–Eye on Everett —

The “Museo,” Steve Wynn’s mansion in Las Vegas.

Blue Suit opens up about Steve Wynn, mayor, FBI


The mayor’s Blue Suit and I shared quite a discussion earlier this week.

He called from the mayor’s mansion on Abbott Avenue, from inside the mayor’s closet.

“Josh, we need to talk,” he said to me when he called.

“The mayor is out. God knows where he’s gone. Thank God he isn’t wearing me. You can’t imagine what it’s like. I cringe each time he goes to sit down. It’s worse when he sits on a sofa than a firm chair. Either way, its torture.”

“I’m ready,” I answered the Blue Suit.

“Let it all hang out, my man.”

The Blue Suit started in with a discussion about a recent call the mayor received from Steve Wynn that he overheard. “Hey, Carlo my brother, my friend for life, the man who shed a tear for me at the grand opening just a year ago. How the hell are you, buddy, my pal,” I heard Wynn say to Carlo, his Blue Suit said to me.

The mayor answered Wynn with amazement in a heavy Massachusetts accent, kind of half mumbling and bungling words as he tends to do, the Blue Suit recalled.

“Yuh. Good. Yuh. Wow! Steve, how ah ya? Great to heah from ya. Whad’s up my man?” He said other things to Steve, but it was such a jumble of half spoken words and thoughts with no beginning or end and making no sense that I don’t think Steve heard him or cared much. Steve only cares about himself, the Blue Suit added.

The mayor’s home on Abbott Street.

“Carlo. I have some great news for you,” Wynn said in his signature suave voice, smooth as fine brandy, clear and concise language flowing out of him like fine champagne being poured into a crystal glass.

“Yah. Yah. Great news, ya say? Yah. Yah. Afta the holiday I need some good news, Steve.”

“I heard about those gorgeous professional basketball nets

and stanchions you got from Catholic Memorial High School. Nice move, Carlo. Kind of a Steve Wynn move except I would have paid!” Wynn said to him.

“Carlo laughed.” His laughter made the Blue Suit feel uncomfortable.

“Carlo didn’t think that was funny,” said the Blue Suit. “Come on, Carlo. I was just kidding,” Wynn said. “After all, you and me and Donald Trump – we all know

how to enjoy ourselves, don’t we?” Wynn let out a hearty laugh.

“Yah. Yah. Steve. We do. But I’m not like the president. I don’t like him.”

“What do you mean, Carlo? If you don’t like the Donald, you don’t like yourself. The Donald has had plenty of expensive and embarrassing run-ins with the other sex. The whole country knows about them. I’ve had mine. You’ve had yours. We’re all in the same club, aren’t we?” Wynn asked.

“Yah. Yah.” Carlo said. “Yah. Yah. Steve.”

“What’s the good news?”

“Carlo, I’m selling my mansion in Las Vegas. I’ll probably net about $20 million on it. That’s a lot of chips, Carlo. Believe me, a lot of chips. And you know what I’m planning?” “No Steve. Tell me, Steve. You know I can keep a secret.”

“Oh really, Carlo. That’s not what my private investigators told me the FBI had to say about you…just kidding, Carlo. Don’t be so serious. We’re buddies. You cried for me when everyone else was calling me a sexual degenerate. That counts for something. Don’t you think?” Wynn said to him.

Steve cleared his throat. Carlo took a big breath.

“My wife and I want to move to Everett, to Abbott Avenue. We want a mansion abutting the cemetery like where you have yours. You and I, Carlo, we’re the types who need a mansion!” Wynn said enthusiastically.

“Someone like you, Steve would have to buy and to tear down the entiah street, nearly one side of Abbott Avenue from Elm Street to the end of it to have the kind of space you need for a mansion.”

“I’m flattahed you want to live near me. Wow. That’s sumthin.”

A home Las Vegas owned by Steve Wynn.

“Think of the fun we could have, Carlo. You and I could drive around Broadway and Main Street in one of my twelve Rolls Royces and fly to Las Vegas with friends on my 747. We can eat 24 ounce steaks every night with mashed potatoes doused with sour cream and butter, just the way you like it or do the buffet. Plus, I want to do Aruba with you. I want to know what your fascination is with Aruba. I heard you took five or six vacations there last year, like 75 days of vacation someone told me. Is the attraction the place at the end of the beach? I know it well, Carlo. We could have a great time there. I know everyone there. I can buy the placed if you want.”

“Steve, I have a confession to make. I don’t eat 24 ounce stakes anymoah. I’ve cut down to 14 ouncers. I’m tryin’ to control my weight,” the mayor said to him.

“Are you still wearing that same old blue suit,” Wynn asked him, the Blue Suit told me he heard.

The Blue Suit said to me he almost cried.

“Why does Steve Wynn have to make fun of me? Isn’t making fun of Carlo enough for him?”

“And that talk about Steve Wynn moving to Abbott Avenue. Is anyone in their right mind going to believe that? I think Carlo believed him. Then again, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with living on Abbott Avenue even if you’re Steve Wynn. More than that, there are many people living on Abbott Avenue who want no part of Steve Wynn or the casino he brought to Everett.”

I asked the Blue Suit: “Did they talk about the casino?” “Yes, they did.”

“Wynn told Carlo the place was a failure, not at all what it would have been if he, Steve, hadn’t been thrown out of his own business by the Wall Street Journal’s investigative report.

“Can you imagine them claiming I enjoyed naked manicures? I know that’s the truth but just because it’s the truth doesn’t give them the right to publish it,” Steve added.

“Matt Maddox will sell the place. You can bet on it. It isn’t the right thing for Boston the way he did it,” Wynn said to Carlo.

“Ah you throwin Maddox undah the bus?” Carlo asked him.

“You bet I am. Who knows better than you how to toss people under the bus after you’ve used them for everything, they can give back to you?” Wynn added.

“You give me much too much credit, Steve.”

“I don’t give you enough credit, Carlo. Remember all those chips I gave you way back? You gambled them all away in a two hour frenzy. Have you got your gambling under control?” he asked Carlo.

“Are you still going over to the North End to play cards with the bad boys or are they all social distancing!!!!”

The Blue Suit told me he heard Wynn laughing and coughing, slapping his knees with his hands trying to catch his breath.

“Think of those guys you play cards with social distancing,” he said again.

“Yah. Yah,” as you like to say, Carlo.

“Yah. Yah.”

The Blue Suit said Carlo came home in a bad mood.

“I’ll call you back when I have the chance, Josh.”

“Thanks buddy. Don’t get worn out!” I told the Blue Suit.

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