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Chapter 123: Comings and Goings: Airports, Hotels and Bars
Chad scuttled in the back stage door, hopefully unobserved in all the after-show comings and goings, and slipped along the hall to Piggy’s dressing room. Rory let him in after a tentative knock, practically hauling his partner into the room. Chad walked straight up to Piggy and put his arms around her, patting her back gently and murmuring soothingly. “Poor thing,” he said solemnly, and set her back from him holding her elbows. Piggy winced and Chad let go immediately, turning on Rory swiftly.
“What’s wrong with her elbow? Did you drop her?” Chad demanded, and Rory looked horrified, then offended.
“As if!” he said stiffly. “What makes you think I had anything to do with it?”
“Because sometimes you don’t know your own strength,” Chad said, and turned teasing eyes on Rory. Rory blushed, looking abashed, but no longer angry.
“She hurt her elbow hanging onto the stupid purse,” Rory said, gritting through the lie unwillingly.
“Not the little ruffled one?!” Chad cried, and Piggy hastened to reassure him that it had not been snatched while Rory rolled his eyes.
“Well, I hope you know you’re coming with tonight!” Chad said peremptorily. Piggy started to protest but he overrode her. “Mother won’t mind—she’s dying to meet you anyway.”
“Your mother’s in town? Did she come to see your show?”
“She’s seen my show,” Chad said dismissively. “She came to see yours.” He sneaked a cheeky smile at Rory, who shook his head in amusement but did not allow himself to be baited. “And take us to Four Seasons and shop.”
“Trust me,” said Rory, and it was possible there was a little snarky edge to his voice that he hoped Piggy would catch. “You wouldn’t be intruding at all. Chad’s Mom would adore you.”
Piggy sighed wistfully and disentangled herself. “Although I can tell that your mother and Moi would hit it off,” she began, “I refuse to intrude on your family time. Moi is going to go home, take a hot bath, read a trashy novel and eat bonbons. That can make anything all better.”
Rory shot her a warning look and opened his mouth, then shut it with effort. He had promised to keep the true version of things quiet, but he was not going to allow her to go home alone. He scowled unhappily, then his face cleared suddenly and he stepped to the dressing room door.
“True that,” said Chad, “but Mother will be so disappointed. She’s coming to see Rory tomorrow night, and she wants to meet you.”
“I, um, think I left my lunch bag in my dressing room,” Rory mumbled. “Be right back.” Trying to fend off Chad’s hospitality, Piggy barely noticed as Rory slipped out into the hall and came back a few moments later.
“Moi would love to meet your mother but I have company coming myself tomorrow,” she was saying as Rory edged back in the door.
Chad pouted. “She’s going to be sooo disappointed,” he said, “but I understand about company. So—the frog’s finally coming, is he?”
Evidently, Rory had not caught Chad up on much of anything except the mugging, so Chad’s assumption that her company was her hubby was understandable, but the sharp sting of having to admit that it was not and he was not almost made her tear up again.
“Kermit can’t come this weekend,” she said. “I—some friends of mine—friends of ours—“ she corrected, “are coming here to see me. My friend Thoreau is coming to make the final arrangements for launching his own ready-to-wear line.” Piggy babbled on, eager to get the part about Kermit’s non-appearance behind them.
“You are putting me on!” Chad exclaimed. “I knew he dressed you—that’s dress your wore to the Pediatric Aids Benefit was tres magnifique—but I didn’t know you were friends.”
That made Piggy smile. She might be a diva but she was on excellent terms with her agent, her designer and her frog—regardless of what the tabloids said.
“We are ol--, um, long-time friends,” said Piggy. “Moi likes clothes and he likes to make them for me.”
“Sounds like a match made in heaven,” said Chad, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Almost,” Piggy admitted. “When Kermie pays the bills, then it’s a magic triangle!” They laughed and Piggy felt her spirits lifting. She was almost tempted to go with them—almost, but then she remembered how special it was to have family time in the middle of the chaos of a major show. “Your invitation is too kind, Chad, but Moi simply must refuse. How long is your mother going to be here?”
