Frank, always taking his time, was doing so with her clothes as well. Before he started going through them, he frowned at the lipstick on his palm and rubbed it off on his black chinos.<br/><br/>"How much of this stuff do you use, Lauren?"<br/><br/>But back to the wardrobe. It was quite a selection. She would need at least two or three changes of clothes, most likely. And the weather in Chicago was cool now, it being the beginning of fall. So he had to take that into consideration. He sighed heavily. Where to begin?<br/><br/>He was about to start pulling out possible garments when the silence of the room was pierced by a knock at the door. Not urgent, not loud, but definitely a knock.<br/><br/>Frank's eyes sprang wide open. What the fuck? He had put the DO NOT DISTURB sign up. Couldn't the visitor read?<br/><br/>A million things went through his mind, not the least of which was that maybe Lauren had forged some relationships at the Palm in the short time she had been there, and someone was checking on her. Maybe she was late to a dinner date.<br/><br/>But it didn't really matter who was at the door, or why. Frank had to get rid of them, or hope they went away on their own. The latter option was flawed, because if it was indeed a welfare check, the person might get concerned and return, this time with cops.<br/><br/>He briskly walked toward Lauren, whose eyes were also wide but with hope. Her lips were moving above and below the bandana that bisected them. She was trying to talk.<br/><br/>"Yummrm imrmr grrmmpmhphm!"<br/><br/>"Shut up," Frank said sharply. He grabbed a pillow, yanked off its case, and tore it into strips. He used one, about three inches wide and 24" long, to tie over the bandana. So now her gag was triple layered. Frank should ask her to belt out a sultry tune<i>now.</i><br/><br/>Frank was tightening the knot behind her head when the knock came again. this time slightly louder. Sighing, he dragged Lauren, chair and all, as far from the door as possible. He set her facing the wall. Next, he pulled a bedsheet off and draped it over her. More to further deaden sound than to actually hide her. Frank had no intentions of letting the visitor into the room itself.<br/><br/>He gathered himself and approached the door casually. He looked through the peephole. Some pudgy man in a grey suit. Frank narrowed his eyes. The man looked like an encyclopedia salesman. Or an encyclopedia.<br/><br/>Jesus H-Christ, Frank thought as he opened the door a crack. "What's up, Mac?"<br/><br/>The pudgy man's eyes went wide, then they sagged when they saw who answered the door. "Are you Frankie?"<br/><br/>Frank couldn't believe his ears. "Excuse me?"<br/><br/>"Frankie. The casting agent." The pudgy man's voice was filled with hope.<br/><br/>Frank had no idea what the man was talking about. "Name's Frank but I ain't no casting agent. I think you got the wrong room, Mac."<br/><br/>Frank started to close the door but Grey Suit stammered, "Lauren de Salle."<br/><br/>Frank stopped cold. "What?"<br/><br/>"Lauren de Salle. The singer. Is this her room?"<br/><br/>Frank didn't know whether to punch the man in the kisser or interrogate him. But he stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him.<br/><br/>"Look, pal. I've had just about enough out of you," Frank, who towered over Grey Suit, said. "Leave now."<br/><br/>But Grey Suit persisted. He held out the stationery and pen. "I just want her autograph. This IS her room, isn't it?"<br/><br/>Frank could only imagine how hard Lauren was trying to make noise. The gag was excellent but if she really tried, maybe her sound waves could travel to the hallway. Frank needed to end this now.<br/><br/>"Look, pal. I know you don't mean no harm. Give me your paper and pen and I'll try to get her to sign it in the morning. She's resting now."<br/><br/>Frank figured the easiest path now, the one with the least resistance, was to acquiesce and acknowledge that this was Lauren's room.<br/><br/>It worked. Grey Suit's face lit up. "Would you? She's my wife's favorite."<br/><br/>Frank furrowed his brows. "Your<i>wife's</i>?"<br/><br/>"Oh yes. She thinks the world of Lauren. The missus has always wanted to be the kind of singer that Lauren is. Kind of looks up to her. Please sir. I never dreamed I'd see her in my hometown. We used to live in Chicago, see, and....."<br/><br/>Frank sighed as the man went  through his---and his wife's---life story. Frank let him prattle on. As long as Grey Suit was talking, maybe he himself would drown out any noise that the gorgeous redhead was trying to make.<br/><br/>Finally, Frank got the pen and paper into the motel room and Grey Suit on his way.<br/><br/>He closed the door and pressed his head against it. "Mama mia."