Such a Dance (25 page)

“Fascinating Rhythm”

L
ane woke up to silence. His bedroom felt like it was doused in a blanket, like the softness of the city after a snowstorm. He rolled over, looking for Eddie, and found the other half of the bed empty. That, coupled with the silence, worried him enough to force him out of bed. He was most of the way through buttoning up his trousers while simultaneously walking through the living room when the key jiggled in the lock. Eddie came in, carrying a paper sack and a newspaper, wearing a grim expression on his face.

At first, Lane was relieved that the silence hadn’t meant something—be it Eddie himself or some outside force—had taken Eddie from him, but it was clear something had happened. “What is it?” Lane asked.

“You should see this.” Eddie handed over the newspaper.

The headline read, G
ANGSTER
G
UNNED
D
OWN
IN
M
IDTOWN
.

“Has a cadence to it,” Lane murmured after he read it out loud.

“Read the article,” said Eddie.

And there it was in the first paragraph: David Epstein’s body had been found riddled with bullets in a stairwell at the Hotel Astor. There were no witnesses that police could find, although the best theory of the crime was a Mafia turf fight.

Lane had some theories of his own. Perhaps the Giambino family was cleaning house after all the raids.

The news was a punch to the gut, but he didn’t have much time to contemplate what this could mean in the larger scheme of things, because just then, there was a knock at the door. Lane pressed a hand to his bare chest and then held a finger to his lips to silence Eddie. There was another knock, followed by, “Carillo! Let me in!”

Callahan.

Lane went to the door and looked through the peephole. Callahan stood there, his hand conspicuously tucked into his inside jacket pocket. His arm flexed, revealing the butt of his gun. Lane glanced back at Eddie, his heart racing now. Eddie stared back, wide-eyed.

Lane mimicked firing a gun with his hand. He backed away from the door. “We may have been discovered,” he said softly.

“Who is it? Does he have a gun?” whispered Eddie.

Lane nodded. Worried these might be his last moments, he hooked a hand behind Eddie’s head, pulled him close, and planted a fierce kiss on his lips. “I love you,” he said forcefully. “If something happens, remember that.”

“We’re in danger?” Eddie said.

Lane nodded. “I think we are.”

Eddie nodded back. “I love you, too.”

Callahan pounded on the door again. “Geez, Lane. I don’t mean any harm. Let me in.”

Lane went to the door. He opened it a crack. “Pass me your gun.”

Callahan’s eyes went wide. “Is that what you think of me? You think, after all the years we’ve worked together, I would shoot you?”

“Yes. I do think that. Epstein’s dead. You come to my door and show me your gun. There’s no telling what you will do.”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“The gun, Nick.”

Callahan grimaced. He reached into his coat and pulled out the gun. Instead of passing it through the door, he turned it on Lane. “How do I know you won’t pull something?”

“You came to me. This is my home. I don’t know if I can trust you or not. But you’re accusing me of trying to pull something? You want to come in, you give me the gun. Otherwise leave.”

Callahan grunted and handed over the gun.

Lane unloaded the weapon as he walked back into his living room. Callahan followed him in and closed the door. Lane glanced at Eddie, who shifted back and forth on his feet, taking in the scene. Eddie’s gaze was glued to the gun.

Lane turned back around and stared at Callahan, who was looking back and forth between Lane’s naked chest and Eddie. Callahan was a smart man and had spent enough time around the Marigold to know what was going on here. Lane wasn’t sure he cared about Callahan’s judgment.

“What do you want?” Lane asked. “I get the feeling you’re not here to discuss business plans.”

“Luchesi wants a meeting.”

Of course he did. Beyond being the man most likely to take over Epstein’s holdings, Luchesi was a distant cousin of Lane’s, his highest-ranking Mafia relative after his deceased cousin John. Blood was thicker than water, Lane supposed, and nowhere more so than in
La Cosa Nostra
.

“He tell you what the topic of this meeting might be?” Lane asked Callahan.

“Nope. I was just sent to give you the message.”

Lane nodded and looked at the gun. “I don’t suppose he mentioned anything about his faggot cousin who ran the club for fairies and failed to pay off the local law enforcement enough to keep the place open.”

