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Craig leaned across the desk and bussed her cheek when the show went to commercial.
“That was lovely,” he said.
“Yes, wasn’t it?” said Piggy archly.
“The audience loved you.”
“Yes—didn’t they?” she giggled and accepted his praise and his kiss as her just due. It had gone well. It had been a long time—a long time—since she had been invited to do a real, live grown-up show, and they had even played with that a little in the teaser they had filmed. Craig had been very sweet, and they had had a very fun time ad-libbing. A very fun time indeed. She gave her host a speculative look and he smiled and clasped her gloved hands.
“Come back any time, Missy,” he said fondly.
“Just call me,” she said slyly, echoing his earlier tease with her hand to her ear like a phone. BK sparkled on her finger.
“And you’ll come back for li’l ol me?” he teased. She liked his accent and his continental manners, and the way he seemed to be laughing behind his dark eyes. “Just like that?” He snapped his fingers, openly doubtful, but there was a flicker of wry hope in his eyes and a merriment that suited his nature.
“Probably not,” Piggy admitted, with a toss of her golden curls, “but if you call Marty, I’ll come back for the show.”
Craig laughed out loud, then groaned. “Arh! An honest woman! But I thought Bernie was your agent,” he admitted confusedly.
“No,” Piggy said complacently. “Bernie’s my lawyer. Marty’s my agent.”
“What about Kermit?” he teased, leaning forward till their foreheads almost touched and dropping his voice. “Where does he fit into this?”
“Kermit’s my director,” Piggy said primly, but a becoming blush crept up her cheeks. “And my personal shopper.”
“And what a fun job that might be!” he teased, enjoying her discomfiture.
“You have no idea,” Piggy growled. She was blushing now—but she was openly basking in the banter.
“Whoa—tough lady to mess with,” said Craig. He did not look scared.
Piggy didn’t deny it. “Mostly,” she said, and her expression was sanguine.
They laughed in companionable intimacy before Piggy walked toward the curtain. She stopped only once and looked over her shoulder, catching the talk show host dreamily contemplating her sashay. He grinned broadly at being caught, not at all repentant, and waggled his fingers at her as she disappeared.
The silly smile on her face lasted until she was off the stage, then Piggy stopped dead in her tracks as she came face to face with one of her admirers. He did not look happy.
Her expression was sassy, unrepentant and maybe—just maybe—a little bit insecure around the edges, thought Kermit. But he could not think of any reason for her to be insecure—except one. She had just nailed her interview with Craig, TMS: The Second Season was poised for debut with her face on the cover, and she looked…she looked lovely. In spite of his frown, his expression softened just a little.
Piggy would have breezed by him if she thought she could have done it in the narrow doorway, but the thought of having to literally rub shoulders with him while he was giving her that look made her stop instead and give him a look of her own. Helen of Troy is said to have launched a thousand ships with her lovely face. Piggy’s face looked as though it could incite a few riots of its own, and it looked like she was considering inciting one now. Kermit put his hands on his hips, and Piggy didn’t wait for whatever he might say.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped. Her gloved hands settled on her voluptuous hips and she tapped one very-high-heeled shoe at him. “Come to complain because Craig asked Moi instead of vous?”
“No!” he shot back defensively. He wasn’t here to complain. “I just came here to—“ He was here to…he was just here to— Kermit stuffed the rest of that thought away uncomfortably. Piggy only saw his hesitation without guessing the reason behind it, and she let out a little snort of annoyance and rolled her eyes.
Kermit felt his own annoyance surge. “I didn’t come to complain!” he said stiffly. “I just came to check on—“
“Figures,” Piggy huffed. She shot an arm in the air and struck a daring pose, but the anger in her frame spoiled the provocative stance. “Check away!” she cried angrily, daring him to find fault with her ensemble or the tumbled curls of her hair.
Kermit decided he was far too close to her unless he was wearing asbestos.
“Piggy! That’s not what I meant!” he cried. Sheesh! Something about Piggy—or something about the two of them together—always seemed to bring out the worst and the best in him, but the scales were definitely tipping toward the former today.
