poly_chromatic

Entry tags:

boardwalk empire - meyer lansky

Video

[At least, for once, this is an intentional video. He is, however, much more casually attired than usual -- which, in this case, means with no suit jacket, no tie, and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And he appears to be leaning on a car, cigarette in hand, as ever, and an errant smudge of grease or two on his face.]

I have two questions for the City at large. Call it... research.

[One of those tiny, polite smiles, and then...]

First of all, if there were one thing you think this city is lacking -- and "a means of escape" isn't a valid answer here, I'm afraid, since we all want that -- what would it be?

[A long pause.]

Second of all, I've been informed that I'm in need of at least one "modern" outfit, whatever that means. Is anyone here willing to assist?

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I get the distinct feeling that you and I will get along just fine.

[It's that almost flirtatious, but not quite, tone from him again.]

[His comment makes her laugh, a coquettish laughter meant for flirtation.]

When are we to be properly introduced, Monsieur Lansky? Surely you do not mean to keep a poor woman in suspense.

As soon as you want. I need to get myself cleaned up a little, and then I'll be heading over to the casino. You want I should meet you there?

Ah, that would be my greatest pleasure! To see where I am to be so generously employed.

It's not as nice as I want it to be eventually, but it's a work in progress, just like anything else. I'll be there in about a half an hour. Let me send you the directions.

[And in a few moments, she should be receiving said directions. Apparently he's taken well enough to the technology around here to use it for that sort of thing.]

I... see.

[Marguerite, on the other hand, has only become accustomed enough to the network devices to turn hers on and either send or receive a video feed. Thus, it takes her a good half an hour to figure out how to read the directions properly. Already delayed, she decides it to be more important to look her very best than hurry out the door in any slobbish state and consequently, it takes her the entirety of an hour to make it to the entrance of the casino.]

[The casino is obviously under expansion, but it's still a nice place -- understated, no flashy lights or bright colors. There's a bar, several poker tables, a pool table, and a piano. And there's the proprietor of the place, wiping down the bar when Marguerite shows up. As promised, he's in a suit, and he's absorbed enough in his task not to notice her at first.]

[Neither is Meyer the first thing to which she pays notice upon entering. Rather, it is the decor of the place - its entire layout, so different from how a casino looks as she knows them from Paris. Less intimate, although only in the strictest of senses, because the establishment certainly emits an air of intimacy on its own. After a moment of taking in all these first impressions, Marguerite focuses her attention on the man at the bar - her demeanour changing instinctively and fluidly, a smile finding its way onto her lips.

Walking up to him, her reddish orange ballgown - the one in which she arrived - moves around her ankles for every step that she takes, the heavy fabrics making the skirt fall in waves around her legs. Her dark hair has been elaborately styled and her make-up has been applied to perfection. She knows that she must look every bit the part of a courtesan and she takes pride in it, too. Naturally.]

Monsieur Lansky!

[He looks at her appraisingly, but not in a particularly flirtatious way; it's the gaze he'd give a new employee that had stepped into work for the first time, which she is. Of course, he recognizes that she's attractive, it would be impossible not to, and maybe there's something in his appraising glance that takes that in, too. Ever the businessman, he stops what he's doing and approaches her, smile on his face, handshake at the ready.]

Miss Gautier. Nice to finally meet you.

The pleasure is mine, certainly.

[She takes his hand, angling her own in full expectation of a kiss to the backside of it. It is how she is used to being greeted and only men, to her knowledge, shake hands so brutishly. Watching him intently, head tilted to one side, Marguerite notices specific things first - such as the way that he looks at her, not with the levels of attraction that she usually inspires in men, although she obviously doesn't leave him unaffected either. A strange balance. Intriguing, even. Secondly, she cannot help noticing that he is shorter than her, a shortcoming she shan't hold against him, since she has seen many times that short men can surely perform as well as a man of a taller stature. Armand, too, doesn't rank amongst her tallest lovers... But none of that now!]

You are aware, of course, that I am now in your debt.

[He sees the way she angles her hand, and delivers a kiss to the back of it -- he's not so impolite as to refuse her that, since she's obviously used to being given a formal greeting. It isn't how he'd choose to greet someone, man or woman, but he won't begrudge her the formality, even if it seems a bit outdated to him. He has no particular desire to look rude.]

I don't think you're exactly in my debt. You're my employee -- I'll be paying you to do your job. No indebtedness required.

[His words make her falter as she withdraws her hand from his grip, her smile freezing on her lips - only slightly, but enough for the attentive observer to be able to notice. She hadn't considered their relationship under those terms, but rather under terms with which she's much more familiar. It seems strange to her, for a woman to... provide for herself so directly. For a woman to have an employer, rather than a hoard of lovers, a rich patron. Or a sugar daddy, as Monsieur Meyer had called it. Regaining her composure quickly, however, Marguerite manages a laugh.]

I have had a man who desired to love me unconditionally and now I am faced with one who doesn't desire me at all. You must excuse my confusion.

Believe me, I find you perfectly desirable.

[Because he's noticed the way her smile faltered, and he understands her confusion, at least from a logical sense, if not an emotional one. That's why he hastens to add an addendum.]

But if you'd prefer not to think of yourself as my employee, I'm perfectly content to think of it in a different way. It's up to you.