Callahan glanced at Eddie. “He didn’t say anything like that. He didn’t say anything. I was just supposed to tell you there was a meeting.” He looked at the floor for a moment then back up at Lane. “I get why you’re spooked. This life was hard enough when Hardy was our biggest problem. But he’s a drop in the bucket. You hear what I’m saying?”

Lane started to pace, completely unsure of what to do. Callahan was right; if the Mafia thought Lane had made a big enough mess by inviting a certain clientele to his club or not paying the police enough not to raid or, worse, that he’d betrayed them somehow by staying loyal to Epstein—who, after all, was not actually family—he was in far more danger now than he ever was at the hands of guys like Hardy. Lane knew of Mafia soldiers who had vanished for milder offenses. So Lane could go to this meeting, appeal to Luchesi’s sense of family, and ask to be let go. He could go to the meeting and pretend that everything was hunky-dory, and then quietly leave the city—with Eddie, of course. He could rejoin the family business, do their bidding, go along to get along. He could run another club or take over a bootlegging operation. Or he could just avoid the meeting and let what would come next happen.

Or he could just get shot in the head.

But all of that was much easier when he had nothing to lose, when his life felt like it was worth nothing. Now it was worth something. Now he meant something to Eddie, now Eddie meant something to him. He couldn’t put himself at risk like that anymore. Certainly any of those options could lead to a bullet in Lane’s brain.

He paced while he worked all this out and felt both Eddie’s and Callahan’s gazes on him the whole time.

“He was using you,” Callahan said quietly.

“Come again?”

“Epstein’s not family. He grew up in Five Points and ran around with Giambino and Luchesi and Luciano and those guys and they all became friends, so when Prohibition happened and the Mafia got into the bootlegging business, Luchesi found a job for Epstein in the organization. But Epstein’s not Sicilian.”

Lane nodded. He knew this; despite the power Epstein had amassed over the last five years, he’d never rise higher than the rank of associate. He’d never be a
caporegime
.

“Look, I’m just a hired man. I’m not family, either. But you are,” Callahan said. “You were Epstein’s real link into the family. He used you to accomplish what he wanted. He wanted to supply Times Square with booze. He wanted to own the hottest nightspots. He wanted to make a fortune. So he befriended a half-dozen made men and manipulated them up the ranks so that they would do his work for him, so that his wishes would be fulfilled by family members. And you, Lane, are family. He basically made you a
capo
so that you could do his bidding.”

“But I didn’t want—“

“It never mattered what you wanted. You were Epstein’s eyes, ears, and arms in the family. And whoever killed him will probably come after the people he used next. You’re not safe.”

“Shit,” said Lane, rubbing his forehead, knowing that what Callahan said was true.

Callahan glanced at Eddie again. “What you do on your own time is on your conscience, but you know that Luchesi is a religious man.”

Callahan’s implication was clear as day to Lane: Luchesi would not be supportive of Lane’s relationship with Eddie. This was not news to Lane. “When is the meeting?”

Callahan let out a breath. “Week from tomorrow. In Brooklyn.” He gave Lane the details.

Lane’s instincts told him this was bad. “You think Luchesi had anything to do with what happened to Epstein?” What he was really asking was whether this was a setup, because that was how it felt. Lane had been to plenty of these meetings with the head of his family, usually there as extra muscle to shake down somebody else. Lane had always toed the family line and had never done anything to earn the organization’s enmity; except now, he’d run a club for Epstein that the family did not approve of. If the perception was that Lane was Epstein’s patsy, the warehouse in Brooklyn to which Lane had been called would be a good place to take care of him. So to speak.

“I honestly don’t know if Luchesi’s involved or not in what happened to Epstein,” said Callahan. “Cops think it was a rival family. The Masseria family wants a piece of Times Square.”

But that wasn’t necessarily the real explanation. Lane knew better than to think it was that easy. Yes, it could have been a rival family who took out Epstein in order to get a hold of his turf. There was a lot of money to be made in Times Square. But it could also be a member of Lane’s own family, Luchesi or Giambino one of the other bosses who thought Epstein was getting too powerful. If this was the case, Lane might have been okay, as a bona fide member of the family—family took care of their own. But would they take care of their queer cousin? Lane was not sure of that.

“Thank you, Callahan.”