“It never is,” she muttered snidely, and let out a breath she’d been holding for what seemed like forever. Her disdain was obvious.
He’d had a couple of things to say, but they melted in the heat of this onslaught. He stepped back, his mouth dropped open and he stammered in surprise. With a small cry of triumph, Piggy sailed past him regally and almost ran for her dressing room. After a split-second of hesitation, Kermit scrambled to keep up.
“Piggy—wait!” he demanded, but she was moving fast. Despite her abrasive words, she was doing a fairly good imitation of a retreat, and that managed to register on Kermit in spite of his surprise and the fact that he was pretty much chasing her down the hallway.
She was almost at her dressing room door, her gloved hand on the knob. If he didn’t put on some speed, she would be on the other side of it and he’d never get her out of there, never get a chance to explain…whatever it was he wanted to explain. He put on some speed, mystified at how she could book in those nosebleed heels, but admiring the sweet swell of her calf muscles all the same.
Piggy wrenched the door open, but to Kermit’s complete astonishment, she shut it almost at once, then whirled around and pressed her back to it. Her eyes were flashing, and she pointed imperiously at the star on her door.
“Do you see that?” she demanded.
Kermit almost skidded into her, but managed not to at the last instant. He looked up at the glittery star on her door and the neat lettering denoting its occupant.
“Yeah, um, yes. It’s—it’s very nice, Piggy,” he said hastily. “They put a star on your door.”
Piggy’s eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.
“Yes—imagine that,” she said dryly, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Well, you are a star,” Kermit said, not sure at all how it was that he found himself arguing with her about her star status. Oh, sure, he had often argued with her absolute-diva-of-the-universe status—especially when it had interfered with her performance—but he had never doubted her divine right of stardom. Within the restraints of what his budget and his ego could stand, he had always treated her like a star. At least, he had tried to, and the implication that he didn’t respect her as a force to be reckoned with rankled after all the effort he’d invested. “In fact,” he cried hotly, “they should have put a star on your door and fresh flowers in your room and classic m&ms and all of that other…um, stuff!”
“They did!” she almost shouted.
“Oh yeah?” he almost yelled back.
“Yeah!” The “almost shouting” had risen in pitch and was now an unadulterated free-for-all.
“Well, they forgot the frog-scented candles!” Kermit insisted angrily. “How do you like that?”
Piggy had stopped shouting, and was looking at him in considerable confusion.
“How did you know about that?” she asked, disconcerted.
A couple of doors on the long hallway opened and a couple of curious heads popped out and looked with elaborate casualness in their direction.
Kermit calmed himself with an effort, and reached for Piggy’s plump arm. She tensed but did not pull away.
“Because...because I saw the teaser you shot,” he said. His eyes said he was not thrilled with the teaser she had done with Mr. Ferguson, and her answering blush was both chagrined and defiant.
“How did you get to see it?” she demanded. “It hasn’t even aired yet.”
Kermit did that little half-shrug of his that was both annoying and endearing.
“The studio, um, look—I pulled some strings, okay?” he said. Now he was blushing, too, but looked equally adamant.
Confusion mingled with hurt and anger, but remained the predominant emotion on her face.
“Why were you checking up on me?” she asked. She strove for calm but found that she was holding her breath, waiting for what he might say.
“I—I wanted to be sure everything went okay,” Kermit said stiffly. Piggy waited, still not hearing anything she so wanted to hear. “I—I know you were disappointed with the way the publicity for the Christmas album was handled. I wanted this to be…I wanted you to have a chance to shine.”
Piggy opened her mouth to argue, but found they seemed to be on the same side of the argument. She closed her mouth truculently, still suspicious that she was the butt of some elaborate ploy to undercut her, and peered into Kermit’s face. He bore up under her scrutiny heroically.
Kermit was many things, but he was not a good liar. The truth of what he said was undeniable, and Piggy felt her gaze soften as she looked at him. She bit her lip, and shifted her weight nervously from foot to foot.
“Oh,” she said softly. “That’s different,” she said. “That’s, um, that was nice.”
