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Everything was in order for the night’s festivities. The upper deck of the Laura Keene, a once battered but since refurbished cargo ship used during the recent war, was decked out from wall to railing with streamers, balloons, and a large banner, which read, “Farewell Charlie Lucky” in huge black letters. Long tables were placed on either side of the deck; each one full of every sort of delicacy New York City had to offer. Roast beef, turkey, a wide array of Italian dishes and pastas, fresh bread, and plenty of kosher green pickles, Charlie’s favorite. Of course it wouldn’t be a proper party without an array of booze to choose from, and therefore the deck was fully stocked with the finest wines, champagnes, and hard liquor that the boys could get their hands on, regardless of price. Although price was never really an issue, at least not in the past twenty or so years; but if Charlie had wanted a bottle of something that cost five hundred grand, Meyer would have gotten it for him. He would have rolled his eyes and cursed quietly under his breath, sure.
But he would have gotten it.
Everyone would be there; close friends, like Frank Costello and Tommy Lucchese. Even Benny flew in from California for the first time in months to say farewell to his old friend. Guys from the outfit, all of them, even if they only ever saw Charlie from a distance, would be there to partake in the celebration. Important political leaders whom Charlie had helped elect would be there, including the mayor of New York City himself, Bill O’Dwyer, who had profusely expressed his burning desire to come and thank the man who had helped make him such an important city official. All these men would bring their wives and their girlfriends, and they would show up dressed in their best clothes bearing cash gifts, which they would lay respectfully in front of their much adored capi di tutti capi (however much Charlie hated and denied the title). Then, when they were all finished, old friends would make speeches, and, perhaps, Charlie would make one himself. Some would cry, and when they did, Charlie would look at Meyer and roll his eyes; not too obviously, but just enough to where Meyer would see it, and return a small smile to show he agreed. Then the food, and, of course, the booze. Everyone would get shit-faced drunk and laugh too loudly and get into fights and the night would soon end. Everyone would go home, back to New York City, and Charlie would remain on the Laura Keene, all alone, to set sail back to his hometown of Lecarca Friddi in Sicily, Italy, a country ravaged by war and poverty. Charlie would leave everything he had ever known since he was nine years old. He would leave good friends, a loving family, a thriving business, and a legacy that surpassed all others before it.
And he would leave Meyer.
Somehow, it was inevitable. Charlie was never dumb, far from it, but he never seemed to listen to Meyer when it really mattered. And, usually, this wasn’t a problem. Meyer always prided himself on the fact that he could get Charlie out of any situation he put himself in, no matter how messy. But, ten years before, Charlie had taken a step that Meyer just couldn’t pull him back from. That step set into motion consequences that Meyer only wished he had seem coming. Maybe then his best friend wouldn’t be getting exiled to a country all the way across the Pacific Ocean, and then some. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to face the sick feeling in his gut when he woke up every morning, or the painful jerk in his chest when he looked at Charlie’s face. Meyer could feel the quiet rage boiling inside him in the days leading up to the farewell celebration, his abnormally short fuse threatening to be set off at any moment.
It was two hours before Charlie Lucky Luciano’s party, and Meyer Lansky sat in Charlie’s cabin below deck, trying to get dressed. It was proving harder than he had anticipated.
Meyer had always been prone to shaking, ever since the Thompson incident so many years before. It had happened so long ago, and yet Meyer still couldn’t stop the tremors in his hands every time he got nervous or anxious. He couldn’t help it, and the affliction was making it extremely difficult to properly put on his bow tie. He struggled with it for a while, hopelessly trying to will his fingers into submission, until he finally couldn’t stand it anymore, and in a moment of rare rage, he threw the bow tie on the ground and abruptly kicked the wooden dresser in front of him.
“Goddammit!” Meyer yelled out, his shaking hands reaching up to card themselves harshly through his hair. He moved over and sat on the bed, breathing heavily, his head hanging limply down in front of his chest. Meyer swore to himself quietly.
Suddenly, Meyer felt a hand on his shoulder. He knew who it was, and he didn’t feel inclined to look up.
“I don’t want to talk, Charlie.” He said, trying to keep his voice even.
Meyer felt the mattress sink down next to him, felt Charlie’s leg press up against his own. He could smell Charlie then, all expensive cologne and cigarettes, and he could feel the ever present warmth given off by the Italian’s skin. All those years spent in Dannemora, the supposed Siberia of American prisons, and he still hadn’t changed one bit. Charlie had practically thrived in prison, and Meyer wasn’t one bit surprised.
“Well, I do wanna talk.” Charlie said, a firmness in his voice that surprised Meyer. “You ain’t actin’ the same.”