Callahan stepped toward the door. “You going to give me my gun back?”

Lane’s own weapon was locked up in the closet, but Callahan had a better piece. “I think I’ll keep it.”

Callahan grimaced. “Fine. I’ve been instructed to escort you to the meeting next week, so I’ll meet you here an hour before. All right?”

“All right.” Although Lane wasn’t at all sure he’d be there to meet Callahan.

“Be careful, Lane.” Callahan nodded once and then let himself out.

“Someone to Watch Over Me”

T
here was so much trash in Eddie’s room at the Knickerbocker that he began to suspect he could get everything that actually mattered into one box.

He supposed it didn’t help much that the room had been ransacked while Eddie had been away. Someone had left a Bible on the desk opened to the relevant passage in Leviticus about man lying with man. Eddie had been so furious when he’d seen it that he’d slapped the book closed and pushed it onto the floor. It fell, and Lane had spent a good minute staring at it.

“What?” Eddie had asked.

Lane just pointed. The book had fallen open to the title page, where someone had written in pencil, “Property of Tony Carillo.”

“Another cousin of yours?” Eddie asked.

Lane nodded. “Guess they know about us.”

Eddie hated the situation. He’d been jumpy for the last couple of days, expecting some member of Lane’s “family” to appear with a gun. Eddie no longer had that death wish that had plagued him after he’d lost his job with the Doozies, which made the situation all the more alarming. Even riding the elevated train up to 42nd Street had been a little scary, with Eddie worried any of the men in coats too heavy for the weather could be holding the gun meant to be fired into Lane’s skull. And Eddie could not imagine what he would do without Lane. If Lane were gone, Eddie’s life really would be nothing.

Lane kept saying he wasn’t bothered by the situation, but Eddie didn’t believe him. Lane had been short with him lately, quicker to anger. They’d been going to sleep earlier and turning the lights off in the apartment often, perhaps to fool anyone who might be hovering outside into thinking that they were hardly ever there.

After a few days of that, Eddie realized that his life had turned a corner. It would never be what it was. Maybe he’d get a job dancing, but it would never be in one of the big shows, not if he stayed in New York. And God knew he couldn’t stay in Times Square, not with the stress of wondering who was about to do in Lane. And as for Lane, well, it turned out Eddie loved him even more than he loved performing. If he broke his leg tomorrow and could never dance again, well, he’d get by, but if he lost Lane, Eddie would be lost for good.

So he couldn’t keep on as he was. He couldn’t keep pretending that his lot would improve, that there would be an opening in the perfect show, because as more time passed, that was less likely to ever happen. So now he had a choice: stay with Lane and make some significant changes to his life or leave Lane and go back to trying to get a job. It wasn’t that hard a choice in the end.

Now Eddie watched Lane fold and neatly stack his clothing into an old trunk for a moment. He was about to turn back to his piles of sheet music when there was a knock at the door.

A jolt of fear went through Eddie, like maybe one of Lane’s Mob pals was here to get his Bible back. He went to the door and looked through the peephole. Not mobsters, but Julian and that working boy Lane had hired for the Marigold. Eddie let them in.

“Eddie, darling, thank God you’re here.” Julian buzzed into the room, the kid on his heels.

Julian looked his age, was Eddie’s first thought. He wore a worried expression and no makeup. His hat was tipped at a precarious angle, but it hid his dyed hair. Eddie had never seen him this naked; he’d seen Julian’s naked body, of course, but he had never seen Julian dressed this plainly, with no makeup mask, no affected airs.

“I wasn’t sure where else to go,” Julian said plainly, and there was something different about his voice, too. It was flatter, the sing-song quality gone.

“What happened?” asked Lane.

Julian looked startled, like he wasn’t expecting anyone else to be in the room. He nodded and said, “The O’Sullivans are kicking me out because I’ve been letting Frank stay with me, which I knew was against the rules. I have until tomorrow morning to find another place to live.”

Eddie looked at Lane, already knowing what he would do. Lane pursed his lips and looked at the half-full trunk. Then he sighed and pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket.

“Are you . . .” Julian looked around the room. “You’re leaving, too,” he said to Eddie.

Eddie nodded. “Can’t afford to stay here anymore. Not if no one will hire me.”