“Um, yeah,” Kermit muttered. Again, that little self-deprecating half-shrug, and Piggy felt her dark mood lighten.
Kermit slid his hand down her arm, reaching for her hand. She hesitated for an instant, but in the end her satin-gloved hand meshed with his, little froggy fingers interspersed with hers.
“Personal shopped, huh?” said Kermit dryly. Piggy had the good grace to blush, but she put her lovely snout up in the air and sniffed.
“Yes, but you seem to be falling down on the job lately,” she said haughtily.
Kermit fought the urge to laugh out loud. Sheesh, the woman could hit you where it hurt! (And not just figuratively!)
“Well, how about dinner, then?” Kermit demanded. “I could buy you dinner.”
Piggy considered, then sniffed and shook her head at last. “Doesn’t count!” came the ruling. She started to pull away.
Kermit stopped in his tracks, and her forward motion caused her to swing around until they were facing. His expression was gentle.
“It might,” he said softly.
Piggy looked at his pollywog eyes and looked away, flustered.
“Might what?” she said evasively.
“Might count…for something, anyway,” he tried. Geez, the frog could be charming when he wanted to be.
“Where would we go?” Piggy asked. Her voice was so low Kermit had to step closer to hear her.
“Um, somewhere classy. Someplace we could dance afterwards?”
It was not really fair, Piggy thought. That had known each other so long and so well that he knew all her weaknesses. Piggy managed to look less interested than she was, but she looked pretty interested all the same. She didn’t speak, but she managed to nod once in acquiescence. It was either that or tumble head-long into his arms.
Kermit smiled and squeezed her hand, knowing he had won—this round, anyway.
Piggy collected her purse and a few personal items from her room. The rest would be shipped back to her apartment before the next day’s guest arrived. She stopped and looked at the lovely gold star on her door, wondering what would become of it, but was too proud to ask for it. With a sigh and a final look around the lovely, un-frog-scented room, she stepped out, pulling the door shut firmly behind her. She gazed a Kermit solemnly, but he smiled.
Kermit held out his arm, and she slipped her satin-covered hand beneath the crook of his elbow. The satin was cool, but underneath, her hands were warm.
“Did you—was the show okay?” Piggy asked. She wasn’t asking Kermit-the-sometimes-jealous-boyfriend; she was asking Kermit the Frog, her director and friend, wanting his approval and blessing.
Honesty was a curse, but he bore up under it as well as can be expected. “Oh yeah,” said Kermit with a sigh. “You were…you were phenomenal. Your fans are going to love it.”
“What about vous?” Piggy asked. Her voice was quiet, her eyes gentle. “Did you love it?”
A curse is a curse. Kermit gave that little half-shrug, then turned his bulbous eyes on her with a rueful look. “I thought the teaser was great, but I didn’t—I didn’t like it.” He did not explain why, and she didn’t ask, but it was possible that she snuggled up against his side just a tad more than she had, and Kermit caught himself grinning.
“Well, I thought the comment about your, um, your physique was uncalled for,” Kermit said gallantly. It is possible that he had an ulterior motive in reminding Piggy of her flirting buddy’s insults.
Piggy said nothing but gave him her attention, cutting her big blue eyes at him.
“Yeah,” Kermit said. “Personally, I think you look terrific.”
“You like my ensemble?”
Kermit was not usually known for his fashion sense, but he looked her up and down, then smiled.
“I like you, Piggy,” he said simply.
It was—surprisingly--enough for right then. Piggy did snuggle against him then, and she rested her glossy head on his shoulder for just a moment. With something akin to satisfaction, Kermit steered them toward the exit and the waiting taxi.
They passed the sign-in desk and he left Piggy waiting for a moment and stopped to sign them both out, doing a pretty fair imitation of Piggy’s ladylike penmanship. On a whim, Kermit leaned forward and whispered furtively with the man behind the desk, who grinned and nodded, In response, Kermit scrawled something on a piece of paper and handed it to him.
He offered his arm to Piggy again and they walked out into the night.
