Chapter 8
Hey everyone, a relatively short chapter compared to the last one. Taoist_yuri commented on Liz and Ruth's relationship, and I thought I would give a small look into how Liz is dealing with it. Not a lot, but some. I also added some things about Ruth's family on her mother's side. While the mom and stepfather don't play any real role in the story, her brother and sister will down the line. Not sure what just yet, but they will start showing up more later on in the story.
Oh, and tell me your thoughts on the 4th actor in the upcoming movie. Took me a while to choose, and while I could ignore a lot of history to a point. Some of it I can't. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the chapter and intel next time. Have a good day.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen! As always, I am your host, Michael Franzese, and today I'm excited to answer some questions from my fans. I have a fantastic one from Andrew, who asks, 'Michael, I've heard many different stories about this, but can't seem to find a straight answer. So I was wondering, do you know how Ruth 'Lucky' Luciano got her nickname?
Leaning forward and taking a moment to consider how to answer the question, Michael said, "Well, Andrew, that is an excellent question. As many of you know, I have known Ruth for many, many years. In fact, what some of you may not know is that she is my Godmother. She and my father were very close and had known each other for years."
Now, with that said, I honestly am not sure how she got her nickname. Ruth is a storyteller, and I can tell you that at least half the stories you've heard are ones she came up with. However, I want to share my favorite story about her —one my father told me.
I don't know where he heard it, but according to the story, when Ruth was around the age of 10, she was visiting her father during a Commission meeting. At some point, Ruth became bored and wandered off, eventually coming across Al Capone, Albert Anastasia, Frank Costello, and Carlo Gambino playing cards. Now, many of you may not know this, but Ruth was actually very close to Al Capone back in the day. She even wrote him letters while he was in jail.
This is where the story varies depending on who tells it, but according to my father, Ruth approached these men and asked to play a hand. Al Capone, liking her, gave her $500 to buy in, and she proceeded to win big. Some say she took them for $10,000; others say it was $50,000. I don't know the exact amount, but as the story goes, when her father came to fetch her, Ruth got up, left all the money she had won on the table, and then kissed each of the men on the cheek, thanking them for playing with her. Legend has it that Al Capone remarked, 'She is lucky like her father,' and from that point on, the nickname 'Lucky' stuck.
Now, I'm not sure if this story is true, but I personally like it because it illustrates that, even back then, Ruth was both fearless and smart. She won a significant sum of money from some very dangerous men but was clever enough not to keep it, earning their goodwill in the process. Perhaps I'm overanalyzing it, but what I do know is that it was Albert Anastasia who gave her another one of her famous nicknames: the Mafia Princess. I think that speaks volumes about her." – Podcast SitDown with Michael Franzese.
-1939-
-Lizabeth Virginia Scott POV-
As I looked out the window of my first-class train car, I let out a deep breath, overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. These feelings were confusing and conflicting, and I realized I was ill-prepared to handle them. My Catholic upbringing had not equipped me for what I was currently experiencing. From the outside, I appeared to be happy. I was on the verge of starring in my first-ever movie alongside Hedy Lamarr, Alan Ladd, and a man named Humphrey DeForest Bogart. Additionally, I was in a loving relationship with a wonderful, caring person whom I loved deeply.
However, as wonderful as everything seemed, there was a significant issue: the person in question was a woman—more specifically, perhaps the most insufferable woman in the world. Ruth had all the qualities I could hope for in a romantic partner. She was caring, loving, easy to talk to, highly intelligent, attractive, and ambitious, with a strong hint of danger about her—qualities that reflected both her father and the environment in which she grew up.
Yes, it was safe to say that I was powerless against her charm when I met her that night outside the Martin Beck Theatre. From the first moment I saw and spoke to her, I knew she was the one. She was the one I was meant to be with, and yet, she was a woman. That was the one thing keeping me from giving her my all, no matter how much I wanted to.
Looking down at the ring on my finger, I smile. It is a lovely silver ring with a diamond heart—a gift for our first anniversary that cost God knows how much and serves as a reminder of why Ruth could be so insufferable. Ruth never did things the way other people did or the way she was told to do them; it simply wasn't in her nature. So, when I said no gifts for our anniversary, as she called it, she naturally went out and got me a diamond ring. Ruth couldn't help herself, and I couldn't help but smile at the sight of it, my gift, despite knowing I should have said no when she gave it to me.
Don't get me wrong; I was angry at her for buying me what was clearly an expensive gift with money she didn't have at the time. Hit movie or not, from what Ruth had told her, Lucky Pictures had bought itself some time, and that was all. It would all come down to the next film she made, which would determine whether she would survive. So, she really shouldn't have been spending money on me, but that was just Ruth.
As I glanced at the ring I was wearing on my ring finger, I thought, "Jesus, it looks like an engagement ring at worst and a promise ring at best."
