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Frank was a terribly sharp dresser, Sadie had noticed. Even with his distinct lack of funds, he still managed to make his frayed suit jackets and scuffed shoes look as though he'd just stepped from the pages of one of the glossier magazine spreads. His ties were always just so, his socks always matched his pocket square, and his hair, while ruffled, was always attractively so. He was a very put-together gentleman, as a result of people having looked down on him for so long, and thus made a point of never ever appearing disheveled. Unless a monster got particularly out of hand, of course.
And she’d never seen him look any other way, until one night after they’d uncovered a particularly ancient bottle of moonshine in a liquor store downtown. Frank had thought it was exorbitantly priced, but Sadie had insisted (“It’s almost as good as rum of unknown origin, Frank!”) and had bought it at once. They should have known it would be stronger than usual, but they knocked back their drinks in the usual fashion, until they were quite sure they’d go blind if they had another drop. Frank had tugged once, twice, several times at his collar, his forehead slightly damp, until he proclaimed that buttons were the devil’s own invention and layers were society’s way of shackling the proletariat to its tweed-covered capitalist machine, and finally took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
Sadie was already fanning herself (the moonshine was at least 150 proof, after all), and the bottle was half gone, but the room got distinctly hotter when she saw Frank’s forearms, dotted with scars and swirled over with arcane tattoos, and she nearly swooned when he unbuttoned his collar and loosened his tie.
She sat back on the chaise lounge and watched him run a hand though his hair. He looked so rugged, so rumpled for perhaps the only time in his life in front of another human. Amazingly, he flicked open another button and completely undid his tie, the ends of it dangling in a shockingly laid-back fashion. In what was certainly the understatement of the century, she said, “Frank darling, you have me quite stunned."
“Oh?” Frank blinked rapidly and looked over at her, his glass dangling casually from his fingertips. Then he blinked some more, because Sadie Parker sprawled coquettishly on a chaise lounge in a slip was a sight one could fantasize about but never expect to become real. “Oh."
Sadie smiled and bit the corner of her bottom lip. “Come over here, Mister Doyle, and let’s see if we can get you a little more disheveled."
x
Sadie was a terribly sophisticated dresser. Frank had known this since the beginning, since even before they began dating, back when her face was all over the society pages without his to accompany it. Her pearls, her stunning coiffure, her heels that matched her accessories, her perfectly paired undergarments (black satin was the usual, but sometimes there were saucier things involved) — everything just so, and everything setting her off to her best advantage. Which admittedly wasn’t hard; Sadie Parker could make tin foil look glamorous. There was never a bracelet lost or a hair ornament out of place, unless a spirit got particularly out of hand. But to be honest, even then it was hard to get her so incensed that something that drastic happened.
And he’d never seen her any other way, until their relationship had gotten serious and he’d stayed the night — not to engage in activities where the saucier undergarments were worn, mind. Just so he could be with Sadie.
He was sitting up in bed, flipping through the pages of an archaeology magazine, when Sadie wandered into the room and sat down at her bureau. His eyes immediately flicked up from the article he’d been reading, distracted by the sight of a relaxed, casual Sadie in a white jersey robe.
She yawned and fastidiously took off her makeup, swiping the damp cloth gently over every inch of her face before taking up a little pot and daubing on what Frank assumed was some sort of lotion or cream, rubbing it into her skin until it disappeared. Then she unpinned and carefully brushed out her long, dark hair, counting each stroke and sounding very satisfied when she finished (“One hundred!”). As she brushed, she caught sight of Frank looking at her and smiled. “What is it, Frankenstein?"
You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You’re elegant from the top of your head to the very arches of your feet. You make my heart stop. I’m quite sure I’ve forgotten how to breathe. I cannot believe I get to sleep next to you tonight. Everything else pales in comparison to you. I'm such a fool for not finding you sooner. I'm not sure if I'm imagining you sometimes? You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of come to life. You feel like home.
“… I love you."
“As I love you, my Frank. Now, put your magazine away and pour us a nightcap.” She yawned again, and delicately covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, excuse me."
Then she climbed into bed and curled against his side, and Frank wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to sleep without her again.