In for a tadpole....
When several moments had passed, Fozzie came over and sat down beside Piggy on the park bench. She had not moved, but she turned and looked at him when he sat down.
Fozzie took his hat off hastily and held his hands up in the air. “No hitting! I’m the bear, not the frog.” He gave her a lop-sided grin.
It was such a dumb joke, and they had darn near beaten the poor thing to death during filming…. In spite of herself, Piggy smiled faintly and Fozzie dared to scoot a little closer.
“I’m sorry you’re having such a rough day,” Fozzie said gently. His eyes were kind, his expression earnest, and Piggy appreciated the effort he was making.
“Yes,” she agreed. “This is not the best day I’ve had in a while.”
“You’re doing so many things,” Fozzie continued. “I have trouble concentrating on what I’m doing while I’m doing it. I don’t know how you’re doing everything you’re doing.”
“Out of necessity,” Piggy joked, an old Ethel Merman line, and Fozzie caught it and said “Wah! Good one!” He leaned forward, giving Piggy a big-eyed look of admiration.
“And you are doing everything so well.”
Piggy eyed Fozzie suspiciously. “Fozzie—did Kermit send you over here to say those things?”
“No!” Fozzie looked shocked. He lacked the sophistication to lie effectively, so Piggy took him at face value. He squirmed for a moment, however, then finally said, “But that is what I’ve been hearing every single day we’ve been filming.”
Surprise made Piggy turn toward Fozzie on the bench, her expression inquisitive. “From Kermit?”
“Um hm,” Fozzie said hastily. “We’re sharing a suite at the hotel, you know. You’re all Kermit talks about when he’s, um, there.” He had almost said something he hadn’t meant to—something that worried him. Kermit had been getting up early and leaving—ostensibly for the set, but on at least two occasions Fozzie had arrived earlier than usual on the set and seen Kermit arrive after him. Also, Kermit always stayed after, but there were times when Fozzie had called the set and been told by the watchman that Kermit had been gone some time—and yet was not home. Fozzie could not imagine Kermit was up to anything he ought not to be, but he did not know what to think instead. Wanting to reassure her—wanting to reassure himself—Fozzie leaned forward and took her hand, patting it softly. “Piggy, Kermit didn’t mean—“
“Fozzie, don’t. You’re very sweet, but I—I don’t want to talk about this. I’m very tired, Fozzie. Could you—I mean, would you drive me back to my hotel?”
“Sure, Miss Piggy.” He took her hand and helped her up the bank.
Standing near the gazebo, Kermit watched them go, torn between gratefulness and misery. Good ol’ Fozzie, Kermit thought with a sigh. I don’t know what I did to deserve a friend like him. Fozzie handed Piggy into one of the studio cars and shut her door before walking around to the driver’s side and getting in. Kermit watched the car until it disappeared around the curve of the lake, but Piggy’s profile never changed. She didn’t look back—not even once.
“Um, Kermit—“ Scooter said, and Kermit knew by the sound of his voice that there was no more time for selfish indulgence. It was time to be the director again. He turned and met Scooter’s anxious eyes.
“Um, I hate to bother you….” Scooter began uncomfortably.
Kermit put his hand on Scooter’s arm. “Please,” he said, his eyes wistful. “I could use a distraction.”
Kermit was exhausted when the filming day finally ended. Although he’d spent a good portion of the day climbing in and out of a box ostensibly floating in the water, he found himself veering not for the hotel—where he would just have to endure the annoyed, pitying or just plain curious stares of all his friends—but for the pool where he had lately spent such sweet time with Piggy.
The night was warm and still, and Kermit shucked off his outer garments and dove straight in. The water welcomed him, as it always did, with the buoyant promise of peacefulness, but Kermit was anything but peaceful tonight. He swam—not with lazy paddling flippers, but with grim, determined strokes that pierced the water. The sky, which had been so full of stars a few nights ago, was overcast except for a palely shimmering moon, whose glow illuminated the water only faintly. Back and forth, back and forth, Kermit swam the length of the pool, pushing himself as he had pushed her, forcing himself to reach, to extend. Finally, when his arms and legs felt shaky and his lungs actually hurt, Kermit hauled himself out of the water and began to towel off.
The gate opened soundlessly so it wasn’t the noise. Some sixth sense—some awareness of her—alerted him, and he turned in time to see her step through. She was wearing street clothes, however—not her bathing suit—and would not look directly at him.
Kermit toweled off hastily but did not approach her, letting her know she could have space if she needed it. Breathlessly he waited for her to speak, to act, to look at him. At last, she sat on one of the stone benches scattered around the edge of the pool. There was plenty of room left on the bench, and she indicated by her attitude that he was welcome to sit. He sat.
“I’m sorry,” Piggy said quietly. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I said some things I shouldn’t—some things I didn’t mean.” And some I did. “Piggy, please don’t apologize. I feel like a heel. I said some things today I didn’t mean, that I never should have said. I—I acted terrible, and I’m really sorry. Please say—“
“Kermit, don’t,” Piggy said, her voice low. Kermit couldn’t see her eyes but he felt like she was crying, or close to it.