Lane handed the piece of paper to Julian. “That’s my address. You come there tonight and we’ll figure something out.”

Eddie laughed, though he didn’t feel much mirth. That was exactly what he’d expected Lane to do. “Your apartment will become Lane’s Home for Wayward Queers.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Lane repeated.

 

Lane didn’t want to leave New York. He had only been there for five years, but it felt like his home in a way Illinois never had.

So maybe instead of fleeing the city he could hide in plain sight.

After he and Eddie got all of Eddie’s things moved into Lane’s apartment, Lane excused himself to make a phone call. The connection took so long Lane was convinced it wouldn’t go through—he hadn’t had a phone long and still found the technology a little suspect—but then Clarence was speaking.

“Your George. He knows people,” Lane said after they greeted each other.

“What do you mean?”

“Up in Harlem. At the clubs and speakeasies up there. When we went to the Doozies, you said George knew people, that he could tell me where to go.”

“Do you want to go up to Harlem with us? Is that what you’re asking?”

“Not exactly. Let’s just say . . . I haven’t been in a while. But maybe we can go before the end of this week.” That seemed to be the date of Lane’s death sentence. The more time passed, the more Lane was convinced no one intended for him to leave his meeting with the Giambino family heads alive. “You and George, me and my . . .” He wasn’t sure what to call Eddie.

Clarence gasped. “You have someone!”

“Well, yes. I literally just moved him into my place.”

“Oh, that’s delightful news. I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Later this week?”

“Yes. Let me consult with George. I’ll get word to you. There’s this marvelous little hooch parlor on 132nd Street. I think it will be right up your alley.”

 

Lane had the beginnings of a plan by the time Julian and Frank arrived that night with their few belongings.

He’d piled blankets on the floor, thinking Julian and Frank could fashion a pallet of sorts to sleep on, at least for that night. Eddie hovered, and Lane could feel his disapproval. He opted to ignore Eddie and made sure Julian and Frank were comfortable.

“I really do thank you, Lane,” Julian said, his face composed in a way it wasn’t usually, a furrowed-brow serious expression that was markedly different from the carefree, nothing-can-get-me-down grin he usually wore. “I don’t have the words to express my gratitude at everything you’ve done for me. I truly thank you.”

“It’s not a problem,” said Lane, feeling a little bashful at the compliments.

“You guys are really great,” Julian went on. “You too, Eddie, though you continue to scowl at me. I love you as a dear friend, you know, even if you are a grump.”

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest and
humph
ed. “Yeah. I guess you ain’t so bad.”

That was as close as Lane thought Eddie would get to telling Julian he cared.

“All right, boys. You need something to eat or drink, there’s the kitchen. There’s not much, but help yourselves. Water closet’s over there. You need anything else?”

Julian fussed with the pillows and blankets while Frank stood there rubbing his eyes. “No, darling,” said Julian “This will be fine.”

Lane chose that moment to retire himself, dragging Eddie to the bedroom with him.

Eddie said sternly, “No funny business out there,” to Julian before Lane closed the bedroom door.

“I know it’s not ideal,” Lane said once they were alone, “but I don’t have a better solution. Do you?”

Eddie frowned. “It’s not just Julian. I don’t like any of this.”

Lane understood. It had felt lately like the whole city was falling down around them. “What if we left?” he said, mostly as a way to test the idea, to throw it out there, to see how Eddie would react.

“What?” Eddie said, his eyes wide.

Lane was so tired of all of it. “Bang Luchesi. Bang the Knickerbocker. Bang the all-holy New York Police Department. Bang New York City. Bang it all. We can get away from everything, you know. We can go to Boston, Chicago, California, anywhere. What’s holding us here? Families that don’t want us? Jobs that fired us?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Wasn’t that the easiest solution? Getting out of New York, changing their names, escaping the Mob. Maybe Eddie could be in moving pictures, dance on the big screen. Maybe Lane could run a legit restaurant. Maybe they could do something else entirely with their lives. That was a whole lot of maybe, but it was better than the certainty that their lives as they had been in New York were falling apart. “I am dead serious, Eddie.”

“How can you think about leaving New York? How could I? I’ve lived here my whole life. This city, it’s my home, my life. I can’t just pick up and move.”

