Chapter 62: The Gig is Up
The picnic lunch had been consumed with great gusto. Mabel had even included a large red-and-white-checked dishtowel that Sara had spread out with great ceremony on the bed before loading it down with edibles. Her pomp was undermined by her giggles, and it proved to be more difficult that it looked to sit on the bed without upsetting the plates of goodies provided. At one point, Scooter had leaned forward with the intent of claiming a kiss and almost up-ended the potato salad. Sara had reached to steady the bowl and his hands had closed over hers. Scooter managed to complete his intended gesture with the potato salad clutched between them, and absurdity of the gesture had undone the romantic moment. They tucked into the food until there was nothing left but crumbs and crumpled aluminum foil. Scooter stood, collecting the paper plates and cups and ferrying them to the wastebasket.
“I love a man who does the dishes,” Sara said merrily.
Scooter turned and waggled his eyebrows at her above his glasses. “Talk is cheap,” he said.
Sara arched her eyebrows back at him, then whisked the erstwhile tablecloth off the bed and threw it over her shoulder. She leaned back on her elbows and crooked her finger at him in her best come-hither fashion, which even Scooter had to admit had improved substantially since she’d be hanging out with the girls from the chorus. Scooter dropped the crumpled dishes with alacrity and bounded onto the bed beside her. This time, there was no potato salad to spoil the moment.
“Mmmm,” said Scooter. “This picnic is a whole lot better than the last one I went to.”
“Mmmm,” agreed Sara, draping her arms around his shoulders. “And why is that?”
“No ants,” said Scooter, and laughed when Sara sat up sputtering with indignation. “Kidding,” he said, taking her hands in his. “Just kidding.” He smiled at her, his eyes dark behind his glasses. “For one, my last picnic was a lot less romantic. I ended up refereeing between Mr. Statler and Mr. Waldorf.” He looked at her hesitantly. “You know—those two old guys in the balcony who always heckle our performances?”
“I know who they are,” said Sara, making a face. “In fact, right now I’m thinking about heckling your performance myself.”
“Oh, Sweetheart—“ said Scooter, looking suddenly boyish in his anxiety. Sara let him continue to hold her hands, but something in her face changed and she looked down.
“What?” said Scooter, concerned that his teasing had actually wounded her. “What’s wrong, Sara? I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”
“No—no. It’s not you, Scooter. It is romantic here.” She reached out and touched his shoulder. “It’s just—I don’t know. I’m sad about Janice and Floyd, you know? I know I haven’t know them as long as you have, but—“
“Cause if it’s something that I—what?”
“But it they can’t make it, then what hope do any of the rest of us have, huh? And then there’s all this stuff with Kermit and Miss Piggy. I mean, it doesn’t seem—“
“Sweetie—wait. Stop.” Sara had been running her hand gently along Scooter’s arm, and she stopped, confused and then embarrassed, and began to withdraw her hand. He caught it and held it tight, smiling. “Not that,” he said. “You can do that all day. Go back to what you said a second ago—“
“About heckling your performance?” Sara looked impish but blushed all the same. “Well, I am willing to give you a second chance to audition—“
“Not that,” said Scooter hastily, fighting down the urge to acquiesce. “The other thing.”
“About Kermit and Miss Piggy? I mean, what’s left to say? This has been going on months now. I don’t know when that man—“
Sara’s face was flushed with indignation and her hair had fallen over her pink cheeks. Scooter had to fight to stay focused on the rabbit he was chasing.
“Not that—you said…what about Floyd and Janice?”
Sara stopped, looking puzzled. Surely Scooter knew what everyone else knew, but he was looking at her so earnestly and with such a puzzled expression in his eyes she didn’t know what to think.
“Well,” she said, suddenly uncertain. “Janice has been seeing Clifford on the side so—“
“What?!” Any hope of rekindling the former coziness fled at the alarmed expression in his eyes. “Where did you hear that?”
Sara looked half-offended, half-surprised. “I—no one told me. It’s just—I mean, I’ve been rooming with Janice and Camilla, and there was something going on but, like, I’m the new girl, right? And they hadn’t counted on having me for a room-mate, so I haven’t tried to pry, but—“
“No,” said Scooter emphatically. “It can’t be.”