“Through Monday afternoon—maybe we could have brunch of something after the matinee on Sunday?” Chad wheedled.
“Brunch sounds wonderful,” said Piggy after careful consideration. She would want something to distract her while she worked up to her on-screen meeting with Kermit. There were secrets between them now—things she probably ought to have told him—but it was too late to have that conversation with him now. After their taped interview, when they were talking quietly on the phone, when he could see that she was fine and everything was okay here—then she could tell him and make him be okay about it. Of course, she’d have to leave out the part about the chloroform….
With difficulty, Piggy turned back into the conversation and say Rory leaning on the back wall, inexplicably smirking with satisfaction. Piggy narrowed her eyes at him, wondering what he was up to, but she did not have to wonder long.
“Piggy, honey, bonbons are going to have to wait,” said Kristen, leaning in the doorway. “You’re coming out with us.” She reached around Rory and snagged Piggy’s wrist on her uninjured side, sneaking a kiss onto Chad’s cheek. “Sorry, Chad—I’m stealing your date for tonight,” she teased. Rory grinned, loving the way Kristen could silence them both in one smooth move. Piggy gave Rory a mean look, certain that Kristen’s appearance had not been entirely serendipitous.
“Not my date,” Chad said primly. “She’s married and I’m spoken for.”
“Spoken about, more like!” Kristen teased, and they all laughed.
“As long as they’re talking about you, it doesn’t matter what they’re saying!” Chad sniffed.
Oh! But it does! It does! Piggy thought. She didn’t say it out loud, but she thought it, worried about what Fleet might write next. She tried again to excuse herself to go home alone, wondering what Fleet was doing at this hour and what he might say if she dared to call him. She’d been steeling he resolve all evening, but it was shaky, at best. “But Moi is going home,” Piggy protested, completely ignored. She thought irritably that she was going to have to throw a few more fits around here because people did not seem to appreciate how very determined she could be. She was used to getting her own way, and no one here seemed to know that—or care.
“Moi is going with me and Trudy and the rest to The Grill to eat and drink and devour a chocolate fudge cake,” Kristen countered. “C’mon—it’ll be fun. Then you can go home and eat bonbons.”
Piggy wavered. She did not like being dictated to, and she knew that Rory had somehow set this up, but she did like chocolate, and the thought of relaxing among friends and then relaxing at home didn’t seem like too much of a compromise. And going out with friends might save her from what—in her foolishness—she might say or do. Fleet had not asked her to call tonight—she had been the one to initiate contact. And maybe contact was a bad idea on an empty stomach and stretched nerves.
“Well….”
“Good. It’s settled,” said Rory, and Piggy could have sworn he winked at Kristen. She had been played, and played effectively, but the end result seemed benevolent enough. Besides, she had managed to get into trouble on her own, so perhaps a crowd—tonight—was better than going solo. Piggy sighed.
“You boys have fun,” said Kristen archly. “Your Mom coming see the show again soon, Chad?”
“Tomorrow night,” said Chad. “Better be brilliant!”
“As if I could help it,” said Kristen, and pulled Piggy after her down the hall.
*********************
The inside of the Bat, Bolt and Skull was cool and dark when they arrived in mid-afternoon. There were a few patrons—some truckers, some monsters, some both—in the place, but it was mostly quiet and only the occasional clank-clank of glasses could be heard, a comforting sound. Coraline paced around the stage area, muttering, clearly please with everything, and the girls began to set up their set. Clifford tried to be useful and unload things, but his offers of muscle-y support were met with disdain and outright hostility.
“We got it,” Tricia had insisted firmly, but mostly nicely. “We do this all the time without big, strong men to help us.” That last had been dripping with sarcasm, but Clifford decided to take it as a compliment. So she had noticed he was big and strong—not to mention handsome.
