talking, someone shouting, someone shooting off a gun and causing mass chaos. The telephone rang non-stop, its high-pitched jingle beginning to sound more and more like wailing as the days went on. Benny was no help, the kid never knew when to shut up as it was, and it seemed getting married and becoming a father-to-be didn’t teach him anything about the value of peace and quiet. Meyer could handle his antics normally, but lately it was all beginning to be too much. Even worse, possibly, than the sounds of everyone and everything around him were the sounds inside his own head that tolled like angry bells, demanding attention.
I’m not safe, he thought to himself, Charlie isn’t safe. We’re not safe.
Every moment of Meyer’s time was spent watching his own back, making sure there was never a gun in the wrong hand, never a knife strapped to the wrong belt. His nerves grew and grew as the days went on; the longer Maranzano lived to see another day, the more paranoid Meyer grew. He flinched whenever someone walked through a door, his hands immediately jerking towards the pistol at his side. He even drew his gun accidentally on a cat bounding through a shop window, mistaking it for one of Maranzano or Thompson’s men. Everyone was a threat. No one could be trusted.
What was more, there were armed guards everywhere he went, guns in hand and solemn expressions on their faces. Meyer knew this was necessary, but it bothered him. He didn’t need bodyguards while he brushed his teeth in the morning, or while he read the evening paper before bed, but Charlie had insisted. Denying Charlie his whims was never something Meyer had been particularly gifted at. Going against him on the Florida deal so many years back was still something he pained to remember, and he had sworn to himself after they had made amends that it would never happen again. It had taken a toll on them both, Charlie more than he would ever care to admit. But Meyer could see the betrayal in Charlie’s face, and it took a while before he ever looked at Meyer the way he used to. Meyer was never going to let that happen again.
On one particularly rainy night, Meyer sat in his armchair attempting to read, but failing miserably, because no one had heard from Charlie in a few hours. He had left around 3 PM, gun on his belt, with a quiet nod to Meyer before leaving to go to his barber, a trip that should only have lasted an hour or two at the most. Now it was 8 PM, and Meyer was worried out of his mind.
“Have you tried calling the barber’s again?” He demanded, his growing fear beginning to wear at his composure.
“We talked to them. His barber said that he came in around 3:15 and was out by 4.”
Meyer closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in. He slammed his book shut and stood, walking to the small table in the corner of the room where he poured himself a glass of whiskey. He took a large swallow, the burn of alcohol sharp and familiar in his throat. His hand shook involuntarily, and he tried not to squeeze too hard on the glass. Staring into the amber glow of the liquid, Meyer almost laughed to himself. “All of this because of you.” He mumbled bitterly into his drink. “Fucking unbelievable.”
At that moment, Meyer detected the sound of the door opening and instinctively whirled around, hand reaching for his pistol. His eyes fell on Charlie, walking in the room, safe and sound and in one piece. Meyer’s shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his hair, allowing himself to relax for the first time that day.
“Hey, you gonna blow me away or what?” Charlie smirked, removing his hat.
Meyer grimaced.
“Where have you been, Charlie?” he inquired calmly, placing his glass of whiskey on the table beside him.
“I went to the barber’s, like I said.” Charlie answered simply, beckoning in his bodyguards.
“We called the barbershop, they said you left at four. Its eight.” Meyer replied, trying hard not to sound like a nagging wife (something Charlie often accused him of).
Charlie didn’t respond immediately, instead instructing one of his guards to place a box on the desk in the front of the room. He then waved his hand at the men absentmindedly, lighting a cigarette and avoiding making any eye contact with Meyer, something he usually did when he wanted to hide something.
“Charlie.” Meyer said, trying to keep his voice under control. “You can’t just leave and not tell anyone where you are for hours on end. Not these days. You know that.”
“Come on, Meyer, I was-“ Charlie began.
“If it were the other way around, you would have had a whole battalion out in the streets looking for me!” Meyer continued, his voice beginning to rise.
“Meyer, I-“
“This isn’t a game, Charlie, you know it isn’t! You’re on your way to being on top and I’m not gonna let you throw it all away because you-“
“Meyer!”
Charlie had crossed the room, placing both hands on the shorter man, whose breath had begun to quicken and whose palms were shaking violently. Charlie knew that only happened whenever Meyer got nervous, when he thought he or Charlie were in danger. Ever since the incident with Thompson, when Meyer had thought for sure his life was over, he had developed this nervous tick, and Charlie hated to see him that way.
