The Man of Maybe Half-a-Dozen Faces by Ray Vukcevich Page A

this part of town, what with the university just across the street.
    We were a little surprised Frank would pick this part of town when he was looking for a steamy love nest. There’s a whole other area of town with motels catering to hanky-panky. Lulu was glad we weren’t there. While Eugene has no really mean streets, there are a few decidedly grumpy ones Frank might have picked.
    Part of the Tail Feathers Lounge was dark and smoky, but part of it had once been a coffee shop and was bright and filled with potted plants and little white tables with bent-wire soda fountain chairs. Lulu took a seat at a table by the window and ordered a glass of white wine. From that vantage point we could see Frank’s car and a row of upper and lower motel room doors. Unless Frank parked around the corner from his room, we ought to be able to see him when he came out. More important, we ought to be able to see who he was with. Lulu opened her bag and fussed with her Nikon Auto-Everything. She pointed it out the window and snapped one shot of Frank’s car. Then she dropped the camera back into the bag and took a sip of her wine.
    So it was all true. Elsie had been right to suspect Frank. He was out for a nooner with some bimbo, and we would soon get the goods on him. We had begun to suspect that he was on the up-and-up which would have been disappointing.
    Lulu had time for another glass of wine. It was a lazy afternoon, and she relaxed and let our mind wander. Surely Frank would have to get back to work soon, but until he did we could take it easy. The Tail Feathers had no tap dancing floor, so we were in no danger of wandering off to lala land and losing track of time and space. We could just relax all afternoon and drink wine and wait for Frank to come out with his secret squeeze so we could take his picture.
    Some forty-five minutes later, he did come out of a room three doors down from his car and on the bottom floor—room 142.
    Alone.
    Damn. We were hoping for some hand holding. An affectionate butt squeeze. Maybe a good-bye kiss.
    Frank marched to his car and dug into his front pocket for his key.
    Lulu snapped his picture.
    Oregon clouds. They are such a part of your life you don’t even see them coming and going. The Nikon thought it needed more light and flashed, and Frank jerked his head around. Lulu yelped and dropped the camera into her lap. Frank scanned the window then walked quickly toward the door of the lounge. Lulu snatched up her bag and camera and hurried into the shadowy part of the bar.
    The bartender’s look said, “Hey, don’t barf in here,” and a man at the bar twisted around to see who was running by. Lulu ducked into the ladies’ room. We hoped no one would be in there. We hoped Frank wasn’t so fired up he’d come in there himself. We hoped the bartender and his lone customer wouldn’t mention us.
    Okay, the flash was a dumb mistake, but we learn from our mistakes. When things get too automatic there’s usually trouble. Put it on the to-do list—get a simpler camera. Lulu pushed open one of the stalls and went inside, closing the door behind her. Looked around. This would have to do. She didn’t sit down.
    We took a deep breath. We took a bunch of deep breaths. We waited ten minutes.
    Lulu peeked out into the bar, but the angle of the door was wrong, so she couldn’t see much. We couldn’t hide in the ladies’ room forever. Lulu pushed back into the bar. No Frank. She walked back to her table by the window and sat down. The server came by and Lulu ordered one more glass of white wine.
    Frank’s car was gone. He must have figured the flash had not been about him. We weren’t off the hook. The idea of the flash had been burned into Frank’s mind. Even if he didn’t know it, on some level, he would be thinking about people taking his picture. Since it looked like he really was fooling around on Elsie, the subconscious