“Piggy—“ He reached out tentatively, wanting to take her hand, but she shrank away from him. It would be a long time before they could put this afternoon behind them. Kermit saw it and felt his heart clench in his chest, but he plunged on determinedly. “I put a scene in a movie—a stupid scene in a movie—above your well-being. I’ve been pushing you too hard.”
“You’ve been working hard, too,” Piggy objected.
If anything, her defense of his actions made him more ashamed. “My motivation was selfish—I wanted something.”
“I wanted something, too,” Piggy said, then blushed and fell silent. “I wanted to do the scene,” she said distinctly. She looked out, away from him. “I want to do the scene.”
“Piggy, no—you’ve got too much to think about. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“I could have said no. I didn’t.”
Kermit laughed without mirth. “That’s my fault. I’m so used to you being, well, perfect. I’m used to you being able to do anything. Just because I asked you. I-I took advantage, Piggy.”
“No—“
“I did. And I’m really sorry.”
Piggy looked up at him suddenly. Her face was earnest, but her eyes were sad. “Kermit,” she said urgently. “I like you. I like you a lot.” There had been a time when Piggy had openly professed her undying passion for him in front of crowds of friends and acquaintances, but this simple admission somehow moved him more than all of those protestations of love. Kermit smiled and reached again for her hand. This time, after the slightest of hesitations, she let him take it between his own.
“I like you too, Piggy.”
“I think you got the wrong idea the other day about me and…Charlie and the, the picnic. He’s very sweet but he’s not, I mean, I don’t—“ She looked at the bench, blushing furiously. “I don’t feel that way about Charlie. It’s just, I wanted to go on a picnic.” He face set in a sweet, pouty line that make Kermit want to snatch her up and kiss her. “Shouldn’t someone want to take me on a picnic?”
Kermit smiled, his expression rueful. “Someone did,” he admitted. “Only he was too preoccupied to make a proper invitation.”
“Oh, I don’t care about that,” Piggy said, embarrassed. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just I—I don’t know if I can even explain it. It just seemed so, well, romantic and everything, and I—I wanted someone to want to take me out, to want to be with me, so I—“
“I want to be with you, Piggy.” For a moment, Kermit sat stock-still, his mind reeling. Had he said that? Had he said that out loud? He had—he had said that out loud, and if he needed any confirmation all he had to do was look at Piggy’s radiant and astonished face.
“Kermit?”
In for a tadpole, in for a frog….
“Piggy, look—I know I’m not a very impulsive kind of guy.”
Piggy made a small noise that might have been a snort, but when he shot her a look her face was composed.
“I was always taught to look before I leap. Sometimes, when I’m with you, I can’t think about where I’m going to land. Sometimes, I don’t think I ever will land.” Piggy swallowed hard. For a guy who wasn’t usually demonstrative, Kermit was doing pretty good. “I just, it’s just that I can’t handle one more distraction right now. I’m having a hard time just doing the work. I can’t do my best if I’m thinking about you all the time.”
“About me?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Yep. That’s why I was such an idiot this afternoon. I was jealous and miserable and—“
Piggy leaned forward and silenced him with her hand, not her lips. Kermit was momentarily disappointed, but her hand on his cheek was satiny soft and it felt nice.
“Oh, Kermit—I, I’m so glad to hear you say that—all of that.” She pulled her hand away from his cheek, blushing a little. "Sometime, it’s hard to work with you when we’re dating.” She shot him a daring look from under veiled lashes. “I like to give things that are important to me my undivided attention.”
Kermit made a little “hm?” of interest that caused her to scoot back on the bench in alarm, but he subsided and reached for her hand again.
“But I can’t do all this—the swimming, the dancing, the motorcycle scene—I just can’t do all of that if I’m worrying about us.”
“Don’t worry about us,” Kermit began, but Piggy shushed him.
“I need you to be my director, Kermit. And my coach. And my friend. I need your help. I want to make this movie—your movie—“
“Our movie,” Kermit insisted.
“Our movie,” Piggy said obediently. “I want it to be the best I can make it, but I don’t think we can do that while we’re, um, trying to work out whatever this thing is between us.”
She fell silent, and they gazed at each other for a long moment. At last, Kermit sighed.
“I am your friend, Piggy, and I will be your coach—that is, if you’ll still—“
“I will. I want to. I didn’t come dressed for it tonight, but—“
“Tomorrow. Tomorrow is fine.”
“Tomorrow morning, then.”
They sat for a moment longer, eyes still locked. Kermit leaned forward, brought his voice down to a whisper.
“Do you think maybe two friends could share a kiss—you know, seal the bargain and everything?” he asked hopefully. Piggy looked at him gravely, withdrawing her hand.
“No,” she said firmly. “I don’t think so.”
“Piggy—“
Piggy stood. Her eyes were luminous, her smile a mona-lisa smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Coach,” she said gently, and left him again.
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Seriously, I like that line a lot.