He figured the star from her door would arrive in the mail within the week.
“That was lovely,” he said.
“Yes, wasn’t it?” said Piggy archly.
“The audience loved you.”
“Yes—didn’t they?” she giggled and accepted his praise and his kiss as her just due. It had gone well. It had been a long time—a long time—since she had been invited to do a real, live grown-up show, and they had even played with that a little in the teaser they had filmed. Craig had been very sweet, and they had had a very fun time ad-libbing. A very fun time indeed. She gave her host a speculative look and he smiled and clasped her gloved hands.
“Come back any time, Missy,” he said fondly.
“Just call me,” she said slyly, echoing his earlier tease with her hand to her ear like a phone. BK sparkled on her finger.
“And you’ll come back for li’l ol me?” he teased. She liked his accent and his continental manners, and the way he seemed to be laughing behind his dark eyes. “Just like that?” He snapped his fingers, openly doubtful, but there was a flicker of wry hope in his eyes and a merriment that suited his nature.
“Probably not,” Piggy admitted, with a toss of her golden curls, “but if you call Marty, I’ll come back for the show.”
Craig laughed out loud, then groaned. “Arh! An honest woman! But I thought Bernie was your agent,” he admitted confusedly.
“No,” Piggy said complacently. “Bernie’s my lawyer. Marty’s my agent.”
“What about Kermit?” he teased, leaning forward till their foreheads almost touched and dropping his voice. “Where does he fit into this?”
“Kermit’s my director,” Piggy said primly, but a becoming blush crept up her cheeks. “And my personal shopper.”
“And what a fun job that might be!” he teased, enjoying her discomfiture.
“You have no idea,” Piggy growled. She was blushing now—but she was openly basking in the banter.
“Whoa—tough lady to mess with,” said Craig. He did not look scared.
Piggy didn’t deny it. “Mostly,” she said, and her expression was sanguine.
They laughed in companionable intimacy before Piggy walked toward the curtain. She stopped only once and looked over her shoulder, catching the talk show host dreamily contemplating her sashay. He grinned broadly at being caught, not at all repentant, and waggled his fingers at her as she disappeared.
The silly smile on her face lasted until she was off the stage, then Piggy stopped dead in her tracks as she came face to face with one of her admirers. He did not look happy.
Her expression was sassy, unrepentant and maybe—just maybe—a little bit insecure around the edges, thought Kermit. But he could not think of any reason for her to be insecure—except one. She had just nailed her interview with Craig, TMS: The Second Season was poised for debut with her face on the cover, and she looked…she looked lovely. In spite of his frown, his expression softened just a little.
Piggy would have breezed by him if she thought she could have done it in the narrow doorway, but the thought of having to literally rub shoulders with him while he was giving her that look made her stop instead and give him a look of her own. Helen of Troy is said to have launched a thousand ships with her lovely face. Piggy’s face looked as though it could incite a few riots of its own, and it looked like she was considering inciting one now. Kermit put his hands on his hips, and Piggy didn’t wait for whatever he might say.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped. Her gloved hands settled on her voluptuous hips and she tapped one very-high-heeled shoe at him. “Come to complain because Craig asked Moi instead of vous?”
“No!” he shot back defensively. He wasn’t here to complain. “I just came here to—“ He was here to…he was just here to— Kermit stuffed the rest of that thought away uncomfortably. Piggy only saw his hesitation without guessing the reason behind it, and she let out a little snort of annoyance and rolled her eyes.
Kermit felt his own annoyance surge. “I didn’t come to complain!” he said stiffly. “I just came to check on—“
“Figures,” Piggy huffed. She shot an arm in the air and struck a daring pose, but the anger in her frame spoiled the provocative stance. “Check away!” she cried angrily, daring him to find fault with her ensemble or the tumbled curls of her hair.
Kermit decided he was far too close to her unless he was wearing asbestos.
“Piggy! That’s not what I meant!” he cried. Sheesh! Something about Piggy—or something about the two of them together—always seemed to bring out the worst and the best in him, but the scales were definitely tipping toward the former today.