He wandered over to the bar and ordered and iced tea, which the barkeep provided with a flourish and a nice enough grin, baring three rows of pointed teeth. Clifford nodded his thanks and walked toward the parking lot, dialing as he went.
“Yello?”
“You’ll never guess where I’m at, man!” Clifford said. There was a short silence on the other end of the phone, then Rowlf offered, “Jail? I’m a little too far away to bail you out.”
Clifford laughed, half in amusement, half in outrage. “I am not in jail, man—but I’m surprised you’ve not been hauled in. Still driving with that expired license?”
“Nope. I got that taken care of. But I’m still waiting for the results of my rabies test!”
“Who bit you?” Clifford asked, but Rowlf’s rejoinder put his quip to shame.
“Don’t know her name,” said Rowlf, “but she was a batty little thing….”
“Speaking of…we’re here at the Bat, Bolt and Skull.”
“Huh. Already? I thought you’d gone back to Vegas?”
“What? Oh! I did, I did go back to Vegas. I’m at the Bat, Bolt and Skull in State Line.”
“You said ‘we’ earlier. How’s Mabel like State Line?”
“Not much to like, ‘cept here,” said Clifford, then added casually. “And it’s not me and Mabel here—it’s me and a band.”
“Get out!” said Rowlf.
“I would,” said Clifford, “but I’m in too deep.”
“So we’re both on the road, playing for the real fans.”
“Sort of,” Clifford admitted. “Only I’m not playing. I’m…I’m sort of managing. Sort of.”
There was a silence on the other end of the phone, and Clifford wondered for a moment if Rowlf had hung up.
“What’s her name?” Rowlf asked.
And this time, Clifford told him.
*************************************
Autumn kept an eagle eye on their luggage, the other passengers and still managed to devote her unwavering attention to her swain. She stretch up to kiss him on the ear, and was delighted at his startled blush.
“Thank you for letting me kidnap you,” she said. “I didn’t even know I’d get to be in this hemisphere, but a chance to see you—“ She stretched to kiss him again, but this time Ed was ready for it. He honed in on the sound, grasped her arms and kissed her, quietly but soundly. Around them, several airport patrons looked on in benevolent amusement as he released her lips and sat her back on her heels.
“Sneaky,” she accused breathlessly, but Ed was sanguine. (!)
“Yes,” he said. “Yes I am. But I’m more amazed at you getting tickets than I am about you, er, kidnapping me. I thought the run had been sold out.”
“It had,” said Autum. “But I know a guy….”
“Hmm,” Ed said, glad for the tickets but not especially thrilled at the way that sounded. “This is unexpectedly wonderful,” he added, not wanting to sound churlish. “But strange. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Miss Piggy perform without…everyone else.”
“The reviews have been stellar,” said Autumn, “except for that one idiot who dissed Piggy’s hair. Oh! She’s brunette in this—did you know that?”
“And I’ve always wondered what she’d look like as a red-head,” Ed teased. “From what I understand, Rizzo has to be brunette because Sandy is blonde? Something about contrasting the two characters?”
Autumn shrugged. “Typecasting—what are you going to do?”
Ed put his arm on Autumn’s waist, warm, but reserved. “I’m going to enjoy my weekend with the two loveliest women on the planet,” he murmured.
**************************************
Piggy hated to admit it, but some time after the salad, she began to have a good time. It was always fun to come out with the girls, fun to get dressed up and eat hot food and be flirted with by every waiter and half the patrons. Her stress and fright and anger from her earlier encounter that day had faded, washed away on a tide of other strong emotions. Being a celebrity had always brought some unwelcome attention, and Piggy began to minimize the creepiness of the earlier attack. Psychologically, this was good, because it calmed her and made her less anxious. Physically, it wasn’t so great, because it caused her to relax her guard.
“I have the best job in the world tonight,” said Alexey, beaming at the table full of lovelies. They giggled and smiled back. Short, dark-skinned and mischievous, the Indian waiter somehow managed to snag their table at The Grill, no matter where they sat. His memory was superior, his manners sublime, and he managed to flirt and entertain in a way that was delightful and not offensive.
