Chapter 3: Treasure Seekers
“Look, Piggy—it’s us!” They were comfortably ensconced on the big brass day bed in the den, munching popcorn and flipping idly thought the channels. True to his word, Kermit had sent the cast and crew home by 8 p.m., handed Piggy into the studio limo and—to her complete astonishment—climbed in after her. Secretly delighted but openly dubious, Piggy kept expecting Kermit to casually mention a dinner appointment or a late-night meeting, or to press a party attendance upon her. She watched him from under lowered lashes as he’d used the limo phone to order Chinese delivered to their home. He placed the phone back on its receiver and leaned back against the luxurious leather, smiling at Piggy and reaching for her hand. Caught off guard, she smiled back at him, returning the pressure of his hand.
Once home, he’d shooed her off to change into comfy clothes while he ferried the food into the den and opened a bottle of wine. Changing quickly into shorts and a polo himself, he trotted back to the kitchen, emerging triumphantly with a large, buttery bowl of popcorn just as Piggy stepped off the landing. She was wearing an oversized purple tee-shirt, white leggings and pink powder-puff scuffs, and her hair was clipped up on top of her ears with a clip that spelled out “princess” in rhinestones.
Perhaps it was the outfit—the combination of brashness and whimsy—or maybe it was the uncertainty lurking in her eyes, but for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Kermit was overcome with tenderness. He shifted the bowl of popcorn under one arm and reached for her hand. After the slightest of hesitations, Piggy had put her hand in his and let him lead her back to the dimness of the den.
Now, she looked at the screen and let out a little bleat of dismay. It was—indeed—them, some few years earlier. It was always strange to happen upon oneself on television like this, cavorting to some half-remembered script, immortalized on the screen. In this particular incarnation, they were on the soundstage that had been converted into a Caribbean island replete with pirates, a herd of wild swine and innumerable and improbable others.
“Oh—I’d forgotten about that awful headdress.”
“What awful headdress? You looked stunning.”
“Of course Moi looked stunning,” she sniffed. “It’s just a wee bit harder when wardrobe is so unreasonable.”
“Well I thought you looked incredible,” Kermit said firmly. “That outfit made you look exotic.”
Piggy perked up at once. “Exotic?”
“Um hum. And alluring,” Kermit assured her. For a moment, Piggy stared.
“He’s good,” she growled to nobody in particular. “You’ve got to admit
he’s good.”
Kermit beamed at her and snuggled closer, one hand landing casually on her soft, rounded thigh. His hand was warm and buttery. Piggy pushed the hand away but did not put any distance between them. When they returned to watching the screen in companionable silence, Kermit’s hand slipped back onto her thigh.
“Ohh—there’s my big scene,” Piggy cooed, watching as she passionately defended her frog to dastardly pirates. On screen, Tim Curry, playing the pirate Long John Silver, kissed her soundly. “I’d forgotten about that part,” Piggy said demurely, a blush creeping up her cheeks.
“That hardly seems likely,” Kermit huffed with remembered ire. “You did almost 20 takes,”
“Twenty-three,” she said sweetly. “It was not Moi’s fault that Timmie kept flubbing his lines.”
It was true. Although he had appeared contrite, the handsome young actor had not seemed to mind kissing Piggy several, several times while the rest of his lines seemed to evaporate from his head. Take after take, the scene remained uncaptured on film. Kermit had been genuinely annoyed when they’d finally gotten an acceptable take and stopped for lunch, and Piggy had not done much to salve his pique. She had been scintillating that day, Kermit remembered fondly, and the atmosphere on the set had been highly charged because of it. The unexpected and ostensibly unwanted attention from her costar and Kermit’s rather obvious jealously had left her flustered and a little giggly. She had fled back to her trailer to prepare for the afternoon shoot.
Kermit had gotten his own back after lunch, however, when the time had come for their big scene together. The duet had gone extremely well, and Kermit had played to the romantic overtones of the scene, gazing at her soulfully while he crooned and made delicious little designs on her hand that no one could see. (“Much like the delicious little designs that Piggy is so deliberately ignoring now,” Kermit thought with smug satisfaction.”)
