And If That Diamond Ring Turns Brass (Tinseltown)

[RedPiggy]

Is trying to draw a map of the dorms ... BBL.

 

[The Count]

Check your PM box for details. And posts around 3rd anniversary on September 2007 for current layout.

 

[RedPiggy]

“No, really … you’re just gonna go up to her and just ask for help?” Foster asked MM as they walked toward Bitterman Bank.

MM shrugged, flicking a strand of hair from her eyes. “Why not? We’re friends, right?”

Foster laughed. “Uh … because you just don’t go up to people and ask for help.”

MM stopped, her face puzzled. “Why not?”

“Because people think it’s rude.”

MM tried hard to fathom what the boy had said. “It’s rude to ask for help when one needs it?”

Foster gazed at her and cracked a smile. “It’s not like you’re asking her to take you to the ER or something like that. If you just walk up to her and ask to stay at her place or to get you a place, it just comes off as being a mooch, especially if you haven’t talked to her in awhile.”

MM snarled, “I happened to be a little preoccupied, Foster.”

Foster’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of concern. “I know that … but she doesn’t.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe we need to RP before we waltz into her office.”

“RP?”

“Role-play,” Foster replied. “Y’know … act it out first … see what works and what doesn’t.”

“Why can’t I just be direct? It will save everyone a lot of time.”

“Look, there are rules to social interaction, okay? You haven’t seen her in God-knows-how-long, and even though you have a really good excuse, you’ll still have back up a bit and not just take your friendship for granted. I mean,” he added frankly, “let’s be honest … the most you remember is maybe meeting her once or twice. You don’t even really know how great your friendship was. She could have moved on in her life. You gotta feel her out before you just plop a housing request on her.”

Eventually, they worked their way to Ms. Rachel Bitterman’s office.

Jenny called Rachel. “Are you going to be at work today?” A pause. “Well, it’s not for me, but there’s someone who needs to get in touch with you. It sounds important, Rachel.” Another pause. “All I know is that she needs to get in touch with you. I think … Rachel … STOP TALKING FOR A MINUTE!” She sighed. “Rachel … this woman sounds like she needs you to help her. She’ll be at your office at 10AM. Be there, okay? This is a good opportunity to start turning things around for yourself.” Another pause. “No, she’s not crazy. She’s not a stalker either, Rachel.”

Jenny hung up and turned to Lena, who had been watching closely. Jenny smiled briefly. “She’s being frustrating, but she’ll be there. She’s nothing if not predictable.” Jenny nodded. “You were right, Lena. That DID help me feel better. I can’t promise it fixes everything, but I guess it’s a step forward.”

Foster and MM stood just outside the door. He swept her hair away from her face carefully. “So,” he whispered, “are you ready?”

MM smiled briefly. “All I have to do is read from the script, right?” she asked sarcastically.

Foster rolled his eyes. “Just go with the flow.”

MM frowned and moaned. “Don’t use that phrase, Foster … ever.”

MM knocked carefully on the door.

“Enter and make it quick!” barked the female voice from inside.

MM glanced at Foster, who cringed slightly. He shrugged and nodded towards the door. MM sighed and entered.

“What do you want?” snapped Ms. Bitterman, who stared at her computer monitor.

MM gulped. “Hello … Ms. Bitterman.”

“I’m still waiting for the point of this conversation.”

MM frowned. “I’ll get to the point when you join the conversation, you sniping little flea-infested bovine.”

Foster stood outside the office, trying not to look like he was overhearing the conversation and slapped his forehead in disbelief. Most of him wanted this little argument, because he really wanted her to stay with him, but he was pouring so much of his time trying to set this up, it was a little … disappointing.

Ms. Bitterman looked up and stared at the visitor in confusion. Where had she seen this woman before? She looked so familiar. And her voice ….

MM crossed her arms, still glaring. “Maybe it escaped your notice, but there are … rules to social behavior.”

Outside, Foster grinned and snickered.

“Who are you?” Ms. Bitterman asked in a tone of wonder.

MM shrugged. “I was hoping you could fill me in. I wake up in the hospital … and all I can see is your face. I know you have something to do with me. I’d appreciate any information you could offer.”

Ms. Bitterman’s face grew cold and pale. She slowly stood up, unable to tear her eyes away. “Moulin?” she gasped quietly.

MM flinched as her head started to throb.

“My own daughter! Plagued with attraction to a pathetic, mortal, weak-willed, unattractive human!”

Her throat ached. She could feel a cold hand clenched tightly around it. She could feel her strength drain from her. Mother, please … stop …. The sky and ground swirled around her and she fell onto the moist earth, gasping for breath.

She had to stop her mother. If she didn’t, her next target after this would be obvious. She would leave for New York, hunt her down, and make being assaulted by a sociopath seem pleasant in comparison.

“You could have hurt her,” her mother had told her when she was younger.