“It never is,” she muttered snidely, and let out a breath she’d been holding for what seemed like forever. Her disdain was obvious.
He’d had a couple of things to say, but they melted in the heat of this onslaught. He stepped back, his mouth dropped open and he stammered in surprise. With a small cry of triumph, Piggy sailed past him regally and almost ran for her dressing room. After a split-second of hesitation, Kermit scrambled to keep up.
“Piggy—wait!” he demanded, but she was moving fast. Despite her abrasive words, she was doing a fairly good imitation of a retreat, and that managed to register on Kermit in spite of his surprise and the fact that he was pretty much chasing her down the hallway.
She was almost at her dressing room door, her gloved hand on the knob. If he didn’t put on some speed, she would be on the other side of it and he’d never get her out of there, never get a chance to explain…whatever it was he wanted to explain. He put on some speed, mystified at how she could book in those nosebleed heels, but admiring the sweet swell of her calf muscles all the same.
Piggy wrenched the door open, but to Kermit’s complete astonishment, she shut it almost at once, then whirled around and pressed her back to it. Her eyes were flashing, and she pointed imperiously at the star on her door.
“Do you see that?” she demanded.
Kermit almost skidded into her, but managed not to at the last instant. He looked up at the glittery star on her door and the neat lettering denoting its occupant.
“Yeah, um, yes. It’s—it’s very nice, Piggy,” he said hastily. “They put a star on your door.”
Piggy’s eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.
“Yes—imagine that,” she said dryly, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Well, you are a star,” Kermit said, not sure at all how it was that he found himself arguing with her about her star status. Oh, sure, he had often argued with her absolute-diva-of-the-universe status—especially when it had interfered with her performance—but he had never doubted her divine right of stardom. Within the restraints of what his budget and his ego could stand, he had always treated her like a star. At least, he had tried to, and the implication that he didn’t respect her as a force to be reckoned with rankled after all the effort he’d invested. “In fact,” he cried hotly, “they should have put a star on your door and fresh flowers in your room and classic m&ms and all of that other…um, stuff!”
“They did!” she almost shouted.
“Oh yeah?” he almost yelled back.
“Yeah!” The “almost shouting” had risen in pitch and was now an unadulterated free-for-all.
“Well, they forgot the frog-scented candles!” Kermit insisted angrily. “How do you like that?”
Piggy had stopped shouting, and was looking at him in considerable confusion.
“How did you know about that?” she asked, disconcerted.
A couple of doors on the long hallway opened and a couple of curious heads popped out and looked with elaborate casualness in their direction.
Kermit calmed himself with an effort, and reached for Piggy’s plump arm. She tensed but did not pull away.
“Because...because I saw the teaser you shot,” he said. His eyes said he was not thrilled with the teaser she had done with Mr. Ferguson, and her answering blush was both chagrined and defiant.
“How did you get to see it?” she demanded. “It hasn’t even aired yet.”
Kermit did that little half-shrug of his that was both annoying and endearing.
“The studio, um, look—I pulled some strings, okay?” he said. Now he was blushing, too, but looked equally adamant.
Confusion mingled with hurt and anger, but remained the predominant emotion on her face.
“Why were you checking up on me?” she asked. She strove for calm but found that she was holding her breath, waiting for what he might say.
“I—I wanted to be sure everything went okay,” Kermit said stiffly. Piggy waited, still not hearing anything she so wanted to hear. “I—I know you were disappointed with the way the publicity for the Christmas album was handled. I wanted this to be…I wanted you to have a chance to shine.”
Piggy opened her mouth to argue, but found they seemed to be on the same side of the argument. She closed her mouth truculently, still suspicious that she was the butt of some elaborate ploy to undercut her, and peered into Kermit’s face. He bore up under her scrutiny heroically.
Kermit was many things, but he was not a good liar. The truth of what he said was undeniable, and Piggy felt her gaze soften as she looked at him. She bit her lip, and shifted her weight nervously from foot to foot.
“Oh,” she said softly. “That’s different,” she said. “That’s, um, that was nice.”