“How come we always get you?” Darcy had asked. “Who’d you bribe this time?”
Alexey bowed formally, but with such a flourish it was mocking and humorous. “I would never bribe anyone to wait on you lovely ladies,” he said solemnly. His eyes slid comically to the left. “Although…it is possible that the broom closet has more than brooms in it tonight!” He dispensed their drink refills, scooping up empty salad bowls as he went. “Next up, something hot from the kitchen!” he sing-songed.
“Besides you,” murmured Stacey, and Alexey turned his long-lashed eyes on her and gave that quick, polite bow.
“In addition, I would have said,” he intoned solemnly, then grinned and made for the kitchen with the tray high over his head.
“Cutie,” said Jan.
“Shameless flirt,” Piggy murmured, amused.
“Excellent service, I’ll bet,” said Trudy, and the entire table erupted into giggled.
Across the room, someone was not giggling. Seymour had watched with mounting irritation the way Piggy and the other girls—whom he blamed for leading her astray—had enjoyed the attention of the young waiter. In his anger, he assigned a much more sinister intent to Alexey’s harmless flirtation, and he was determined to do something about it. He noticed his grip on his wineglass was too tight, and relaxed it with effort. His own waiter, whose name he couldn’t care less about, approached rather cautiously as he set the glass down.
“Another glass of wine before you order, sir?” the young man asked. Seymour looked down and discovered two wineglasses on the table. Funny, he thought. I don’t remember drinking a second glass of wine.
In truth, it was this third, but Jules, his waiter, has whisked the first glass away so unobtrusively that it had gone unnoticed. Jules was to well-trained, and too wise, to comment further.
“No…no. I’ll, um, order now,” said Seymour, and opened the menu. He pointed at the first likely thing.
“Thank you, sir,” said Jules, and Seymour forgot what he’d ordered as soon as the young man walked away. He was not interested in food. He was hungry, but not for anything on the menu. He wanted her. He wanted Piggy in his arms and in his power, and it was all he could do not to march over there and demand she come home with him this instant. He was, after all, responsible—at least indirectly—for her being here, and she owed him for that, and her respect and so much more….
There was the taste of bile in his mouth and he felt light-headed, and the shock of it shook him, nudging him back toward reality. He was…getting all out of sorts for nothing, he reminded himself. Piggy adored him. She wanted him, wanted to belong to him. He just hadn’t…set things up correctly for her to see that. If things had gone better today, why, they’d even now be getting better acquainted… He knew that Piggy would be thrilled to find herself in his thrall, but then that stupid reporter…! Seymour ground his teeth, fighting a surge of fury. He’d been a little slow, but he’d almost managed to knock that low-life reporter’s block off. If he had….
Piggy stood up, and Seymour had a mouth-watering view of her low-backed evening gown, her generous curves that the dress hugged the way he wanted to hug them. She picked up her purse, a little ruffled-looking thing, and Seymour realized with elation that she was leaving the table! His mind raced ahead. The exit was not exactly close to the bathrooms, but it was closer and more private there than here. He didn’t have the chloroform on him, but how hard could it be to grab her and wrestle her out to the car?
Seymour might have been delusional, but he wasn’t stupid. Too hard, he concluded, and too many witnesses. Besides, one of her girlfriends was getting up with her, and they were chattering their way toward the rest rooms while everyone in the room watched them go. Seymour realized he was half-standing and started to sit back down, but just at that moment, that noxious little Indian waiter—Alex Something-or-other—was walking by, his tray laden with food. So quick it was almost un-thought, Seymour stuck his toe out and Alexey stumbled, losing his balance. The huge tray wobbled, the nearby crowd gasped and—impossibly, miraculously—the man was finding his footing, holding the tray upright and stable and emerging from a bewildered crouch to a roomful of gasps of approval. Alexey stood there, panting for a moment from the adrenaline rush, then stood erect, smiled and took a small, sardonic bow with the tray held high over his head. Dignified and tony the restaurant might be, but it was still full of people. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, and Alexey moved cheekily to the table Piggy had so recently vacated and began to put down their entrees.