She summoned all of her energy to stand, her determination dark and unyielding. Her anger swirled around her almost tangibly. “You will never defeat me,” she informed her mother with a strained voice.

Rachel must be protected from her mother’s wrath.

Hurting her mother would only be the beginning.

She would finish her.

Moulin shed a single tear. “Your name … is … is … Rachel.”

Foster caught the tone in her voice. He peeked through the frosted glass window of the office door. He saw the banking executive rush to MM and embrace her tightly. His mouth flew open when MM … Moulin (what kind of a name was that?) … enveloped her arms around Ms. Bitterman.

“What happened!” Rachel demanded tearfully. “You were supposed to meet me for lunch!”

Moulin pushed her away and looked at the floor. She smirked sheepishly. “Forgive me. I was … assaulted. I’ve been struggling to get my life back ever since.”

Rachel gasped, horrified. “My God – why didn’t you call me?”

Moulin shrugged. “I was unconscious for some time. When I woke up … nothing made any sense. I felt completely ripped away from everything I knew.” She looked up and smiled. “I only knew … that I had to make sure you were okay.”

Rachel slipped down to the floor, staring at Moulin as though an angel had appeared before her. For the first time in a long time, she felt a light ooze into her soul, illuminating her from within. Her poor, wounded seraph had been cast down from Heaven. And Rachel, she regretfully noted to herself, had failed to catch her as she fell … and she had responded only by being infuriated that she had been left to fend for herself.

Rachel started crying. “I am so … so … sorry!” she wailed. “When you didn’t call, I just concluded you broke up with me! It never occurred to me that something happened to you!” She lowered her head to the floor. “I … I just don’t deserve you as a lover!”

Foster’s heart nearly stopped as he watched and listened. He backed away slowly. It seemed to take hours just to reach the other side of the hallway. “Lover?” The hallway started blurring. He felt dizzy and cold. He stumbled back and hit the wall, sliding slowly down to the floor in shock.

Moulin was … was …

… was never “into” him at all.

It had never occurred to him that this friend she needed to find was her lover. He had just felt it was like looking up a classmate or something. He felt it was one of those nostalgic sentimental things, not a desperate attempt to hook up.

His lips started to quiver.

He wanted to go home.

 

[RedPiggy]

Foster finally stood as he heard the two women in the office continue to talk. He glumly left, staring at the floor of the large banking office building. As he approached the elevator to return to the main floor, he heard a gravelly high-pitched voice call out, “Hold the elevator!” There was stomping and loud panting and a three-foot-tall blue blur zoomed into the elevator.

Foster, when he realized who it was, couldn’t help but smirk.

The blue Muppet monster with bright red lips sighed with relief and smiled as he held out his hand to Foster. “Thank you very much, young man. My name is --.”

“Grover, right?”

Grover nodded happily. “I see you know your monsters. And what is your name?”

“Foster,” the teen replied. “I heard you were a waiter.”

Grover kept grinning. “Oh, yes, I have a long history of working in the food service industry,” he replied happily. “However, Ms. Bitterman was nice enough to hire little cute furry Grover last year.” He glanced at Foster knowingly. “I am doing very well.”

Foster smiled back. “Great to hear. Uh, what floor do you want?”

“Oh, the main floor. I have decided to go out to eat for lunch today.” Grover allowed Foster to leave the elevator first when they arrived on the main floor. “You seem a bit young to be an employee,” he noted thoughtfully.

Foster flashed a frown before trying hard to smile again. “Uh, I don’t work here. Just had to drop off a visitor.” And watch her dump me for a little greedy CEO turd, he thought to himself bitterly.

“Oh. Did you meet with the security guard first?”

“My mom set up an appointment. She and Ms. Bitterman know each other.”

“Oh? Who is your mother, may I ask?” Grover asked sincerely, always happy to engage in conversations with random people.

“Jennifer Evangelos,” Foster replied. “She’s a Broadway producer.”

Grover nodded solemnly. “Yes, we were sad to hear of what happened to Mr. Crawford. He was a very nice man.” He looked up. “I did not know Jenny had a son.”

Foster seemed a bit confused at the mention of Mr. Crawford, someone he had never heard of. He dismissed it in his mind, however, and shrugged. “She adopted me out when I was a baby. I only recently moved back in with her.”

Grover smiled and patted Foster on the back. “Oh, I am so happy when family is reunited.” He wiped away a tear. “After all, love is best when it is shared, do you not agree?”

Foster remained silent and looked away, toward the front doors.

“Did I say something wrong?” asked Grover. “I do not mean to offend anyone. I wish to remain cute and furry every day.” He tenderly used an arm to stop Foster when the boy still refused to acknowledge him. “Do you need to talk about it?”

Foster glanced at Grover at last. “No, thanks.”