“It does be,” said Sara sadly. “Just when I thought I was beginning to imagine all those times that Clifford came by the room to get Janice, Sal saw Floyd who saw them.”
Scooter was following this with some difficulty, but he had been raised in the chaos of back stage and had a distinct advantage over most. Still, a clarifying question seemed called for.
“Sal saw Floyd see who? Janice and Clifford?”
Sara nodded. “And then Floyd said it wasn’t any fun loving someone who doesn’t love you back.”
After a moment of dumbfounded silence, Scooter reached out very carefully and shut his jaw with this free hand. A thousand questions were whizzing through his brain, the foremost of which was, “Where the heck have I been?” After a moment, he shook his head to clear it and sat up. Actors lives are made up of comedy and tragedy, Scooter thought morosely. Nobody had promised romance. But while he had—until very briefly—entertained the morose thought that romance might never fit into his schedule, he had never doubted for a moment that—
“Sara—are you, oh honey, look, I don’t want this to sound rude but do you think you might have misunderstood? I mean, did anyone—“
But Sara was shaking her head sadly. “That’s why I didn’t say anything. But Gloria Jean told me that Rizzo said that Pepe said that Dr. Teeth had heard it from Floyd.”
“Oh,” Scooter said, digesting this piece of information. Then, “Oh,” more sadly. He raised his eyes to Sara. “Did anyone—does Kermit know?”
Sara shook her head again, quickly. “No,” she said, adding emphasis to her already emphatic no. “Nobody said anything to Piggy, so if you didn’t know….” Her shock at the failing of his omniscience couldn’t help but cheer him slightly.
“If I didn’t know, and Piggy doesn’t know, then Kermit doesn’t know.” Scooter smiled sadly, his mouth quirking up on one corner. For just a moment, romance surged back into the room. For just a moment, Sara’s heart warred with her brain. For just a moment, Sara tried to put aside her own romantic concerns in favor of the romantic concerns of others, but with Scooter smiling that sweet, goofy smile she sighed and gave it up. She leaned forward and kissed that quirking, sad mouth until Scooter almost forgot the news she’d imparted.
But in the end, the kiss was tinged with sadness, and it communicated itself even through the splendor of Sara’s lips. Scooter pulled away, trying to straighten his glasses and his hair.
“Sara, I—“
“You have to go.” Sara smiled and released him.
Scooter nodded. “I have to go,” he said fervently. “I have to.” He leaned in and kissed her, his aim lopsided so that his lips met hers at the corner of her mouth. “But later—“
“Yes,” said Sara. “Later.” She was getting used to it.
If bad news travels fast, and gossip travels at the speed of light, Scooter must have broken the laws of physics. With his usual dispatch, he sifted through the irrelevant, the obtuse and the just plain strange and then, possessed of the facts of the matter, sat Kermit and the Missus down and told them what was going on. Kermit’s bafflement and Piggy’s indignation at the complete mismanagement of information made Scooter feel slightly better about his own ignorance, and they mulled over what to do.
“So Floyd doesn’t know,” repeated Kermit slowly. “And Janice said she and Clifford are going to be at the—what was it?”
“The Hard Rock Chapel of Eternal Jams,” Scooter repeated, not able to stifle a smile.
Piggy sniffed. “The minister dresses like Elvis,” she said scornfully, but Kermit turned and gave her a look of fond bemusement.
“You’re not exactly in a position to make snarky comments about Elvis,” he reminded her, and she had the good grace to color and look away. She had agreed with enthusiasm to be featured in the Elvises’ show and—surprising no one—had procured a blue velvet gown from the trunks and suitcases full of feminine clothing. Thoreau was probably even now busily sewing on rhinestones.
“If it’s going down this afternoon, why doesn’t everyone know about it—except Floyd, that is?” she demanded.
Again, Scooter tried not to smile. “Well, Camilla was supposed to be telling everyone….”
Piggy gave a groan of frustration. “Figures! If someone had only asked Moi—“ she began, then subsided and glanced at the face of her cell phone for the time. No need to beat a dead horse, especially not while the clock was ticking. She sighed, stood up and, with her usual aplomb, took charge of the moment as well as the men in the room.
“Well, let’s roll—Janice probably needs us and…” She hesitated, her expression pensive. “Later, Floyd may need us too.”