Seymour made a sound like a low growl. Everything was going wrong today! Everything! He was going to go outside—to wait and to watch. He stood again, just as Jules arrived with his entrée. He stared at it in confusion, having no memory of what he ordered and was about to berate the waiter when something amazing happened.
“Seymour? Mr. Strathers?”
He looked up and was immediately transfixed, caught in the fabulous blue of her eyes.
“Piggy?” he managed. “Miss Piggy…how…how nice to see you!”
And she was moving forward, putting her satin gloved hand on his arm and drawing her friend after her.
“Kristen, Mr. Strathers is one of the owners of the casino where Moi performed during Christmas,” Piggy explained. “Mr. Strathers, this is Moi’s dear friend Kristen—“
“Piggy,” Seymour said, and reached out clumsily to clasp her arms and kiss first on one cheek and then the other, but the second kiss landed awkwardly on her neck. He sighed with delight, but Piggy let out a little yeep and stiffened in surprise.
“Oh, um, ha ha,” said Piggy. “Oh, Mr. Strathers. How, um, what brings you to New York? Are you scouting new acts for your casino?”
Seymour relaxed at once. He knew how this was played, and what a charming coquette Piggy was! What brings him to New York indeed! As if she hadn’t moved here specifically to be available to him!
“Why, yes—I am on a scouting expedition,” Seymour said, watching her. Little minx!
Kristen didn’t like it. She didn’t like him. She disliked the way he was looking at Piggy, and the way he had practically dived into her cleavage. Piggy seemed oblivious, but there was something…off, somehow, about this man. He had ignored Piggy’s introduction, but Kristen moved solidly up next to her friend, making it clear that Piggy was not alone.
“Charmed, I’m sure,” Kristen said, and while her smile was brilliant and her hand was soft, there was a hard, unfriendly edge to her greeting. She was watching this Mr. Strathers as closely as he was watching Piggy, and the tension in the air mounted.
“Oh, um, yes,” said Strathers, making hurried eye contact with Kristen while he took her hand perfunctorily. The warning in the woman’s eyes froze him in his tracts and made him step back with an almost inaudible hiss, drawing out the “yesss.” He put his hands in his pockets, then took them out again.
Piggy, usually so adept at social situations, didn’t understand what was happening, but she felt the awkwardness intrude again and made as if to extricate them.
“You must come by and see, um, the show,” Piggy said. She had almost said, “see me,” but she was remembering a time backstage, when she and Kermit had been dancing and flirting and…and Mr. Strathers had emerged out of the shadows. Something about this encounter made her think of that encounter, but her brain would not track after the day she’d had. She filed it away to think about later, when she was by herself—if she remembered.
He was losing her—losing her again to her friends and the crowd. Every impulse said to lunge forward and hold fast to her voluptuous frame, but it suddenly seemed too hot, too crowded, too…public. He grasped desperately at his decorum and smiled.
“Lovely to see you again, Piggy,” said Seymour, striving for a calmness and suavity he did not feel. He was faking it effectively from twenty paces, but up close Kristen—and Piggy—felt the oddness. “I’ll come and see you.”
Kristen’s eyes narrowed. I just bet you’d like to, she thought, but her smile was quick, if razor-sharp.
“Yes—do come to the play,” Kristen said. “Piggy is wonderful in it.”
Piggy blushed but did not deny it. She was wonderful in the play. She fully expected at least a Tony nomination.
But Kristen’s pointed barb could not penetrate his elation.
Or nix the plan that was forming even now in his fevered brain.
“And this is your room,” Thoreau said, as the bellboy opened the door with a coded key. He and Howard had gotten on like a house on fire all the way here, full of ideas and excitement and punchiness at the lateness of the hour, but now that they were here, some awkwardness intruded. Traveling with someone is often revealing, sometimes inadvertently and, along with their fatigue and nervousness, there had been bursts of self-revelation from both of them. It had made them both more bold, and more shy.