He could tell Piggy was responding to his voice and his touch, but the cameras were rolling and she was no more free to flee from his proximity than she had been to escape her other costar’s eager kisses—less even, given the nature of the scene. The rope that appeared to be holding Piggy aloft snapped. Now Kermit was clasping her ankles firmly. His deft little hands made scorching little patterns that were driving Piggy wild—he had reason to know that her ankles were very sensitive—but she was powerless to stop him without betraying her discomfiture.
One of the cameras began to malfunction. Filming stopped while the technicians swarmed over the set.
Piggy twisted around and shot Kermit a murderous look. “Stop this instant,” she hissed.
“Why?” Kermit asked with infuriating impudence. “I was under the impression that you liked—“
“Never mind what I like you—you—“
“And the view from here is so, um…exotic,” he said softly, pitched for her ears only. “And alluring.”
“What?”
“I see London, I see France—“ Kermit sing-songed. “I see leopard-print—“
Piggy let out a muffled howl and clutched ineffectively at her skirt, but Kermit’s view was unimpeded. Before she could respond the camera had been coaxed back into service. She played the rest of the scene with grim determination, and waited with supreme self-control while they unhooked the harness that held her. Resisting the urge to slap away the helpful hands restoring her costume to rights, Piggy thanked them sweetly and made for her trailer with as much haste as dignity would allow. The door had only just shut when it opened again.
Kermit stood framed in the doorway, an appealing lopsided smile on this face. “Piggy, “ he began tenderly, holding out his arms.
The next moment found him flat on the floor where he had dived to avoid the many objects flying toward him. While she tossed everything within arm’s reach, she kept up a steady stream of ladylike insults aimed at amphibians in general, frogs in particular and Kermit Himself. When she had run out of steam and invective, Kermit got carefully to his feet and approached her.
“Piggy….”
She threw her headdress at him. He caught it and set it aside.
“You stay away from me you—you—frog!” she panted, but Kermit was unfazed.
“Sweetheart,” he began, his voice low and pleading.
“Don’t you sweetheart me, you awful, terrible—“
He was beside her in an instant. Piggy gasped and backed away. Though spacious, the trailer left little room for maneuvering. Piggy flattened herself against the wall, but Kermit reached out and tugged her into his arms with surprising strength. She huffed and puffed but there was no where to go, and Kermit’s arms molded her closer gently.
“Don’t be mad, Piggy,” Kermit said softly. “You know I can’t stand it when you’re mad at me.” He snuggled closer.
“Don’t you even think about--” Piggy began, but Kermit’s kiss silenced her effectively. His lips were gentle over hers, seeking—rather than demanding—a response. For a moment, her passion warred with her pique. Passion won out and, with a little sigh, Piggy melted against him. Gradually, his kiss deepened, becoming more insistent. Piggy clung to him, returning his hungry kiss with all the pent-up ardor the afternoon had yielded, which was much more than enough to push them both over the edge. The set closed down outside and the cast and crew wandered away while Kermit did his gentlemanly best to fulfill every single promise his teasing hands had implied.
They watched the scene in silence, but the room seemed somehow closer and warmer than before. “It’s not fair,“ Piggy murmured ruefully. “Everyone thinks you’re so nice.”
“I am nice,” Kermit said guilelessly, looking up at her. A hint of mischief played around his eyes, but he remained solemn.
Piggy looked at him levelly. The hand was back on her thigh. “That’s nice,” she said noncommittally.
Kermit leaned closer, slipping his arms around her waist.
“How about this?” he murmured, whispering sweet, incendiary nothings into one soft, pink ear. A deeper blush crept up her cheeks.
“Better,” she whispered, and lowered her gaze. She did not trust herself to look at him.
With a little tug, Kermit leaned back against the cushions and pulled her unresisting form into his arms. “And this?”
Piggy sighed, abandoning all pretense of disinterest. She answered his slow kiss with deliberateness, savoring the luxury of time alone with her frog.
“It’ll do,” she teased, then let out a gasp as Kermit set out to prove how very nice he could be.