Kermit looked at Scooter, who nodded. “I’ll make sure the word is out and see if Dr. Teeth can help with damage control.”
“Good. I’ll get Robin and meet you there.”
Piggy stood at the door, hands on voluptuous hips, the toe of one very high heel tapping impatiently. “Move it!” she barked.
They moved it.
Happy to be pressed into useful service, Dr. Teeth accomplished his man-hunt in less time than he had expected. Last time, it had been food. This time, Floyd had found solace in the embrace of his bass, strumming and singing along in the quiet of the sound-proofed musician’s room. The door opened quietly, and Dr. Teeth stepped into the sound of blues and heartbreak. Floyd had his back to the door, his shoulders bent over the fine wood of his bass. His eyes were closed, and his gravelly voice fairly vibrated with angst.
“She was mine for a time but I just didn’t know that the time that we had was so brief. I lied to myself and she lied to me too, cause the truth’s not the same as belief. I thought we would make it forever, you know—I thought we would last till the end, but the best I can do is to bid you farewell--my lady, my lover and friend.
Oh, the days were so sweet but they just didn’t last--daydreams aren’t meant to, you know. Though I knew that you’d leave me alone in the end, I couldn’t help let my love grow
You were the sunshine that brightened my days, but sunset is coming on fast. So the best I can do is to bid you adieu, I’ll love you, my dear, to the last.”
Noiselessly, the Doctor of the Ivories slipped behind the keyboard. When he picked up the chords of the chorus, Floyd’s only reaction was to turn slightly in his direction and nod once, still keeping time with the steady thump of his foot on the floor.
“What about promises made in the sun? Don’t tell me it’s all for the best. Who would have thought that the love that we made wouldn’t hold up to the test.
“This ol’ heart is breaking in pieces today as you leave me in all my despair. I knew having you was a dream after all--but a dream that you just didn’t share.”
The music filled the room, Floyd’s sinewy arms pumping sound from his beloved bass, and Dr. Teeth followed the lead of his friend, embellishing the sound without cluttering. At last, the song faded, and Floyd Pepper’s bushy eyebrows rose.
“Nice ivories,” Floyd said, and the good doctor inclined his head and accepted the compliment sagely.
“Thumping bass,” he said. “What’s it called?”
“Leaving the Dream,” said Floyd.
“Sounds about right,” he said, and Floyd’s mustache twitched. His pleasure was short-lived, however, when Dr. Teeth put a hand on his back. “About that…. Take a walk with me, Floyd,” said his band-mate. “There’s something I need to show you.”
Dr. Teeth felt the muscles tighten in Floyd’s back, felt the fear run like quicksilver through his wiry frame, but his face betrayed none of his distress.
“Let’s ankle,” said Floyd amiably, but in truth, he was sure he did not want see what his friend wanted to show him.
“Wow,” said Kermit admiringly. “This is a really nice chapel.” Piggy smiled at him fondly and moved him out of the way. Once Scooter had made them aware of the situation, she’d stepped to the plate to help Janice do what she wanted. She’d brought Kermit along to bless the, um, well—to be a benevolent authority figure—but she had also rallied Howard, Thoreau and Foo Foo, any of whom could throw a fabulous party in ten minutes notice. In a closet. With only the tools at hand. They set about building on the foundation that Janice and Clifford had laid, tidying up crepe paper streamers and making miniscule adjustments to the buffet table full of gleaming platters. Most of the men tried to stay out of the way or risk being trampled.
“Oh, like hurry!” Janice pleaded. She looked around the chapel nervously, taking in the altar/podium shaped like a six-string guitar (Twelve-string facades available for a slightly higher fee.), the friends waiting to bear witness to the occasion, Clifford waiting at her side. In spite of her nervousness, she looked radiant in white, her face flushed with excitement.
“Yeah, man,” said Clifford. “If we don’t, like, do this now before Floyd comes then it will be too late. We do not want him walking in in the middle of—“
Rowlf wandered over to where Kermit stood with Robin, feeling more than a little uncomfortable in a wedding chapel. He scratched absently behind one long brown ear.
“I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “I still think Janice should have told him first. Seems like a big shock to spring on Floyd after all this time.”