“How lovely!” Howard said, suitably awed with the suite, but not overawed. He liked nice things and he was used to them, but to have someone provide something so nice as a present…it made him feel a little giggly and nervous. “Well, come in, come in—let’s see what kind of view I have,” Howard had babbled, and Thoreau had tipped the bellboy outrageously and followed his friend into the room. They opened the curtains and looked out on the city, dazzled by the sheer enormity of New York.
“Oh, look,” Thoreau said, passing the coffee table. “The hotel sent up champagne.” He sounded puzzled, but after peering closer, he let out a snort and a sigh of satisfaction. “Not the hotel,” he said. “Piggy!”
“Piggy!” Howard said at the same moment. “Ooh! And I’ll bet she sent a muffin basket!” Food is such a common social custom that it can wipe aware almost all unnecessary worry, and the two men happily worked their way to the bottom of the enormous basket, examining each muffin, each chocolate, each piece of candied fruit.
“Piggy certainly knows how to entertain,” Howard said. “If only there were—“
“Coffee? I hope you like French Press in the morning?” He was peering into the coffee contraption in the little kitchenette.
“I do,” said Howard. “You?”
“Usually I’m a tea person,” said Thoreau, “but after tonight….”
It had gotten quiet again in the room.
“Well, let’s toast, and I’m going to eat a muffin. In fact, I’m going to eat a muffin and a piece of chocolate! I’m on vacation!” Howard said. “Pour the champagne!”
Thoreau smiled and obeyed, popping the cork expertly and pouring two classes of the pale amber liquid. “The finest musketel in Idaho,” said Thoreau solemnly after the first sip, and it was all Howard could to not to shoot champagne out of his snout. They drank champagne and giggled.
Howard ate his muffin and made Thoreau eat one, then they each ate a chocolate.
“What kind of cookies were there?” Howard asked.
Thoreau brought each (enormous) individually wrapped cookie back to the couch. “If you give a pig a cookie….” he teased, but Howard refused to be cowed.
“It’s not a cookie—it’s a party. It’s If You Give A Pig A Party. The first one was If You Give A Mouse A Cookie, though why anyone would waste a cookie on ol’ big ears is beyond—“ He looked down to discover his wine glass was empty, so he poured for himself and poured more champagne into Thoreau’s empty glass.
“I wonder what kind of cookies Minnie serves when they have company?” Thoreau mused. They had gone past awkward and were well into silly. It was unlikely that they would make their way fully to blotto, but it was a possibility.
Howard snorted. “I’ll never know,” he said. “They apparently have their own choreographer,” he sniffed.
“Well, she certainly doesn’t need me to design for her,” said Thoreau, twirling his glass. “She hasn’t worn anything fashion-forward in years. Piggy, on the other hand….”
And that was a topic they could talk about all night.
Well, almost.
*****************************
It had taken some fast talking, but Kristen and Stacey had finally allowed that Piggy could stay at her own place tonight. They had dropped Darcy off along the way, Mr. Finkel having come almost the moment Piggy had called him. He deposited all three women in front of the apartment building where Piggy was staying and promised to wait as long as necessary for them to see her safely into her unit.
Oh, the joys of youth and strength and limber limbs! They were not even breathing hard when they finished the walk-up to Piggy apartment, and although Piggy rolled her eyes, she opened the door and allowed them to walk her in.
“Are you going to check my closets?” Piggy said dryly, but Kristen just grinned.
“If I did, would I find out all your secrets?”
“Just my shoe size,” said Piggy, and they laughed. “Really, vous are very sweet to see me up and in and—you’re not planning on tucking me in, are you? Because I do like a mint on my pillow—“
“Oh, dry up,” said Stacey, and leaned down to kiss Piggy on the cheek. “We’re just looking out for you, doll. It’s not every day someone tries to mug you—even here in the big Apple.”