“I am very good at helping,” Grover replied. He trotted over in front of Foster and stared up at him. “I can also be very persistent. It is my best quality.”

“You won’t leave me alone until I tell you?” Grover nodded. Foster rolled his eyes and sighed. “No offense, but the kind of thing I have to deal with doesn’t really fit the Street vibe, if you get my meaning.”

Grover nodded. “I understand. Many here and elsewhere also think that nothing bad ever happens on Sesame Street. They must not tune in very often or have really short memories.” He looked up at Foster tenderly. “Foster, what you see on television is for the benefit of children and their families. We, on the other hand, live lives just like everybody else.”

“Some families are being destroyed,” Foster protested, despite his unwillingness to do so. However, he couldn’t help himself. The little blue monster was like a truth magnet. “They get ignored and when they finally get a glimpse of hope, the rug gets yanked out from under them again.”

“Is this about you and your mother?”

Foster shook his head. “It’s about my adoptive family in California.” He glanced at Grover, his eyes moistening. “Are you familiar with the number eight?”

Grover went slack-jawed and wide-eyed. “OOOOOOH,” he said, “yes, I do remember hearing that number a few times on the news.” He scratched his head nervously. He looked down and then back at Foster. “I am very sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

Foster laughed. “Grover, no offense, but nobody can help me.”

“Aw, Foster, that cannot be true. Even when things are very, very bad … someone will help.”

“You seem to be the only one interested.”

“Well, how many people have you asked?”

“Counting you? Uh, you,” Foster replied, still in disbelief.

Grover grinned. “Oh, well, that explains a lot,” he noted. “For very big problems, there must be a whole group of helpers.”

Foster stopped just short of the front door. “Grover,” he told the little monster seriously, “whole groups of people voted to take my family away. I can’t stop them, you can’t stop them, even if the whole cast of Sesame Street showed up, it still wouldn’t change anything.”

Grover stroked his small chin thoughtfully. “Well, maybe I can ask Froggy-baby to help out. His girlfriend is over in California now to do some commercial shoots. She might have some connections.”

Foster stopped Grover from going through the front door and bent down to look him straight in the eye. “Helping with this could … make … things go … wrong … with your work on your show,” he said uncomfortably.

Grover smiled warmly and removed Foster’s hand from his shoulder. “Foster, if I worried about what people thought of me, I would not be able to be helpful as much as I am. I was hired here because I do not let other opinions bother me … well, that much.” He giggled nervously. “Anyway, you can count on me, I am sure you can count on Kermit (for he is almost as helpful as his furry pal Grover) … and we will just have to see who else we can get to help you with your … ahem … really big problem.” He waved his arms triumphantly and melodramatically. “But do not fret! Help is on the way!”

 

[The Count]

*Huggles story to pieces. *Collects pieces, putting them together so more can get posted. Need more please!

 

[RedPiggy]

The original intent was for Samson and Lena to comfort Foster. However, I was still stuck about how to start resolving things, and the real-life news isn't very helpful at the moment and the way I characterized Piggy, she just doesn't seem interested in helping (though, Kermit hasn't guilt-tripped her yet) . Anyway, I was riding along in a car today and realized that I had Ms. Bitterman hire a VERY helpful employee in an earlier fic. Voila!

 

[The Count]

That she did... At quadruple the pay was it?

 

[RedPiggy]

LOL ... you're right! I forgot! *we need a Forgetful Jones smilie*

 

[The Count]

Join the campaigning club. *Insert Boober smilie for *sigh*

More please? *Leaves Adonis for Kelly.

 

[RedPiggy]

Author’s Note: Warning – Lena and Samson’s past is brought up. Nothing explicit, but given Lena’s description, there’s no way I can really water down what would fit her character.
Lena and Jenny walked around Central Park just after lunch. Jenny described an odd sporting event that took place there last year, hosted by Kermit the Frog and his friends. Creatures big and small, from supposedly all over, joined humans in the festivities, even garish-looking creatures looking like they came out of an eighties’ kids’ fantasy flick. The cast of Sesame Street, who really did live there, though they started the education business to supplement their income starting in the late sixties, had the most educational of the pavilions, while the most violent was easily the goblin pavilion. Supposedly they had come from another dimension filled with monsters and fairies and such, and they enjoyed “playing war” in front of humans.

Lena shook her head. “I suppose it is never very boring in ze Big Apple, no?”

Jenny smiled wistfully. “No. Whenever things get dull, you can almost always trust Kermit and his crew to liven things up.”

Lena smiled. “He sounds like a very nice person to be around,” she said, glancing at Jenny. “Has he known about your feelings?”

Jenny stopped and stared at Lena with a confused expression. “What feelings? I’m not in love --.”

Lena laughed. “Oh no! I did not mean it like zat!” She nearly crumpled over in laughter. “No, what I meant was, does he know you’ve been sad about Foster lately?” She stood back up and wiped away some tears. Her voice was filled with sincere concern. “Does he even know about Foster?”

