The Professor checked his watch for the tenth time in two minutes. "Please, driver, can't you go any faster? We can't afford to miss this shoot!"
The driver shot a quick look back at the Professor from his seat behind the wheel. "These guys can run mighty fast, Mr. Tomson, but even they can't hurry the traffic."
As the Los Angeles Rams tourbus rolled along the last stretch of Sunset Boulevard before the freeway, the Professor bit his lip and dug his nails into his palm. "I can't understand it!" he muttered. "This trip is only twelve point five eight miles. I calculated it would take us only twenty-six minutes!"
"Did you factor in rush hour, Mr. Einstein?" drawled defenseman Decon Smith, smiling slightly.
"Good Heavens!" The Professor smacked his forehead in dismay. "I completely forgot!"
Decon shook his head. "Man, you must really be living on a deserted island! When rush hour hits, it can take two hours to cross L.A!"
"Two hours! Oh, no!"
"What's the matter, Professor?" called Gilligan from the back of the bus.
"Rush hour, Bob," said Roman, leaning on the seat across from him. He reached over to open the window, and his biceps rippled under the black sleeves of his tuxedo. "Wish we'd left the party earlier. I was afraid we'd get stuck in something like this."
Gilligan's tuxedo jacket and black tie lay flung over a seat back. He eyed the view outside, where cars rumbled in a close-packed mass to the left and the right of them. On the many-towered horizon, the red-gold disc of the sun hung ominously low. "No chance again for a hundred years," he whispered, then turned back to Mary Ann. "Come on, Mary Ann. I gotta get this stuff off me or they're gonna hafta say Gilligan grew a beard!"
"Well, you'd better hold still then. I need to put more solvent on that spirit gum."
Mary Ann reached up with her make-up brush, painting the glistening mixture onto Gilligan's fake beard.
"There. That's gotta be enough!" Gilligan yanked at a tuft. "Ow!"
Mary Ann rolled her eyes. "I haven't gotten to that spot yet!"
He winced, massaging his chin. "Yeah, I noticed."
Roman's head tilted to one side and his eyes narrowed. "You two always call each other by your character names?"
"Whoops! Did it again," Gilligan whispered.
"Uh, y-yes, Roman. Helps us rehearse!" blurted Mary Ann in a flash of inspiration. She daubed on more solvent and sat back. "There. Try it now."
Gilligan reached up, then paused. "Are you sure?"
"Gilligan, don't you trust me?"
"I trust you with my life, Mary Ann, but I'd trust you better if it were your beard I was pulling off!" Gilligan blinked at what he'd said. "Oh, sorry, Mary Ann. I mean, you don't have a…well, you know what I mean!"
Roman guffawed. "Come on, Mr. Master of Disguise. Here we go!" And before Gilligan could even move, the giant reached over and neatly peeled his beard away. It came off like a soggy bandaid.
Gilligan fingered his chin in wonder. "Hey! It's gone!"
Mary Ann sighed. "Gilligan, I use hot wax to get nice smooth legs. Trust me – I've had a lot of experience with this!"
Gilligan and Roman both glanced at her shapely legs and grimaced. "That's taking the Method a bit too far, I'd say," said Roman.
"Sure glad us guys have a razor," said Gilligan. "Here: gimme some of that cream." Vigorously he swirled a bit around his jaw and rubbed it off with a towel. "There! Good as new!"
"Wait a minute!" cried Mary Ann. "I've got to put your stage make-up on now!"
But Gilligan had leapt to his feet, out of her reach. "There's no time, Mary Ann! I gotta get changed!" And with that he reefed his still-buttoned white shirt over his head with such force that the buttons flew. His undershirt came away too, and he stood panting in the aisleway, stripped to the waist.
For a few seconds Mary Ann and Roman simply goggled. Then, trying to keep a straight face, Roman jerked his thumb towards the rear of the bus. "Uh…we do have a washroom, Bob, unless you want to give us the half-time show right now!"
"Huh? But I don't need to--!" Suddenly, like Adam, Gilligan realized he was naked. He clutched his shirt to his skinny chest with a gasp of horror. "Oh my gosh! Mary Ann!"
"This episode is not going to make it past the censors!" Mary Ann put her hand over her mouth, desperately trying to hide her giggles.
Roman bundled Gilligan's costume into a ball and raised his arm. "Here comes the pass, Charles Atlas! Don't fumble it!"
Gilligan didn't, and the moment he had caught the flying clothes he dashed into the washroom. Roman bent over, clutching his stomach with laughter. "Oh, did you see that, Dawn? We could use him on the team!"
"Catching?" said Mary Ann, confused.
"Running," roared the quarterback.
Mary Ann laughed too, but her laughter faded as she felt the bus slowing even further. They were crawling along the 101 as more and more vehicles hemmed them in on either side. The fumes from the combined exhaust set them coughing. "Gosh, we're going awfully slowly! How much further, Roman?"
"I'm not sure." He leaned forward. "Hey, fellas. Anybody know how much further it is to the Ventura Boulevard turnoff?"
Mary Ann chewed her lip as the bus full of evening-suited Rams argued over the distance. A banging sound from the washroom made her turn 'round. "Gilligan? Are you all right in there?"
"Yeah!" came the muffled reply. "It's a good thing the Skipper doesn't have to change in here!"
"Why?"
"He'd never fit!"
At the front of the bus, the Professor was pouring over a map. "Perhaps we could try a different route," he muttered.
The driver raised his eyebrow. "The 101/Ventura goes direct through the San Fernando Valley."
"Yes, yes, I know, but perhaps the local streets are less congested. We have simply got to make better time!"