Piggy snorted. “Somebody tried to mug me the other day,” she said, then immediately regretted it when her two friends exchanged worried looks. “Moi flattened him with a solid Hi-yah,” she insisted. “It’s no big deal!”
“It is a big deal!” Kristen said, and Piggy’s heart leapt into her throat. What had Rory told her? Did she know that today had not been a run-of-the-mill hold-up attempt?
“It’s a done deal,” said Stacey, trying to fend off an argument. “With a happy ending. But not all muggers are going to go down on the first hit, Piggy. Be careful, won’t you? I don’t not want to meet your little green hubby over your hospital bed!”
“Especially if Dr. Rowlf is operating,” Piggy quipped, determined to lighten the mood, but her friends exchanged looks again and she sighed in exasperation.
“Arrgh!” she said, taking their arms and moving them toward the door. “I’m in, I’m safe, I’m going to get in the tub. Go let Moishe take you home.”
They made their good-byes and left, and Piggy made sure to slam the deadbolts extra loud.
************************************
Drat it—there were still two of them, and a cabbie who had kept a pretty thorough watch on the street. Wedged into the narrow alleyway, Seymour shivered in the cold, but he did not feel it. Instead, he felt warm—warm and hot-blooded with triumph! He knew where she lived.
Well, he knew the building where she lived. His plan of accosting whichever young lady came out and bullying the information about Piggy’s room number was not going to work. There were still two of them. And a cabbie.
But now the cabbie was driving off!
His heart and his expectations soared! All he had to do was count the lighted windows….
He gave up, shivering violently, after 36, and that wasn’t even counting the top-most floors. Drat! Drat and drat and drat again! Would nothing go right today?
As if in answer to his plea, Seymour saw an elderly Asian lady come around the corner, a white paper bag in her hands. She was heading towards Piggy’s building…going past the first apartment building…the second…oh! Oh! It was happening! His luck was changing!
For the worse. Seymour bounded out of his hiding place and grabbed the woman from behind in a bear hug…
…only to find himself flat on his back. He must have slipped or something—he was running ahead of himself. The lady was still there on the sidewalk, now behind him, but he was between her and the door. She made no sound as he reached out and grasped her arm…
…and he was looking at the stars again, only this time with a Cantonese sound-track as the lady blessed him up one side and down the other. He staggered to his feet, and this time he saw it—saw her turn, one leg up and then…
…he was face down on the pavement. When he had worked out whether he was going to throw up or not, Seymour thought he might just go back to his own apartment and crawl in bed.
“Thank you,” said Tricia. “You’re an amazing audience. Okay, this one goes out to all the monsters out there who can count to 9—let’s give it up for the number 9!”
And the crowd just roared, as the band launched into “Love Potion Number Nine.” Clifford sat at the bar, nursing his ice tea. He was driving, and he was responsible for a whole carload of femininity that needed to make it safely back into the van. Tricia was really belting out the songs, and the girls were laying down some serious, righteous tracks. Clifford thought for a moment that Susie could give Animal a pointer or two, and he could see now why Coraline had worried about the stage room. She moved, her feet as quick as her fingers flying over the strings. When Tia had brought out the oboe, a huge, shaggy orange monster in front of Clifford put his head (his head? He hoped it was a he.) on the table and began to sob loudly.
“Boy, have I got a proposition for those ladies,” said a voice behind Clifford, and he was on his feet in an instant, fists raised, lips drawn back in a snarl. The little man in glasses and a business suit behind him smiled broadly and held out his hand. “You their manager? Because if you are, you are just the man I want to talk to….”
Piggy heard the commotion as her friend stomped down the hallway. She had run her bath, but not stepped into it, and she looked out to see the little Asian lady from down the hall walking with quick steps toward her apartment door, muttering angrily. Without thinking, Piggy opened the door and looked out.
“Mei-wah?” Piggy asked. “Is everything all right?”
Mei-wah ranted in Cantonese for a bit, then switched to Engligh, from which Piggy could gather that she had come back from the restaurant where she worked with a sack full of steaming hot egg rolls, only to be accosted by some low-life on the street that had slowed her down, dared to put his hands on her, and made her egg rolls get cold!
