Date: February 1996
Location: Snowed-in Motel Bar, North Dakota
Actress: Frances McDormand
Alexander's Status: Quietly financing Fargo through a shell production arm; just wrapped strategic talks for a Marvel buyout amid the comic publisher's bankruptcy tremors
Actress's Status: On location filming Fargo, playing a pregnant police chief in freezing conditions; respected but not yet iconic — her Oscar is still just a whisper on the wind
"North Country Nights"
The snow was a wall. A white, howling fortress pressed up against the grim windows of the Pine Hollow Motor Inn, where a rickety motel bar flickered with yellow light and crackling static from a mounted television. Vinyl booths, a silent bartender, and the hum of an ancient radiator—this wasn't a place for legends. Which is exactly why Frances McDormand noticed him.
He was at the bar, wearing black leather gloves and a charcoal overcoat that looked wildly out of place among the puffy parkas and flannel jackets. His silver-white hair caught the dim light like frost on steel. He nursed a brandy like he'd ordered it centuries ago.
"You know you're not from around here," she said, slipping onto the stool beside him without permission. She'd just wrapped filming for the day—blood squibs, tire tracks, and that pregnant waddle she was starting to perfect. Her coat was open, cheeks flushed from the cold, and there was sawdust on her boots. "Nobody drinks brandy neat in a town that only knows whiskey or beer."
Alexander didn't look at her at first. Just sipped. Then said, in that voice of his—rich as mahogany and twice as heavy, "I'm just visiting an old investment."
Frances tilted her head, recognizing the face. Of course she did. Everyone in the industry did by now, even if they pretended not to.
"You one of the money men behind this circus?" she asked.
"I prefer to think of myself as… the curator of rare tones," he said, finally turning to face her fully. "And this film has a tone I haven't heard in a long, long time."
She laughed—short, dry, a puff of smoke and defiance. "It's got accents thick enough to slice with a chainsaw, and more silence than dialogue. Real crowd-pleaser."
"Silence is profitable," he said. "Especially when the world forgets how to listen."
She studied him. Not just the face — though it was hard not to — but the posture, the stillness. The kind of man who had nothing to prove and everything to orchestrate. His presence was clean power — like he could shut down the whole town with a phone call but didn't find it necessary.
"So why this?" she asked, warming her hands around the brandy he'd ordered for her before she'd even sat down. "You've got Tarantino, Pulp Fiction money, superhero whispers. Why the frozen wasteland with a knocked-up cop and a wood chipper?"
He leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice.
"Because justice, when it comes from a small woman with decency and a badge, is more terrifying to men in power than a thousand men in tights."
Frances blinked. For a moment, she forgot she was in character. She forgot the cold. She forgot the biting wind outside and the camera setups that had numbed her bones all week.
"Jesus," she muttered. "You talk like you're writing your own gospel."
Alexander smirked. "Aren't we all?"
They talked for hours. About genre, about the subtle terror of midwestern politeness, about the way the Coens handled absurdity with surgical calm. She asked about his watch — platinum, heavy — and he told her it ticked on Tokyo time because he was always twelve hours ahead of Hollywood. She didn't know if he was joking.
Outside, the snow continued to fall like the world was being erased.
"You cold?" he asked, as she shrugged her shoulders mid-story.
She paused. "Only a little."
He pulled off his gloves and offered one hand. Warm. Impossibly so.
"I have a fire. Not far," he said, standing.
Frances looked at him, then at her brandy, then at the empty bar. The bartender was long gone. The world was asleep in white.
She stood too, slower, as if weighing something not even she could name.
"Lead the way, prophet."
And together, they disappeared into the hush of North Dakota night — not with a bang, but the soft, steady pulse of something fated.
As Alexander leads Frances into the warm, dimly lit motel room, the door clicks shut behind them, muffling the howl of the snowstorm outside. The room is small but cozy, the fire crackling in the hearth casting long, dancing shadows on the wooden walls. Frances shucks off her heavy coat, revealing her flannel shirt beneath, the sawdust from the day's shoot still clinging to her jeans and boots. Alexander, ever the gentleman, takes her coat and hangs it neatly on a hook by the door, his charcoal overcoat following suit.
They stand by the fire, the heat a welcome respite from the cold. Their conversation continues, low and intense, their voices a soft rumble against the crackle of the flames. But the space between them is shrinking, the air growing thicker with each passing second.
Alexander reaches out, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing gently against her skin. Frances leans into his touch, her eyes never leaving his. He leans in, his lips meeting hers in a soft, deliberate kiss. It's a kiss that speaks of respect, of understanding, of a connection forged in the harsh North Dakota winter.
Their making out becomes more intense, their bodies pressing against each other, their breaths mingling. Alexander's hands explore her body, tracing the curve of her waist, the small of her back, pulling her closer. Frances responds in kind, her hands fisting in his hair, her body arching against his.
He breaks the kiss, his voice a low growl as he murmurs, "Let's take this slow, Frances. Let's savor every moment."
He leads her to the bed, sitting her down gently on the edge. He kneels before her, his hands on her thighs, his eyes locked on hers. Slowly, deliberately, he begins to unbutton her flannel shirt, his knuckles brushing against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. He pushes the shirt open, his eyes taking in her lacy bra, her heaving breasts. He leans in, his mouth hot and wet against her collarbone, his hands cupping her breasts through the lace.