Kermit nodded and shrugged. He agreed with the assessment, but knew well that there was no reasoning with a woman in love. Besides, given his own matrimonial experience, he could hardly cry foul on someone else’s withholding of information. Thinking of that made him smile and follow Piggy’s bustling figure about the room. She had her end of the chapel well in hand, and Camilla was riding herd on her side, underlings fleeing before her. The girls from the chorus line, after the initial shock, had volunteered in unison to help.
“Just got the text” Scooter said urgently. “Hurry guys! We’ve got to be done before—“
Kermit mused idly that he probably would have had a few less, um, grey hairs if cell phones had been invented back when he and Piggy had tied the knot. There was a sudden flurry of movement and then Janice stepped up on the platform. She clutched Clifford’s arm nervously, and the big bass player leaned in and bussed her quickly on the cheek.
“It’s showtime, Lady J,” he said. “Just pretend you’re on stage.”
Janice laughed and looked up at him, her eyes dark with emotion. ‘Oh—I—“
The door in the back of the chapel was opening. As one, all eyes turned toward the door.
The hand under his elbow was firm. As much as Floyd wanted to turn from the command in that firm hand, he was glad for the support. He did not think he could bear what was on the other side of this door, but the door was opening anyway. Floyd closed his eyes, thinking of chords, thinking of the feel of the bass notes vibrating through his body, pushing out everything else but the music and—
“Surprise!”
“Congratulations!”
“Here’s the party guy himself!”
“Good job, Dr. Teeth—right on schedule!”
“Janice—hey, Janice! He’s here!”
And Janice was there, in his arms, her lithe body pressed up against his. Floyd was even more grateful for Dr. Teeth’s hand under his because he was thinking he might have fallen down without it. Floyd smelled the scent of her hair, her skin, looking around him dazedly at the sea of familiar and friendly faces without any comprehension at all. He could not think beyond the mystery of her—here--in his embrace, could not imagine what on—
“Happy Anniversary, Honeybunch!” Janice said. The split-second blur of tears over his eyes seemed to clear his vision, and with sudden, shocking clarity, he recognized what he was looking at and what it all meant. The streamers everywhere, the beach backdrop on the stage area, Janice’s oh-so-brief attire—it all snapped into focus for Floyd and his knees really did start to buckle.
But, like always, Janice had a firm hold on him, and she was pulling him, dragging him up to the stage, to stand on the department-store-bought sand in front of a fake sunset. She smiled up at him and he got his first genuinely good look at the bathing suit she wore. It was—it was just like the one she’d worn in Paris—the one they’d scavenged at a jumble shop, the one she’d been wearing when he had pledged, once and forever, to be her stand-up guy.
She was looking at him hopefully, seeing in his eyes that he got it, that he got her.
Of course he did—he always did.
Her skin beneath his hands was soft and smooth, and he smiled at the generous amount of it on display. Babe,” Floyd said softly. “Oh, babe.” Janice threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
There was always something interesting to see in the Hard Rock Chapel of Eternal Jams. The party guests had quite a few moments to contemplate the food and the interesting things to see while Floyd Pepper found his place in the universe in the arms of his woman. At last, they broke apart to a great cacophony of cheers and shouts of congratulations, and the group surged around them. Sweetums bent down and swept up about six guests along with the happy couple, adding his hug to the others.
“Great party,” said Rizzo, his plate laden down for the second time.
“Hmmm,” said Gonzo. He watched Doctor Honeydew introduce Shantilla to Thoreau and saw her offer her hand. He saw Kermit with his arm around Piggy’s waist, waiting in line to thump Floyd on the back. He watched Sal carry two plates piled with hors d’oeuvres over to where Johnny leaned indolently against the wall. There was a sudden flash of brilliant white feathers and Gonzo’s eyes fastened on Camilla and watched her saunter across the floor to talk to Janice. He felt suddenly and overwhelmingly lonely, felt more than ever the uniqueness that was as much curse as blessing. He let out a sigh and felt someone slip their arm into his.
Surprised, Gonzo turned to find Mabel standing next to him, and could not keep himself from smiling.
“C’mon, you snappy dresser, you,” Mabel said, dragging him toward the food. “You get to be my date tonight.”
Gonzo felt his mouth twitch in amusement. “Well, gee, Mabel—this is so sudden.”
