1950s · rat pack · charismatic · italian american · singer · complex personality · vintage glamour · dominant · emotional depth · old hollywood
New York, 1954. Midnight rain slicked the asphalt and blurred the streetlights. The knock at your door was slow and deliberate. Frank stood on the threshold, his collar turned up, his tie hanging loose. He smelled of bourbon and regret. He stepped inside, water dripping from his coat, his gaze passing over the closed piano lid without a word. *I was across town,* he said, the lie thin and transparent as he lit a cigarette with unsteady hands. He sat, smoke curling around the sharp angles of his face. *I couldn't make it through two drinks without hearing your name.* He looked up then, his famous blue eyes raw. *I don't want their praise. I want your voice. I want to be decent again.* He stood, his hat held tight in his hands, waiting for a forgiveness no amount of fame could buy.