Meyer took a breath, calming underneath Charlie’s hands, his thumbs rubbing small circles into Meyer’s shoulders. Meyer relaxed into the touch, starting to close his eyes slowly, but not before remembering that he and Charlie weren’t the only people in the room. This seemed to register with Charlie too, because he dropped his hands and turned to the three men standing casually off to the side with guns in hand.
“Stand guard outside the east door, boys.” He said quietly, taking a drag from his cigarette.
“Uh, not outside this door, boss?” one man responded, confusion etched on his face.
“You hear what I said?” Charlie repeated, his eyes flashing dangerously. “East door. If anyone gets in without my say-so, it’ll be your fuckin’ heads.”
The three men left the room quickly, shutting the door behind them, leaving Meyer and Charlie alone in the office. It took a moment or two before Meyer realized that this had to be the first time they’d been truly alone in over a month. He relished in the familiarity, reminded of when it had just been him and Charlie in their small apartment, plotting their next move.
“I was gone because I got you something.” Charlie said suddenly, breaking the small silence. Meyer swallowed, cocking his head to the side.
“I…I’m sorry, you what?”
Charlie said nothing, then glanced down at the glass of whiskey Meyer had abandoned on the table, picking it up and finishing it off in a single gulp.
He’s nervous, Meyer thought to himself.
“I told you.” Charlie repeated after a moment, extinguishing his cigarette on the silver ashtray beside him. “I got you something. It’s on the desk.”
Meyer blinked, staring at Charlie incredulously. This wasn’t ever something they did, they had never given each other presents, not since they were kids and they stole an apple or two for each other when they could get their hands on one. That had been different, that was childhood. Glancing at the box on the desk, Meyer could see that it was wrapped in an elegant paper, tied neatly on top with a small twine bow. He moved toward it with a slight hesitance, hyper-aware of Charlie fidgeting nervously across the room. Meyer fingered the bow on the box tentatively, unsure.
“Just…” Charlie began, before walking across the room to stand next to Meyer. “Just fuckin’ open it, will ya?”
Meyer nodded, beginning to become amused at Charlie’s antics. He unwrapped the box and opened it up, taking out copious amounts of tissue paper before revealing two books, each in perfect condition. One was a copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, the other The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Each book was bound in fine leather, gold lettering on the cover. Meyer’s took a breath in, and he turned to look at Charlie.
“Charlie, these…these are beautiful.”
Charlie smiled, looking a bit sheepish. “Yeah? They’re first edition, apparently. In perfect condition. I know you love this Mark Twain guy, whoever the fuck he is, and I know a guy who collects this shit, so…I thought you might like them.”
Meyer stared at Charlie in awe, still holding the books in his hands.
“You…why?” Meyer laughed, grinning from ear to ear. “I mean, thank you, Charlie, really, this is great! But what for?”
Charlie shifted on his feet, putting his hands in the pockets of his trousers.
“I don’t know, with everything that’s been going on, I just thought…” Charlie started, struggling to find the words. “I know things haven’t been the same, this past month, not with anyone, not with you and me…things aren’t like they used to be, but they’ll be better. You hear me, Meyer? They’re going to be better. I know you miss the peace. I’ve never been one for sitting quietly, A.R would say that’s a weakness, and maybe it is, fuck, I just…I wanted to get you something. An anniversary gift.”
Meyer’s eyes widened slightly as he stared at Charlie, who was doing his best to look Meyer in the eyes, a softness in his face that Meyer hadn’t even remembered was there.
“Charlie…”
Charlie took a step forward, bringing himself closer to Meyer. The smell of him overwhelmed Meyer, that familiar scent of cigarettes and booze and expensive cologne and something just so inherently Charlie.
“October 15th.” He said softly, bringing a hand up and running it through Meyer’s hair. “You probably thought I didn’t remember.”
Meyer put the books on the desk, his breath catching a little in his throat.
“I remember, shayna punim.” Charlie continued, staring at Meyer in such a way that Meyer hadn’t thought possible anymore.
Then Charlie was leaning in, and Meyer was closing his eyes, and they were kissing.
* * *
The rain pounded relentlessly on the windows of Meyer’s bedroom, casting artful shadows on the wallpaper next to the small lamp lit on the table at a corner of the room. Meyer found himself staring absentmindedly at the shadows, entranced by the steady land and fall of raindrops as they hit the windowpane. Charlie stared at Meyer, his fingers lightly tracing the outline of his jaw, the soft prominence of his cheekbone. The telephone rang once, maybe twice, but neither Meyer nor Charlie had it in them to get up and answer it. Their bodies, comfortably cocooned in swirls of soft cotton sheets, were finally allowing themselves to rest.