Playing with it a bit, I mused, "I'll have to change fingers before I get home. God knows how Mom and Dad will react to seeing a ring on my finger."
"If they found out it was from a woman, they would disown me, at best," I thought to myself as I gazed back out the window.
I needed to focus. I would be arriving back home in a few hours, and I couldn't let anything show. I just had to smile and play the dutiful daughter. Once I got back to LA, I would worry about what to do next.
I wondered if Ruth would greet me at the door like I had greeted her before, just in her lingerie. God, I still couldn't believe I did that, but the look on Ruth's face when she saw me made it worth the embarrassment of wearing what she had made for me.
"Oh, who am I kidding? She will most likely greet me completely naked," I said out loud in the empty train car.
Suddenly, my eyes widened as I realized where my mind was wandering. Letting out a sigh, I reminded myself that I had to go to church once I got home. God, Ruth really was insufferable. Even away from her, I couldn't help but think about the sinful things I wanted her to do to me and me with her.
-Ruth POV-
"Achoo," I sneeze and wonder if someone was thinking of me.
"Maybe it was Liz. Now wouldn't that be a hoot," I thought to myself as I parked my new car outside a small one-story 3-bedroom wooden house.
The very house I moved out of just last year was a cramped little place. It was much too small for a family of five, but it was the best my stepfather could manage on his dockworker's salary. Honestly, the apartment my mom and I had lived in before she remarried was better than this place. But once she remarried, my father stopped providing financial support, so we couldn't afford anything better.
Not that Michael would have accepted money from my father, even if it had been offered. He may have been fairly open-minded for his time, but he had his pride. This was one of the reasons I tolerated him as well as I did. If he were the type to accept money from my father willingly, he wouldn't have lasted long, and I can assure you of that much.
As I open the door to my car and step out, the high-pitched scream of a little girl fills the air: "LUCKY!!!!"
I look up and see a little girl with red hair, green eyes, and the cutest smile running down the stairs of the house toward me. "My little firefly."
I bend down and open my arms for a hug from my little sister, Penelope O'Devine, who just turned six this year. Of all the things I didn't like about my mother remarrying, she and my little brother, Séan, were not among them. In fact, they were the only good things to come out of it, aside from my mother's happiness.
Once she is in my arms, I lift her up and momentarily wonder how people would react if they knew I got my nickname not so much from my father, but from my sister. When she was two years old, she called me "Lucky." She found the word amusing, and it just stuck.
"Miss me?" I ask with a sweet smile.
Shaking her head, Penelope pouts and replies, "No, you missed Thanksgiving dinner. Momma was upset you didn't show."
"Aww, I'm sorry, my little firefly. I was busy with work," I say.
Was it wrong of me to lie to a child? Maybe, but it felt better than telling her I was avoiding her father, who, like me, she loved a lot.
With a pout that was more cute than intimidating, Penelope exclaimed, "I don't care. You made Momma upset."
"I bought gifts!" I quickly responded, watching her anger fade away like morning mist.
Was it wrong to bribe a child? Perhaps, but if it worked, it worked.
"Come on, help me take them into the house," I said, setting her down before heading to the trunk.
Inside the trunk was a small assortment of gifts I had chosen for my brother, sister, and mother. I even picked up a little something for my stepfather, but only because Penelope would have been upset if I hadn't gotten him anything.
To clarify, I wasn't entirely truthful earlier. The money never actually stopped coming in. My father was a wise man who understood that he might die young or end up in prison one day. To ensure that I would be taken care of, he set up several legal fronts to funnel money into a trust for me. It wasn't a large sum, but it was legitimate money that, even if the IRS investigated, would show nothing amiss. When you add in the gifts and funds I received from my uncle and godfather over the years, I found myself with a nice little nest egg in case my career in the movie business didn't pan out.
After collecting the presents, most of which my little sister was excited to carry herself, we made our way inside the house, where my mother was waiting with my five-year-old brother. I smiled at her as I walked in, taking a moment to take in her appearance. I couldn't help but think I was going to be a Milf when or if I had kids. Here was my mother, approaching 40 but still looking like she was in her late 20s. In a time when many women do not age gracefully, my mother was one of the rare exceptions. To be fair, her life hadn't been as challenging as those of others, and she maintained many of the same exercise routines I followed.
Call it our mother-daughter bonding time. We practiced yoga in all its forms, including face yoga. She also followed the same diet as me and used my homemade face cream and oils. Honestly, I lost count of how many how-to videos my past self had watched, but I was pretty sure I could make a killing in home fitness if I wanted to.
"Mother," I said.
"Ruth, welcome home," she said with a small smile, then hugged me.
I hugged her back for a moment before pulling away.
"Lucky, lucky hug, hug." I hear my handsome little brother's voice below me, look down, and smile.
"My little Hercules," I say with a joyful smile and pick him up.