Decon Smith tisked and folded his arms. "No practice for us tonight. The parkway's nothing but a parking lot!"
When the Professor saw the scene outside, he almost forgot to breathe. "Great heavens! It's jammed solid!"
A flat wall of cars, trucks and buses were bumper-to-bumper as far as the eye could see. Horns blared, engines revved and hot fumes rose, shimmering, from a thousand exhaust pipes. The Professor craned his neck to look in the rear view mirrors. The view was just as bad behind. "We're trapped!"
At that moment Gilligan came bursting out of the washroom. "Hey! What have we stopped for?" As he fumbled with his shirt buttons he tripped over Roman's outstretched leg and fell across Mary Ann's lap.
Roman hauled him to his feet. "Hey. Get back behind the fifty yard line there, Bob. The censors wouldn't go for that either."
Gilligan clutched the back of the seat for support. "Oh, thanks, Roman. Sorry, Mary Ann." Now he saw the scene outside. "Oh, no! Look at it out there!"
"Sorry, Bob," said Roman sadly. "We did our best. I guess you'll have to air a rerun next week."
"But we've just got to get there!" cried Gilligan. "It's our last chance! We'll never make it back to the island! We'll never see our friends again! I'll never see the Skipper again!"
Mary Ann jumped up and clutched his arm. "Gilligan, it'll be all right! The Professor will think of something, I'm sure!"
But the Professor was at the front, staring blankly at the road. "We were so close!" he murmured. "How could I have miscalculated like this?"
Gilligan and Mary Ann raced up. "Come on, Professor!" cried Gilligan. "We can do it! We'll make it on foot if we have to!"
The Professor looked up wearily. "But you don't realize how far it is. You don't even know where you're going!"
"I know we're not going anywhere sitting here!" In his fervour Gilligan let go of Mary Ann's hand. "Remember what you said to us in the diner?"
"Gilligan, I--"
"We can accomplish anything we set our minds to, if we don't get uncoordinated and lose our morals!"
The Professor's eyebrows took a leap into his hair. "Gilligan, I'm sure I didn't say that!"
"He nearly did that back there a minute ago," said Decon.
"Well, whatever you said, Professor, you were right! We just can't give up now!" Gilligan turned and waved to the big quarterback. "Hey, thanks for the ride, Roman! We'll take it from here!"
"Bob, what are you—" began Roman, but before he could say another word, Gilligan had vanished.
Mary Ann dashed to the front windshield. "Oh, my gosh! Where's he going?"
"He's running along the shoulder! Gilligan!" The Professor forgot that Gilligan couldn't hear him and the Rams could. "You can't run on the freeway!" He tore out the door after the first mate.
Mary Ann was two steps after him. She hit the asphalt running, thankful her costume didn't call for high heels. "Gilligan! Professor! Wait for me!"
But that red shirt was far in front of the two of them. People sitting slumped in the hot, stationary vehicles looked up in disbelief to see Gilligan sprint past them at top speed, his long legs flying. The Professor came pounding along behind, shouting as he tried to catch his breath. "Gilligan! Stop! It's not safe!"
Mary Ann, with her shorter legs, was soon as far behind the Professor as he was behind Gilligan. "Gilligan!" she cried, her voice drowned out in the ocean of growling engines. "You'll never make it! Come back!"
But the first mate either didn't hear them, or didn't care. He was hotfooting it like it was the last leg of a relay, and he intended to win. The heat that rippled off the pavement and the stinking fumes from the cars didn't slow him down a heartbeat. "Hang on, Skipper! I'm coming back! I promise!"
A half a mile from where they'd jumped off the bus, the Professor halted, panting. "Oh, gasp! This pollution! I'd forgotten gasp! how bad it was!"
Mary Ann skidded to a stop, her black hair falling about her face. "Professor, come on! We've got to catch him!"
The Professor shook his head, coughing. "We'll never gasp catch him! Nobody runs as fast as he does!"
"Wanna bet?" boomed a voice behind them, and suddenly a tall, massive figure in evening dress came charging past. "I'll bring him down for you!"
"Roman!" Shooting a determined look at one another, the two castaways started running again.
No one in a Los Angeles traffic jam had ever seen a show like this. The giant in the tux was gaining fast on the skinny little man in the red rugby shirt. "Hold up, Bob! You don't have to do this!"
Gilligan glanced behind him, but kept running. "I can't stop, Roman! It's too important!"
"Bobby!" With a burst of speed the quarterback flew past Gilligan until he was running slightly ahead of him. "I don't want to tackle you on the asphalt! You've got to stop!"
"I can't!" yelled Gilligan, and galloped ahead. "You don't understand!"
Roman spurted forward and clutched him by the arm. "No, you don't understand! I've called for help!"
"What?" Roman's grip was gently but firmly slowing him down. They pounded a few more steps until they finally stood panting on the freeway shoulder. Beads of sweat glistened on Gilligan's pale face. "Help? From where? Who? How?"
"One question at a time, little buddy!" Roman laughed and pulled his collar loose. "Boy! Now I know why we don't wear these monkey suits on the field!"
"How'd you call for help anyway?"
"We have a phone on the bus."
"Wow – a phone, a washroom – that's some bus! Does it have a colour tv?"
Roman laughed again. "I wish!"
Just then the Professor and Mary Ann came dashing up, hot and breathless. "Great catch, Roman!" gasped Mary Ann, pulling the hair from her eyes.
"Yes! Well done!" wheezed the Professor.
Roman turned to them both. "I was just telling Bob, here, that help is on the way. In fact," he said, looking behind them and shading his eyes, "here comes the cavalry right now!"