“Yeah—so count your blessings.” She squinted up at him, but Gonzo could see her dark eyes twinkling with mirth. “Haven’t you heard? I’m a hot commodity these days.”
Gonzo laughed, and the dark mood shattered. Lonely, indeed. He saw the room full of friends—some old, some new—and found it in his heart to be glad and grateful for the chance to spend his life with friends, doing what he loved.
“That’s what I hear,” Gonzo said. “Of course, I heard it from Rizzo and Pepe so I’m glad to have it confirmed.”
This time it was Mabel who laughed. “Touche,” she retorted. “Now, beat those furry feet and get me over to the buffet. How often does anybody cook for me?”
“So she’s going to do it,” said Doctor Honeydew, blinking myopically.
Pepe made a sound that might have been a snort. “Ju h’ever h’known Miss Piggy to pass up a chance be h’in the spotlight?” he said. Belatedly, he looked around for stray frogs or pigs or dressmakers that might not appreciate his assessment.
“Mee me me mee me meep meep mee meep?” Beaker inquired anxiously. Doc Honeydew looked up, his mouth full of canapés, but to his obvious relief Mabel stepped to the plate.
“Kid wants to know will she get back in time for the first half of the show?” the mole interpreted.
“Scooter says yes,” said Gonzo, which pretty well silenced any critics. If Scooter said so….
“Crepe paper,” said Thoreau, horrified. He ate a spinach puff, trying not to think about fat grams.
Beside him, Howard rolled his eyes. “Kischy,” he agreed. “And the upholstery is cheap.”
“Typical,” said Thoreau. “Did you get a load of the drapes?”
“Hmm,” said the choreographer. “Even you couldn’t make those drapes into anything but…drapes.”
“I don’t know,” said the designer thoughtfully. “I think Zoot has a suit made out of that stuff.”
There was a moment when decorum threatened to hold, then there were extremely undignified sniggers and snorts from that end of the room.
“But the suit looks good,” Thoreau said happily, his eyes following Janice’s figure, easily visible in the little bathing suit.
“Oh—the suit. The suit is fab. Of course, Janice makes everything look nice, doesn’t she?”
“Even that dress with the Christmas light on it,” Thoreau admitted dreamily. They watched Floyd and Janice sway in each others arms, so tuned to each other they might have been one soul.
“Nice couple,” said Howard generously.
Thoreau nodded. “Nice party.”
The party was breaking up. If they were going to make the show tonight, it was time to bag it and drag it.
Floyd felt…high, exhilarated, humbled and awed. He accepted Janice’s generous kiss and let her go long enough to gather her things and make good with the owners. Watching her, he couldn’t imagine how he’d been so wrong, couldn’t imagine what had made him think—
Someone tapped him on the shoulder in a peremptory manner, and Floyd turned and found himself staring up at a very unhappy bass player. Clifford wasted no time on preliminaries.
“Man, you are stupid,” he said belligerently. “What is the matter with you, thinking Janice was into anybody else?”
Floyd opened his mouth but could come up with nothing. He spread his hands helplessly.
“Look, man,” he began. “I owe you an apology.”
“Straight,” said Clifford, eyes dark and glowering. Something very like a twinkle was starting in those dark eyes. “Of course, if Janice was looking for someone else—“
The speed with which Floyd was on him surprised them both, but Clifford let out a great whoop of laughter and turned his friend’s grapple into a crushing bear hug. He thumped Floyd soundly on the back while the red haze faded from the bass player’s eyes.
“You guys!” said Janice, and they spun guiltily to face her. “What are you doing Floyd?”
But Clifford had that covered as well. “He’s just thanking me for all my help with the party, weren’t you man?”
“Wha—um, yeah,” muttered Floyd, grateful that Clifford hadn’t revealed his lapse. He started to release the dread-locked musician, but before he could, the big muppet leaned in and whispered in Floyd’s ear.
“Stupid,” he repeated amiably, just loud enough for Floyd’s ears. “But very lucky.”
After Clifford had gone, Janice slipped her warm little hand into Floyd’s, liking the feel of his fingers interlaced with hers.
“Happy Anniversary,” she said. “Were you surprised?”
“Shattered,” said Floyd, then he smiled. “But in a good way.”
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