“Um, yeah,” Kermit muttered. Again, that little self-deprecating half-shrug, and Piggy felt her dark mood lighten.
Kermit slid his hand down her arm, reaching for her hand. She hesitated for an instant, but in the end her satin-gloved hand meshed with his, little froggy fingers interspersed with hers.
“Personal shopped, huh?” said Kermit dryly. Piggy had the good grace to blush, but she put her lovely snout up in the air and sniffed.
“Yes, but you seem to be falling down on the job lately,” she said haughtily.
Kermit fought the urge to laugh out loud. Sheesh, the woman could hit you where it hurt! (And not just figuratively!)
“Well, how about dinner, then?” Kermit demanded. “I could buy you dinner.”
Piggy considered, then sniffed and shook her head at last. “Doesn’t count!” came the ruling. She started to pull away.
Kermit stopped in his tracks, and her forward motion caused her to swing around until they were facing. His expression was gentle.
“It might,” he said softly.
Piggy looked at his pollywog eyes and looked away, flustered.
“Might what?” she said evasively.
“Might count…for something, anyway,” he tried. Geez, the frog could be charming when he wanted to be.
“Where would we go?” Piggy asked. Her voice was so low Kermit had to step closer to hear her.
“Um, somewhere classy. Someplace we could dance afterwards?”
It was not really fair, Piggy thought. That had known each other so long and so well that he knew all her weaknesses. Piggy managed to look less interested than she was, but she looked pretty interested all the same. She didn’t speak, but she managed to nod once in acquiescence. It was either that or tumble head-long into his arms.
Kermit smiled and squeezed her hand, knowing he had won—this round, anyway.
Piggy collected her purse and a few personal items from her room. The rest would be shipped back to her apartment before the next day’s guest arrived. She stopped and looked at the lovely gold star on her door, wondering what would become of it, but was too proud to ask for it. With a sigh and a final look around the lovely, un-frog-scented room, she stepped out, pulling the door shut firmly behind her. She gazed a Kermit solemnly, but he smiled.
Kermit held out his arm, and she slipped her satin-covered hand beneath the crook of his elbow. The satin was cool, but underneath, her hands were warm.
“Did you—was the show okay?” Piggy asked. She wasn’t asking Kermit-the-sometimes-jealous-boyfriend; she was asking Kermit the Frog, her director and friend, wanting his approval and blessing.
Honesty was a curse, but he bore up under it as well as can be expected. “Oh yeah,” said Kermit with a sigh. “You were…you were phenomenal. Your fans are going to love it.”
“What about vous?” Piggy asked. Her voice was quiet, her eyes gentle. “Did you love it?”
A curse is a curse. Kermit gave that little half-shrug, then turned his bulbous eyes on her with a rueful look. “I thought the teaser was great, but I didn’t—I didn’t like it.” He did not explain why, and she didn’t ask, but it was possible that she snuggled up against his side just a tad more than she had, and Kermit caught himself grinning.
“Well, I thought the comment about your, um, your physique was uncalled for,” Kermit said gallantly. It is possible that he had an ulterior motive in reminding Piggy of her flirting buddy’s insults.
Piggy said nothing but gave him her attention, cutting her big blue eyes at him.
“Yeah,” Kermit said. “Personally, I think you look terrific.”
“You like my ensemble?”
Kermit was not usually known for his fashion sense, but he looked her up and down, then smiled.
“I like you, Piggy,” he said simply.
It was—surprisingly--enough for right then. Piggy did snuggle against him then, and she rested her glossy head on his shoulder for just a moment. With something akin to satisfaction, Kermit steered them toward the exit and the waiting taxi.
They passed the sign-in desk and he left Piggy waiting for a moment and stopped to sign them both out, doing a pretty fair imitation of Piggy’s ladylike penmanship. On a whim, Kermit leaned forward and whispered furtively with the man behind the desk, who grinned and nodded, In response, Kermit scrawled something on a piece of paper and handed it to him.
He offered his arm to Piggy again and they walked out into the night.
He figured the star from her door would arrive in the mail within the week.