“It’s not that I want to leave—”

“And what about Marian? What about the clowns in your living room? We can’t just take off and leave them here.”

Lane couldn’t help but smile at the conviction in Eddie’s voice. Despite his disapproval, Lane knew Eddie had a bit of a soft spot for the men currently making the most of the hard floor of Lane’s living room. “We take them with us. All of them. Julian and Frank and Marian, too.”

Eddie’s jaw dropped. “Can you afford that?”

That reminded Lane that Eddie was almost out of money. Lane wasn’t, but paying Hardy not to arrest him hadn’t helped matters. “Probably not. It was just a thought. I have another idea.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide as he stared at Lane. “My head is spinning. Another idea? What ideas could there be? Your family is coming for us.”

“I know what I just said, but what if we . . . hid? Here in New York.”

“Is that even safe? With your family members leaving Bibles for me in my own home? Jesus, Lane, you as much as told me you think they intend to kill you at this meeting. Do you want to stay here waiting around for them to do that?”

Lane paced a little, taking the time to gather his thoughts. “You know, the one thing the Mob always emphasized was family. You’re a member of the family, you belong. You’ve got a job if you need one. I don’t think they
want
to kill one of their own. But Epstein, Luchesi? Even Giambino or Tony Carillo? Those guys? None of them are really my family. We’ve got the same blood, maybe, but I was always the cousin from the Midwest whose father didn’t want to be part of the family. Plus I’m the queer one.” He took a deep breath. “But you, Eddie, you and a couple of the guys I’ve worked with over the years and even Julian, the people I worked with at the Marigold, the friends I made. You guys are my real family. We’re the way a family is supposed to be. We care for each other without needing anything in return. And Marian is your family. I know she’s like a sister.”

Eddie let out a huff of a breath. “That’s a nice speech, but it doesn’t solve the problem.”

“I thought maybe I could keep working for the Mob. I could negotiate something to keep us safe. But we’d never be safe and that’s no solution. One bad business deal, and that’s it, we’re facing the muzzle of a gun again.” Lane took a deep breath. “But if we find a new place to live, even if it’s in the city, if we stay away from the police and stay away from the Mob, we might be all right. It’s not . . . it’s not a perfect solution, but it’s the best I can come up with.”

Eddie looked at him warily.

“And,” Lane continued, “anyone who needs a home, anyone who needs a family, they can come with us wherever we go. Together, we’ll figure it out.”

Lane turned to look Eddie in the face. Eddie glanced toward the door and then looked back at Lane. Their eyes met. Eddie sputtered before he spoke. “Well, all right. I’ll bite. Where is this magical hidden place in the city you have in mind?”

“I’m still working on that, but it’s definitely not Times Square. I’ve been calling people I know. We could go to Harlem or Queens. We can get lost in the queer communities there. Those neighborhoods aren’t as conspicuous as Times Square, not nearly as Mob-controlled. These places have opportunities for us.”

Eddie frowned. “All right. If you think so.”

Not the enthusiastic response Lane had been hoping for, but it was something. Lane made himself smile. “It’s not a perfect solution and there will still be danger for us, but I don’t want to leave New York either, and this is the best I can come up with.
La Cosa Nostra
may decide that if I disappear, it’s good riddance.”

Eddie looked up, his gaze meeting Lane’s. His eyes were a little red. “I just . . . if I lost you, I don’t know how I would . . .”

Surprised by the sudden display of emotion, Lane reached over and put his arms around Eddie. “Trust me, Eddie. Trust me to keep us safe. I’ll find a way.”

Eddie hesitated for a moment, but then he put his arms around Lane. “All right. I trust you.”

Lane knew how hard it was for Eddie to trust him, and he appreciated the sentiment all the more for it. “Tell me you love me, Eddie.”

Eddie laughed softly and shook his head. “I love you, Lane. I’m a goddamn fool to love you, but I do anyway.”

Lane closed the space between them and pulled Eddie into his arms. “That’s all that matters, you know. Here, Harlem, even California, as long as we’re together, nothing else matters.”

Eddie pressed his face against Lane’s neck. Lane savored the feeling of their bodies pressed together. “I do love you, Lane. More than I ever thought I could love anyone.”

“I love you, too, Eddie, you old fool.”