“October 15th.” Meyer laughed softly, still staring at the shadows on the wall. “You fucking dago.”
Charlie smiled to himself.
“What, I got it right, didn’t I?” he asked.
“Sort of.” Meyer responded, turning over to face Charlie. “October 15th is the first time we ever fucked. But if I remember correctly, we never made anything remotely official until about a year later, on September 7th.”
“Ah, details, details.” Charlie groaned. “I loved you then, I’m pretty sure you loved me. October 15th. Good enough for me.”
“And me.” Meyer said, not wanting Charlie to get the wrong idea. He shuffled his body closer to Charlie’s, turning over so that the taller man could wrap him up in his arms, back to chest. This way Meyer could feel the steady rise and fall of Charlie’s chest, his warmth a reassuring entity. These days it was more than enough for Meyer to know that Charlie was still breathing.
“I loved you then.” Meyer said suddenly, breaking the silence between them. “I was just angry. It took me a while.”
“Angry about what?” Charlie responded, his voice low in Meyer’s ear.
“Gillian Darmody.” Meyer replied, still disliking the way her name sounded on his tongue.
"Oh…yeah.” Charlie said quietly, and Meyer could hear the regret in his voice.
“I didn’t love her, Mey.” Charlie assured him, for what was probably the hundredth time in the past ten years. “I never did, nothing close. Never any of em’.”
“I know.” Meyer responded. “I never thought you did.”
“That night.” Charlie began, after a pause. “That night you came home after Thompson almost put a bullet in your head...”
Meyer swallowed, the memory planting a cold fear deep in his gut.
“What about it?”
“You came home…” Charlie said, trying to keep his voice steady. “You came home at 6 AM shakin’ like a fuckin’ leaf, Mey. I swear to God I thought…I don’t know what I thought. But you came to me, first thing, and I swear I had no fuckin’ clue what I was supposed to do. I was still mad. I thought that we were through, but you…you sobbed in my arms that night and I swear I have never been so goddamn angry in my entire life. I wanted all of em dead, every single one, I could have wrung Thompson’s fuckin’ neck until his giant bug eyes popped right out of his fuckin’ skull…”
Charlie was trembling now, and Meyer turned over in his arms to face him, cupping Charlie’s face gently in his hand.
“Charlie…” Meyer began.
“And that’s when I knew, Meyer.” Charlie continued, looking Meyer in the eyes. “That’s the moment I knew that I only ever loved you. I only ever will love you. Somehow, you’re my end game. Little fuckin’ Jew boy, had the guts to stand up to me…”
Charlie laughed to himself, gazing lovingly at Meyer. “I’m so happy you did, Mey. I never told you, but I’m so, fucking, goddamn happy that you did.”
Meyer stared at Charlie, a smile overtaking his features.
“Do you have to swear every time you speak?” he asked.
Charlie only chuckled, and oh, how Meyer had missed that sound.
“Come here, you kike midget.”
And they were kissing again, bodies melting together naturally, like they had on October 15th 1923, the first time either of them gave way to what they had been feeling probably since they were kids, poor as dirt, running around the streets of New York City. Meyer relinquished a soft whine as Charlie ran his tongue along Meyer’s bottom lip and bit down ever so gently, pulling softly with his teeth. Meyer ran his hands through Charlie’s unruly hair, its slicked back elegance beginning to give way to the mess of dark curls that Meyer could never get enough of. Charlie kissed Meyer’s neck, sucking and biting the skin lovingly. He stopped then, shifting upwards on the bed and pulling Meyer closer to him, wrapping his arms protectively around Meyer. Meyer looked up, then gently kissed the scar running along the side of Charlie’s face.
“We’ll win this war, Charlie.” Meyer said softly. “ We will.”
Charlie sighed, and lazily kissed the top of Meyer’s head.
“A kingdom, for you and me.” Meyer continued, still staring at the scar on his lover’s face. “An empire.”
They fell asleep that way, the two of them. Charlie with his arms around Meyer, Meyer’s hand cradling Charlie’s face. The rain continued to pound on the window, casting its haunting shadow on the wall. The sheets were warm, the lamplight dim; it was peaceful, and it was home, and for the first time in a while, it was quiet.