"Byers, are you SURE there's a point to this?" Langly asked for the sixth time.  "I mean, I heard nothing.  And I know EVERYTHING that goes on in town, man."

"I'm sure," Byers replied once again.  His eyes scanned the crowd quickly, almost desperately.  "My sources told me to be here."

"Whatever man."  Frohike was cursing whatever mood had inspired him to dress entirely in leather that morning.  Baltimore Junes were not made for leather pants.  He shifted uncomfortably against the driver's-side seat.  Byers, for some reason, had insisted that they take Frohike's vintage '66 Mustang and leave the top down, and the sun was murder.  Forget the fact that the van was much better for surveillance and that they could hardly hide themselves, let alone any equipment.  Frohike sighed.  Byers must have a good reason.
He always did.

They were watching a movie shoot, of all things.  Again and again, a chubby dark haired girl leaped off a school bus and ran around the corner of a row house, to yell up at an enormous woman in a ratty housedress hanging out a second-floor window.  Byers' eyes were locked on the action.

"Which source?  What are we going to learn here?"  Langly, with his fair skin, was even less happy to be sitting out in the open sun.  He was highly annoyed to note that Byers didn't seem to notice it, even in his three-piece suit.  In the good suit, he noticed, the one Frohike said brought out the red in Byers' hair.

Byers huffed impatiently and momentarily looked away from the scene.  "Can't you ever trust me?  Why must you always question?"

Frohike and Langly exchanged a glance that clearly said, "Weirdness."

One of the camera crew motioned to the director, a small wiry man with a pencil-thin mustache dressed entirely in black.  They consulted for a moment, and then the director clapped his hands for attention, with a little more flip to the wrists than was necessary.

"The light is getting too harsh.  The scene will look washed out if we continue.  How 'bout we all break until three.  Okay?"

The large woman flapped her arms and made an approving sound.  She disappeared from the window.  Byers made a little sound like a whiny gasp.

Frohike jerked around to stare at him.  "What was that??"

Byers ignored him.  The large woman had reappeared at the door and quickly stalked over to the director.  Whatever she had to say evoked expansive hand gestures from both.  Byers leaned forward, licking his suddenly dry lips.  Frohike shook his head.  _Too weird._

The two began walking in the direction of the car, and they could hear bits of the conversation.

Director: "Divine dear, you are holding back!  We need your most voluminous presence if we are ever going to pull this off!"

Woman: "Oh, but this heat!  And I'm hardly wearing any make-up as this hausfrau--I just don't feel like myself, John!  What. . .wait a minute."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and she stomped purposely towards the Mustang like a cruise ship under full steam.  Frohike sat up quickly and looked back towards Byers.  Byers, however, was slumping forward as though he intended to crawl under the seat.  Langly looked back and forth between his two partners.  "What the hell, man?"

"You!  I told you to leave me alone!  Do I have to get a restraining order?"  The woman--no, MAN! Frohike realized as he suddenly noticed the Adam’s apple--towered over the car and pointed a righteously trembling finger at Byers.  Byers covered his eyes as his lower lip began to shake.

"Look, I appreciate the flowers.  And the fact that you got me my very favorite-most calla lilies, so thoughtful.  But to deliver them yourself, as I stepped out of THE SHOWER, is just too much.  Leave me alone!"  S/he drew herself up to her full height.

The diminutive director shoved in front of her/him.  "Are you bothering my star?  Are you?  If so Mister, I am not afraid to engage in fisticuffs, right here!" he sputtered in a high, nasal tenor.  Byers sunk even further
and stared at his shoes.

The director stalked away with an audible sniff.  Divine turned to follow, and then looked over her shoulder to give Frohike the eye.  "Well, hello there.  Why don't you give me a call sometime, my tasty little morsel--I'm
sure HE can provide you with my home number."  With a wink and a sashay of monumental hindquarters, the transvestite was gone.

Frohike and Langly stared at each other in shock for a good three minutes. Finally, their brains reminded them both to breathe again, and Frohike soundlessly started up the car and pulled from the curb.  Byers sat like a
stone in the back seat for the entire drive.

Finally, Langly broke the silence.

"I say, go for it, man."

"Shut up, hippy."

<end> :)