[Quickly, with little care, she waves her hand at him, a small shake of her head accompanying the motion. Paris is far away. Along with the arrangements to which she is used. Along with Prudence and Gaston. Along with... Armand. In this City, apparently, a woman works for herself. But with the money still coming out of a man's pocket, the differences really do seem to be minuscule. It is the same which is expected of her, after all. Company. Flirtation. A moment of forgetfulness and the money that can be spent during that moment --]

If it defines our relation best, Monsieur Lansky, "employee" shall be the title I bear. And I shall bear it gladly, too.

You know, if you're going to work here, you might as well call me Meyer. Everyone else does.

[He doesn't necessarily oppose the formality of being called Mister -- or Monsieur -- but there's a certain degree of familiarity bred from working with people, and, especially in a casino, he sees no reason to stand on ceremony. For all his manners and money and well-fitted suits, too, he's still young, and always feels slightly strange by being addressed like he's much older than he is, though he does try to avoiding acting his age.]

Meyer.

[She repeats the name with a great deal of care. How to address people is always a crucial matter, whether they be addressed by title or first name. Falling into the latter category now, Meyer is joining the ranks of her friends and Armand. A small, exclusive circle. Also in this regard, their relation is... different. Meyer's and hers. Who knows, she may become spoiled and grow to like it. Earning her wages and staying true to Armand at the same time.]

Then, you must call me Marguerite. All my friends do - along with the more insolent amongst my lovers.

Marguerite, then. And I do hope we'll become friends.

[Meyer, for his part, has very few true friends. Oh, he has his associates and his employees, but whether he counts them among the short list of people he considers 'friends' is anyone's guess. Thus far, he likes Marguerite, but doesn't yet know how their... association will progress. As ever, he's cautious.]

Would you like something to drink?

[Oh. Oh. She hasn't had a decent glass of wine since her arrival, meaning days now - several days without alcohol. Eagerly, she grasps her purse in one hand and fixes the skirt of her dress into compliance with the other. Glancing towards the bar without attempting to hide the direction of her interest, she approaches the situation as she would have at home. Like a woman used to being served.]

A glass of red wine. Of a certain quality, please.

[No question as to whether it's available, whether it's possible. She may only just have met him, but she fully expects Meyer to be the type of man who can provide anything. If he wishes. It is simply a question of making him want to.]

Certainly.

[Most people who visit the casino ask for something much stronger and of a much lower quality, but then, he'd fully expected Marguerite to be the kind of person who wanted something nice. He goes behind the bar, pausing for a moment to locate the nicest bottle of wine he can find, and then pulls it down, finding her a glass and pouring a generous amount for her.]

I hope this will do.

[Reaching for it with as much grace as she can muster, feeling an overwhelming sense of homesickness at the sight of the red liquid, Marguerite raises the glass to her lips. The wine holds a dark and rich flavour, natural indicators of quality and she savours it accordingly. She leans against the bar, looking at Meyer across the counter, her fingers trembling only slightly around the stem of the glass. She is indulging herself and Armand would say it does her no good. Yet, Armand isn't here... isn't here...]

It is a lovely wine. [A pause.] Your expenses must be extensive, to run a place such as this.

My expenses aren't exactly minimal, no, but I find I do well enough.

[And he does, but that's thanks, in part, to other businesses, businesses that he doesn't intend to tell her about. Only Al knows about his second job, his far less legal one, and he'd like it to remain that way.]

Well enough to be looking into expanding the casino, as a matter of fact. I have a relatively small staff, but we run things efficiently enough.

[He lights himself a cigarette -- she'll find he's almost never without a cigarette in hand -- and then offers her one.]

A man of talent, as well as a man of means.

[It is said jokingly, her lips forming a small smile -- Until the moment when temptation presents itself in the form of a cigarette. She shouldn't, she really shouldn't. Her lungs will be all but killing her for days to come, but the wine has ignited that familiar desire - the need to indulge, to have a little taste of it all, everything he has to offer... Thus, Marguerite puts the glass down in order to accept one, raising it to her lips and leaning forward slightly. Waiting for him to light it for her. As is only proper.]

[He lights her cigarette, of course, because that's what's expected, and he's always been a good judge of what's expected, what's polite. She seems to value those formalities, so he's happy to indulge her. It's to his own benefit, in the long run.]

I'll introduce you my employees soon. For now, though, I'll tell you a little about them. Roman and Theo are the card dealers -- Theo's a bit... odd, but relatively harmless, I'd think. Dewey's the pianist, and he's pretty damn good, even if he's only ten. Al's the bartender and the bouncer, and I'll warn you right now, there's no way he won't flirt with you. And of course, you already know me. Like I said, it's a small staff.

[She breathes in the smoke like every breath were her last, a thought she doesn't consider in greater depth, while he speaks. The names register with her, one after the other, faceless for now - though she naturally memorizes this Al, considering the portrait Meyer is painting of him, more carefully than the rest. Finally, cigarette balancing between her fingers, Marguerite cocks her head slightly. She isn't ignoring what he's just told her, far from it. Her eyes simply fall on the piano and she finds herself distracted.]

Would your pianist mind terribly, if I were to practice my own lacking skills on his beautiful piano, do you think?

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