Meyer scoffed, unsure as to whether Charlie was simply being coy, or if his years in prison had put a dent in his brain after all.
“Oh, really, and what makes you think that, huh?”
“Hey, you didn’t have to plan this fuckin’ party, this was all your idea, and I just went along with it because you insisted!” Charlie said, taking his hand from Meyer’s shoulder. “I don’t need all this, but you were nice enough to give it to me, like you always are, but I don’t-“
“Give it a rest, Charlie.” Meyer sighed, rubbing a hand on his forehead wearily, not wanting to provoke his best friend. “This isn’t about the party.”
“What then?” Charlie continued.
Meyer gave no answer.
"What?" Charlie pressed. "This about Benny?"
“Don’t talk about Benny.” Meyer said sharply, his head snapping up to face the Italian. “Please don’t talk about him, not tonight.”
“We gotta discuss it sometime!” Charlie said, and Meyer felt the heat rising to his face. “You keep puttin’ it off, and I get it, I really do, but the guy is stealing from his friends, Mey! When I laid out all those rules some fifteen years ago, I was clear about not takin’ from nobody else in the outfit, I stated that clear as day on fuckin’ paper-“
“Charlie, please.” Meyer said, his voice rising. “Not tonight.”
“Not tonight, not tonight,” Charlie said, standing to pace across the small room, irritation clear on his face. “Its always not tonight, but somehow you’re forgetting, Meyer, I’m trying to run a business here!”
“How the fuck could I forget that?” Meyer shot back, his anger boiling. “What the hell makes you think that I could forget about the business in the middle of all of this, when it’s the goddamn business that put you on this fucking boat in the first place?”
“The business didn’t put me on this fucking boat!” Charlie yelled, and Meyer knew he had ventured into dangerous territory.
“I got locked up in the first place for somethin’ I didn’t do!" The italian continued, his face reddening. "I didn’t have nothin’ to do with those crack whores and those low life sons of bitches who thought they could use my name to make a quick buck off of some back door, two-dollar cat house in Harlem! They rigged the trial, and I couldn’t do nothin’ about it, not a god damn thing! You know that, Meyer!”
“You could have been more careful, you could have listened to me from the very beginning!” Meyer shouted back, standing to face Charlie, his hands balled into fists at his side. He knew his rage was misdirected, that Charlie didn’t deserve any of this, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “The great and powerful Charlie Lucky…If you had just listened to me, maybe you wouldn’t be in this mess, maybe we both wouldn’t be on this fuckin’ boat waiting to ship you off, or maybe-“
“Then cancel the fucking party, Meyer!” Charlie yelled, throwing his hands out. “Cancel the fuckin’ party if that’s how you feel about it!”
“This isn’t about the goddamn PARTY, CHARLIE!” Meyer shouted, and suddenly he felt something inside of him, something nearly intangible, snap. He stopped his words, and sat back down on the bed, chest heaving with the effort he was making to keep back the tears that were beginning to creep in the corners of his eyes. He ran his shaking hands once more through his hair, trying to calm the storm that raged inside him.
And Charlie stood across the room, watching his best friend unravel before his eyes. It had happened before, but not in perhaps fifteen or so years. It frightened Charlie to the point where he didn’t know what to do. Meyer was level headed, Meyer was strong. Meyer wasn’t even the one being exiled from his own country, and yet here he was, unable to keep it together.
“This isn’t about the party.” Meyer practically whimpered, shaking his head.
Charlie, his own anger ebbing almost as quickly as it had come, breathed in heavily, trying to regain the composure he had lost.
“Then what, Mey?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “What is it?”
Meyer placed his trembling hands in his lap, rubbing his thumbs over one another continuously. His face seemed to have lost all color, and Charlie began to worry that his friend was sick. He wouldn’t look at Charlie, wouldn’t even raise his eyes as he answered the question.
“I couldn’t do anything, Charlie.” He replied brokenly.
“What are you talkin’ about?” Charlie replied carefully, not understanding.
“I couldn’t do anything to keep you outta Dannemora ten years ago.” Meyer said slowly. “Couldn’t keep Maranzano’s boys from slashin’ your face in ‘29. I couldn’t stop Dewey from rippin’ you to pieces on the stand, I couldn’t stop you from gettin’ sent to fuckin’ Siberia, I couldn’t stop you from getting shipped back to Sicily…I couldn’t even stop Benny from doin what he did. Out of all my supposed genius, all the stuff I’m supposed know, I can barely even keep my friends alive.”
His voice broke.