“I have a microwave,” Piggy said, and Mei-wah’s face brightened.
“You a good girl,” said Mei-wah. “Use your microwave and we’ll share, okay?”
“Okay,” said Piggy, then hesitated.
But Mei-wah’s little dark eyes were dancing with mischief and understanding. “Only vegetarian!” she said, clapping her hands. “Today or tomorrow or the next day—all days, only vegetarian!”
Piggy smiled and opened the door.
Kermit woke up alone on the couch. Someone had draped a blanket over him, and the lamp in the corner was on, so he oriented pretty quickly when he sat up.
“You awake?”
Any voice but Fozzie’s would have shot him through the roof, but as it was, Kermit just smiled and rubbed the back of his neck.
“It’s me. You get the short straw?”
“The short--? Oh. Oh! No. I just…I decided to stay. If it’s okay?”
“I order you to leave this house at once,” Kermit intoned, and Fozzie sighed in relief.
“Oh, good,” he said. “You should go on up to your room. I’m gonna stay here in the recliner.”
Kermit thought about saying something snarky, but what was the point? He felt hovered over and coddled and…loved. Yeah. He felt loved, and although it was not the same as having Piggy here, it was nice. Pretty nice.
“Okay,” said Kermit, and looked on the coffee table for his phone.
“Scooter put it on the charger for you,” said Fozzie sleepily.
“Of course he did,” Kermit sighed. He made his way up the steps, wondering what time it was, wondering if it was too late to call Piggy.
It was. It was too late to call Piggy. In spite of his best efforts, Kermit dialed the phone and to his overwhelming joy and astonishment, she answered on the first ring.
“Kermie!” Piggy said, and Kermit felt his whole body relax.
“Hi Piggy. It’s me.”
“Hi me,” Piggy said, and giggled. Kermit could here a sibilant sound, like silk on silk.
“Did I, um, wake you up or anything?”
“No,” Piggy said. “I was…I was having an egg roll with my neighbor, Mei-wah.”
“Oh. Quiet night then,” said Kermit, and Piggy did not correct him. Instead, she lead him further down the wrong path.
“Quiet day,” Piggy answered, thinking about the terrifying stranger who had grabbed her, about being rescued by her hated adversary. “What about you? You do anything exciting today?”
“No,” said Kermit. “The morning was busy, but I didn’t get a lot done in the afternoon.” He’d spent the afternoon thawing. “We did manage to get another batch of film to the editor.” He started to say, “We found out what the problem was with the film that got ruined,” but Piggy didn’t know about the film that got ruined. He tried to remember if he had told her about Fozzie’s tie tac, but honestly couldn’t remember. It seemed a bad idea to bring it up now.
“Vous are so clever,” said Piggy, but Kermit heard her yawn and felt little twinge of hurt and indignation. If she knew I’d been frozen most of the afternoon, she’d be more impressed.
Piggy had not yawned. She had tried to shift on the big bed and tried putting weight on her elbow, but the sharp ache of it had made her gasp and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. She almost told Kermit everything—about the chloroform, about Scribbler, about the apartment. But she didn’t.
“I’m, um, sorry I’m calling so late. I, um, fell asleep on the couch.”
“Oh! Poor thing! All alone in that big house. Moi was going to call vous sooner, Mon Capitan, but I was taking a bath.”
“It’s okay,” said Kermit.
“It’s okay,” said Piggy.
But it wasn’t. It wasn’t at all.
Welcome to the Muppet Central Forum!
Jim Henson Idea Man
Back to the Rock Season 2
Bear arrives on Disney+
Sam and Friends Book
WHAT?
Look at this place, what a dump!
: If that's the Happiness Hotel, I'd hate to see the sad one.
The old ones are the best ones.
Ahem.
Which one?
You want gutsied up pizza, you should try my peanut butter and jalapeño and anchovy.