Frances gasps, her head falling back as pleasure courses through her. Alexander takes his time, exploring her body, edging her towards the brink of ecstasy but never quite letting her tip over. His fingers trace the waistband of her jeans, dipping below, finding her wet and ready. He teases her, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles, his mouth never leaving her skin.
Frances, unable to take the teasing any longer, pushes him back gently, a smirk playing on her lips. "My turn," she says, her voice low and husky. She pushes him onto his back, straddling him as she unbuttons his shirt, her eyes locked on his. She leans down, her mouth capturing his in a fierce kiss as her hands explore his chest, his abs, his body responding to her touch.
She moves down, her mouth trailing kisses down his chest, his abs, his body tensing in anticipation. She unbuckles his belt, her eyes never leaving his as she unbuttons his pants, her hand wrapping around his length, stroking him slowly. Alexander groans, his head falling back, his body arching into her touch.
Frances takes him in her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock, her hand moving in tandem with her mouth. Alexander's hands fist in her hair, his body tensing as she takes him deeper, her mouth hot and wet, her suction perfect.
He pulls her off him, his voice strained as he says, "Enough. I want to see you."
Frances smirks, standing up and giving him a slow, deliberate striptease. She shimmies out of her jeans, her eyes locked on his as she reveals her lacy thong. She turns, giving him a view of her ass, her body moving seductively as she unhooks her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Alexander's eyes are dark with desire, his body tense with need.
Frances turns back to him, her body on full display. Alexander reaches out, his hands pulling her to him, his mouth capturing hers in a fierce kiss. Their bodies press together, their skin hot and flushed. Alexander's hands explore her body, his fingers finding her wet and ready, his mouth capturing her moans.
He flips her onto her hands and knees, his body positioning behind hers. He enters her slowly, inch by inch, his eyes never leaving her body. Frances arches against him, her body begging for more. He obliges, his hips beginning to move, his body slamming into hers, their sweat-misted skin sliding together.
Alexander reaches around, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. Frances moans, her body tensing, her orgasm building. Alexander feels it, his body responding, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate.
"Come with me, Frances," he grunts, his body tensing. "Let me feel you come around me."
Frances obeys, her body shattering, her inner muscles clenching around him. Alexander throws his head back, a guttural cry tearing from his throat as he finds his own release, his body pulsing inside hers.
They collapse onto the bed, their bodies slick with sweat, their breath coming in ragged gasps. Alexander rolls off her, pulling her into his arms, their bodies still joined. Frances rests her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, her body sated, her mind blissfully empty.
But Alexander is not done. He wants more. He wants to explore every inch of her, to taste her, to make her scream his name. He rolls her onto her back, positioning himself between her legs. He enters her slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. Frances wraps her legs around him, urging him deeper, harder.
He begins to move, his hips thrusting against hers in a primal, ancient rhythm. Frances meets him stroke for stroke, her body matching his, their breath syncing, their hearts beating as one. The room fills with the sounds of their lovemaking, the slap of skin against skin, their moans and gasps, the wet, obscene sounds of their joining.
Alexander changes the angle, his body now fully on top of hers, his elbows on either side of her head, his hands in her hair. He looks down at her, his eyes intense, his body moving with purpose. "You feel so fucking good, Frances," he grunts, his voice strained with effort. "So tight, so wet."
Frances wraps her arms around him, her nails digging into his back as she urges him on. "Don't stop, Alexander," she whispers. "Please, don't stop."
He doesn't, his body slamming into hers, their sweat-misted skin sliding together. Frances can feel another orgasm building, her body coiling tight once more. Alexander feels it too, his body responding, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate.
"Come with me, Frances," he grunts, his body tensing. "Let me feel you come around me."
Frances obeans, her body shattering once more, her inner muscles clenching around him. Alexander throws his head back, a guttural cry tearing from his throat as he finds his own release, his body pulsing inside hers.
They collapse together, their bodies slick with sweat, their breath coming in ragged gasps. Alexander rolls off her, pulling her into his arms, their bodies still joined. Frances rests her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, her body sated, her mind blissfully empty.
But Alexander is not done. He wants more. He rolls onto his back, pulling Frances on top of him. She straddles him, her body lowering onto his, taking him inch by inch. She begins to move, her hips rolling, her body taking what it needs. Alexander's hands grip her hips, his body meeting hers thrust for thrust.
Frances leans down, her mouth capturing his in a fierce kiss, her body moving faster, her breath coming in short gasps. Alexander's hands explore her body, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing it in time with her movements. Frances moans, her body tensing, her orgasm building.
"That's it, Frances," Alexander growls. "Ride me. Take what you need."
Frances obeys, her body moving faster, her breaths coming in short gasps. Alexander feels her tightening around him, her body coiling, ready to snap. He rubs her clit faster, his body meeting hers thrust for thrust.
Frances throws her head back, a cry tearing from her throat as she finds her release, her body convulsing, her inner muscles clenching around him. Alexander grunts, his body tensing, his own orgasm ripping through him, his seed spilling into her.
They collapse together, their bodies slick with sweat, their breath coming in ragged gasps. Frances rests her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, her body sated, her mind blissfully empty. Alexander pulls her close, his body still joined with hers, their connection deeper than ever.