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boardwalk empire - meyer lansky

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[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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[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?

I doubt he'd mind at all. I keep intending to get us a better piano, but that'll come with the expansion I'm planning. In the meantime, feel free to use it, when Dewey isn't.

[He takes a long, contemplative drag on his cigarette before his eyes become slightly more intent, his tone slightly more businesslike.]

We should take this opportunity to discuss the few rules I have here, I think. I don't expect you to be likely to break any of them, but just so everything's clear, you understand.

Ah. But, of course, there must be rules!

[Had she not had a cigarette in hand and a glass of good wine in front of her, those words could easily have sounded pouty and spoiled. Instead, now with those two things at her disposal and much more of their kind promised to her, she says it with the hint of an overbearing laugh. The Duke, too, had had rules and although she had respected them, she had... gone her own ways at the same time. It will be no different with Meyer.]

I shall do my utmost to not get carried away, outside your bounds.

The rules are minimal: try not to get too intoxicated, even if people are buying drinks for you. Attempt to show up reasonably on time. And, if you enjoy indulging in drugs beyond alcohol and tobacco, I'd prefer if you're... discreet about it.

[They're reasonable rules, he thinks, and yet, it's amazing how many people seem to have a problem with them.]

[There are no real limitations to be detected in the rules he presents her with. Although she certainly enjoys drinking, there is only short-term enjoyment in getting utterly drunk. And who could enjoy a good ballet or opera in such a state as is? No -- She shan't get inebriated beyond her wits. As for the rest. Now that she knows the way to the casino, she shall ensure to be here on time as well and drugs? Besides medicine, her condition has always been to hinder for such... adventures.]

You have nothing to fear in these regards. I shall behave like a saint and you shall know only of my presence through your accounts.

[Having finished her cigarette, Marguerite reaches for her wine once more, taking a few sips with effortless grace, but keeping her attention on Meyer over the rim of the glass.]

I'm glad to hear it. Although I don't expect you to be too saintly. Saints aren't very much fun.

[Nor does he expect saintliness. How boring]

[A light-hearted laughter.]

Oh, have no worries, Meyer. I live to amuse myself and entertain my admirers. You and your clientele shall see nothing but all my best sides.

[No thoughts of death and despair here, in this City. Perhaps she can pretend all of that was left behind in Paris. The bad with... the good, the sorely missed. Raising her chin slightly, her smile disappears in favour of a more contemplative expression.]

We spoke of an apartment and a wardrobe. Earlier.

We did.

[He stubs out his cigarette in the already almost-full ashtray, and immediately lights himself another one.]

The apartment's easy enough. There're plenty in the city. The wardrobe, well, I can't pretend to know how much or what exactly you need, so I guess that'll have to be up to you. I've never been someone who enjoys shopping.

[Mirroring him, Marguerite stubs out her own cigarette in the ashtray, the look of contemplation that has overtaken her features staying firmly in place. She doesn't request another, well aware that just this one she has already smoked will require a red camellia attached to her dress tomorrow, but instead finishes her wine in one go. Almost desperately. They are discussing things that grant her a sense of home and thus, they are important to her. Beyond the value Meyer is obviously investing in them. In her.]

When am I to begin? Tonight? And at what time?

Tonight if you like -- we open at five -- or tomorrow, if you feel you need more time to acclimate yourself. My employees generally arrive around four thirty, but as long as you're here by five, I'm not too strict.

[He always does his best not to appear strict, though in actuality, of course, he might easily be described as uptight and extremely controlling. At the moment, though, she doesn't need to know that. Let her continue to see him as an odd sort of benefactor; it suits his image.]

I am a committed woman; I shall be here at four thirty.

[The empty glass is pushed aside in favour of her purse from which she takes a small wallet, the leather of it clearly rich and soft - high quality. It looks decently full, but of French currency that will do her no good here in this City, so she knows now, of course. Marguerite looks at Meyer with a smile that clearly holds its own intentions. She will need a new dress for tonight. And an apartment to return to afterwards. He is the man to provide, so they have... agreed.]

Perhaps you could arrange for an apartment in my name while I go shopping for a suitable gown, though naturally - I will need money to buy anything at all.

Of course.

[He pulls out his own wallet, which has far more useful money in it, and counts out some of it for her, handing it across the bar.]

This should be enough.

[It's not extravagant, certainly, but he's well aware that nice things require a decent amount of money. With that in mind, he's willing to provide that decent amount of money. He takes the empty glass from the bar and sets it aside, then takes another long drag on his cigarette with that same intent gaze.]

I'll see about an apartment. You find yourself a gown. And we'll see each other at four thirty.

[When he sets aside the glass, she accepts the money and puts it safely away in her wallet. She has no idea of the exact value yet, but trusts his judgement in the matter. It shall prove to be enough or she shan't see herself shy of coming back for more. Marguerite's main concern will always be to feel sated, to feel as if she lives to the fullest and being in the City has so far only enforced this desire. Here, where everything but Armand's presence feels possible. She steps back and curtsies, deeply as one would for one's benefactor, before straightening up and looking towards the exit.]

Your generosity is much appreciated.

[He smiles a little at the curtsy -- not exactly the way he's used to being shown respect, but he'll take it -- and then nods. He won't try to convince her that it's not 'generosity,' per se, that's led him to pursue her as an employee. If she wants to see it that way, that's fine by him. In actuality, it's entirely selfish.]

And your agreement to work here is much appreciated.

[That, at least, is true. She'll be an asset, and he already knows it. Maybe that's why, even as she's headed towards the exit, there's still that little, self-satisfied smile on his face.]

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