“I shoulda done something for you, Charlie.” Meyer continued, unable to stop the tears from spilling over his eyes. “I shoulda fuckin’ done something. That’s my job, that’s what I do, because with you safe, I’m safe, and everyone else is safe, and…and God, Charlie, what the fuck am I supposed to do with you gone? If I need to get by without Benny, then so be it, but…but I don’t think I can keep goin’ with you gone, Charlie. I don’t think I can.”
Charlie took a step forward.
“Those ten years you were in prison, I…I don’t know how it worked.” Meyer said, tears glistening on his face. “I don’t know how I managed to think of anythin’ else but gettin’ you out. Then you got transferred to Sing Sing, and I thought things were lookin’ up, and…and then they said they were lettin’ you out, but that there was a catch…and I realized that there’s not gonna be an easy time again, like it was back then. There’s never gonna be a safe place for us, there’s always gonna be someone tryin’ to get to you, tryin’ to lock you up, tryin’ to kill you, and…oh my God, Charlie, I can’t fuckin’ do it, Charlie, I just can’t fucking do it anymore.”
And Meyer sobbed.
He sobbed perhaps harder than he ever had in his life; maybe harder than the day Nucky Thompson had almost put a bullet in his head, or when he first saw Charlie’s face a day or two after he was savagely beaten my Maranzano’s men. He cried harder than he had in over fifteen years, this was definite.
Only this time he couldn’t seem to stop.
Meyer was unsure for how long he cried; he didn’t really care. And Charlie, always there Charlie, sat by his side the entire time, tossing aside any feelings of resentment he had towards the man he had loved since they were kids. He held Meyer, rubbed his back, whispered comforting words into his ear; so many things had changed since they were younger men, but this would never be one of them. Meyer and Charlie, the two of them. That would never be something that would go away, not matter how large the distance. And if Charlie wasn’t sure of that before tonight, he was damn well sure of it now.
When Meyer’s heaving sobs finally subsided, and all that remained were small hiccups and quick breaths against Charlie’s chest, the Italian spoke.
“You don’t always gotta take care of me, Mey.” He said softly, running a hand through the smaller man’s hair. “I’m an asshole, I know that. I do things sometimes that ain’t so smart. And this…whatever shitty situation I’m in, its cuz of me, and you don’t gotta do a goddamn thing about it. Okay? This isn’t you, Mey. It ain’t ever you.”
Meyer trembled in Charlie’s arms, and the Italian placed a light kiss on the top of his head.
“If you didn’t have me, who else would get you outta mess?” Meyer replied pitifully, his voice thick and hoarse.
Charlie chuckled, wrapping his arms tighter around Meyer’s frame.
“Sometimes its unavoidable, Mey.”
Meyer sighed.
“Fuckin’ dago.” He mumbled into Charlie’s chest, wiping the last tears from his face.
“Kike midget.” The taller man replied almost immediately.
Charlie laughed then, full and round and harder than he had in years.
“Look at us, a couple of fuckin’ saps.” He said, grinning from ear to ear. “We keep this up, I’ll end up forgettin’ myself and kissin’ you in public, in front a God and everyone.”
“You always say that, and you never have.” Meyer smiled.
“Yeah, but maybe I should.” Charlie replied thoughtfully. “One of these days I’m gonna do it, and it ain’t even gonna be an accident.”
“Don’t be crazy, Charlie.” Meyer said evenly, though his lover’s sentimentality sent butterflies shooting through his stomach. “See, this is why you need me to keep you outta trouble.”
“You’re probably right.” Charlie said, gazing off into the space above Meyer’s head.
“I love you, Charlie.” Meyer said quietly, for probably the first time in ten years. They didn’t say it often, the two of them. Those words were only for moments like these. Moments when they either had everything, or when they had nothing. Moments when those words were all they had to face an uncertain future.
“I love you too, Little Man.” Charlie replied. “Now lets do somethin’ about that bowtie.”
The party that night was grand, indeed. People wept giving speeches, people fought when they were drunk, and Charlie and his small board of directors sat at a small table for a time to discuss ways in which Charlie could still run his business from his new home in Italy. Ways were even discussed in which Charlie could bribe officials, as he always had, in order to make trips down to Havana where he could meet with his team in person. This was all Meyer’s idea, of course, carefully thought out to the last detail. And, when it got late, and highly intoxicated guests began to stumble off the Laura Keene in droves, Charlie kissed Meyer on the lips right in front of all their friends. Meyer, initially shocked and terrified at what Charlie had done, was soon surprised and relieved to see everyone laugh uproariously at this display of affection between two good friends. Good old Charlie, they slurred gleefully, and good old Meyer, the best team that ever was.
And Charlie smiled at Meyer, and Meyer smiled back. No one else knew, and they probably never would, but the two of them?
They knew.
They always had.
And that would have to be enough.