At only 4 years old, my brother Séan was already showing signs of having my mother's good looks and my stepfather's admittedly strong build. He was already pretty tall for his age, and I had a feeling he would only keep growing, which would serve him well down the line if he wanted to get into show business or something.
"Have you missed me?" I ask
"Yes, did you bring me presents?" Sean asks clearly, only thinking about the gifts I bought, not actually me—little bugger.
"Yes, yes, I bought you gifts, and everyone else something as well," I say, and he cheers.
After putting him back down, I walked inside and looked around. Not spotting Michael, I look at my mom and say, "Is Michael not home?"
Isabella, no longer trying to convince Ruth to call Michael her father like she used to, said, "He had to work a late shift at the docks today. He will be home soon."
"I see," I replied before turning around as if I had just remembered something. "Oh, I brought gifts for him, too."
My mother is a bit surprised by that, but smiles and says. "Thank you, Ruth, but really, you didn't need to do that."
Shrugging my shoulders, I replied, "It's Christmas."
My mother just smiles at this. If it were me, I would probably have commented on missing Thanksgiving, but my mother was too lovely a woman to do that. Plus, she didn't want to start a fight with me over it.
After putting the gifts under the Christmas tree, I follow her into the kitchen. My mother asks, "So, how was your father?"
"How do you know I went to see him?" I reply.
"Because you are here," she says.
I wince a bit at that. Lovely as my mother may be, she could certainly strike back when pushed. She just did it in a way that left me unable to respond.
"I was busy," I say to her, offering a weak excuse she knows isn't convincing.
"Yes, I saw a 6 million dollar box office. Congratulations! The boys must be happy," my mother says to me.
"They are," I say with a smile.
"Your father and his associates must be happy as well," my mother replies, her expression unhappy.
Letting out a sigh, I respond, "Mom, don't start."
My parents may be on speaking terms again after all these years, but my mother never hides her dissatisfaction with my involvement in my father's business. Even though I am not deeply involved in the darker aspects, to her, it still feels too close—too close for comfort. She isn't entirely wrong, but if I want to succeed in Hollywood, I'll need their support.
"What? All I'm saying is that they must have been happy to get their investment back. Tell me how much did you have to give them?" My mother asks.
Knowing she won't let this go unless I answer her, I say, "Three million."
Her eyes widened as she exclaimed, "Three million! Your father took three million from you."
Rolling my eyes, I responded, "Mom, Dad is in jail. He didn't take anything."
Slamming a towel down in frustration, she replied, "Don't give me that, Ruth. We both know that little weasel Meyer answers to your father."
"Mom, that's enough. Don't talk about my godfather like that. If he hadn't helped me, no one else would have." I state clearly.
Taking a deep breath, my mom replies, "You should have been a nurse."
I roll my eyes again. "I am who I am, Mom."
"Honey, I'm home," I hear the unmistakable voice of my mother's husband, Michael.
Giving me one last look, my mother walks off to greet him. As for me, I stay seated, thinking this is going to be a long day.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Later that night, I sat in the living room, listening to the radio as the Ink Spots sang "If I Didn't Care." I had always loved music—jazz, blues, rhythm and blues, and everything in between. It was one of the things I actually connected with in my stepfather. We both shared a passion for music, especially what people referred to as "color music."
Though he was born in Ireland, where the Irish faced significant discrimination from the British, he was surprisingly open-minded. He didn't believe in taking out his anger on the black community, unlike some other Irishmen.
That was another reason I couldn't hate him—along with his impressive record collection. He had everything from Nat King Cole and Cab Calloway to Hazel Scott and lesser-known blues artists like Robert Johnson and Blind Willie Johnson. I had no idea where he acquired those records, but the fact that he owned them spoke volumes about him. Honestly, I think he might have missed his calling as a talent scout.
Hearing footsteps behind me, I glance over and see Michael walking into the living room with a new record in hand. I lean over and turn off the radio as he sets the record on the player. The familiar sounds of "Stormy Weather" by Ethel Waters fill the room.
Taking a seat opposite me, we sit in silence. There isn't much to say. Michael knows I don't particularly like him, but we share a mutual appreciation for music, which gives us some common ground to discuss.
For a while, we simply let the music play until Michael finally says, "She is proud of you, you know."
"I know," I reply.
"She is just worried about the people you're doing business with," Michael continues.
"I'm not," I answer, stating the truth.
Letting out a sigh, Michael says, "Ruth, is it really worth it? Chasing this dream of yours? You already have a hit movie to your name. You can walk away now, and no one would question your decision to do so."
I laugh softly and reply, "You see, that's the problem with you and Mom—you just don't get it. I don't want just a hit movie."
"Then what do you want, Ruth?" Michael asks.
Smiling, I suddenly think of one of my favorite movies, "The World and Everything in It."