Jenny nodded. “Kermit knows. He never told anyone. Heck, I didn’t flat out tell him either. He just … picks up on things. He knows Foster lives in California with adoptive parents.”

Lena asked seriously, “What does he zink about Bobby and Samson?”

Jenny shrugged. “Kermit’s not like that, Lena. He was rather quiet for a few days after he found out, but Kermit’s the kind of frog who just plays with whatever cards he’s dealt. This is a frog who helped start the idea of bringing in humans and Muppets and monsters and practically raising kids all over the world. He believes in a dream – of making everyone he can happy.”

Lena smiled sheepishly. “Sammy used to be like zat, before he started dating Bobby.”

Jenny nodded slowly. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

Lena shrugged casually. “Of course not. However, I zink I can guess what it is.”

“What happened?”

Lena sighed.

Lena had seen Samson stroll into the club one night, visibly uncomfortable. She was on stage, wearing a sparkling silvery outfit that left little to the imagination. Her hair was curly and coiled down to her shoulders. She wrapped herself around the large bronze pole in rhythm to the music. She noticed he sat down just in front of the stage, avoiding eye contact.

After the song ended, she crawled to the edge of the stage seductively and batted her eyes at him. “I will be your Europa if you will be my Zeus,” she cooed. She beckoned to him. “Take me past the crashing waves. Show me a storm’s true fury.”

“We need to talk,” was his only reply.

After the show Lena got dressed in her room as Samson entered. “Lena,” he began slowly, “I think it’s time we take a look at where life is taking us.”

Lena turned around. “Oh?”

Samson nodded. “Yeah, hon. See, the thing is … I’ve really enjoyed the time we’ve spent together. You’ve been there when no one else would. Yet, I think I’ve been having a problem. This isn’t a criticism of our activities, of course, but I think I might be better off exploring other … venues of romance.”

Lena stared at him with a droll expression. “You’re asking for a divorce, aren’t you?”

Samson nodded nervously. “Like I said: it’s not a complaint. You’ve broadened my horizons in ways I could never imagine. It’s just … I think … despite everything ….”

“You’re gay,” Lena remarked casually.

Samson looked up in shock. “What?”

Lena chuckled. “Oh, Sammy … you could have told me at any time, you know. A wife who sees her ‘usband gawk for ‘alf an hour at a time at ze busboy or ze pool boy or ze waiter and does NOT understand the problem is blind or stupid.”

Samson stepped back and cleared his throat. “You seem … awfully okay with this.”

Lena laughed. “Come here, you thick slice of beef, you.”

Samson warily approached her.

She put her hands around his snout and stared at him lovingly. “You have done so much to ‘elp ze impoverished neighborhoods, using your money to spruce zem up and get rid of all ze unpleasantness … why should anyone take ‘appiness away from YOU? You deserve to feel comfortable getting in bed with ze one you meld with, removing any sense of separation from ze rest of ze universe. If you are not against us still being friends, I will not stand in your way.”

Samson hugged her, a tear rolling down one furry cheek. “Thank you, Lena. I knew there was a reason we hit it off to begin with.”

“Wow,” Jenny said finally. “You did take that awfully well. I know a lot of women who would have killed their husbands if they said that.”

Lena shrugged as they continued their walk. “Look, Jenny … cows graze constantly, and so do I. Life is so temporary and everything. Why force a rigidity zat is no longer zere?” She smiled, letting the sunlight warm her face. “Life is too short to be stuck. When I die, I want it said zat I did as much as anyone could, living life to ze fullest.”

“I wish I could do that,” Jenny replied somberly. “When Dad and Ronnie died, I felt like everything that defined me was just carelessly run over by a stream of cars on the highway.”

Lena glanced at Jenny sympathetically. “It may be rude of me to say zis,” she told her, “but ze reason you feel zat way is because you let men define you.” She faced forward. “Even with Foster, you are upset because he does not fit into your notion of what family is. Zink about it, Jenny: when you produce a play, is it not your name zat comes first? Ze buck stops with you, no? So it is with relationships: whether zey stick around or fade away, ze only real constant is yourself. If you can’t love yourself, how do you expect to truly love everyone else?”

“RuPaul?”

Lena grinned and playfully slapped Jenny on the back. “See? You know good quotes when you hear zem,” she replied cheerfully.

“Are you honestly suggesting I just let Foster deride me at every turn?”

“Of course not,” answered Lena. “He is being a teenaged boy. Even zo he is of age, he should not be going around disrespecting someone who let him live with zem. Kick ‘im out. Zat’s what I would do.”

“He’s my son,” Jenny protested.

“No, he is Bobby and Samson’s,” noted Lena. “Physically he comes from you, but emotionally, ‘is heart is elsewhere. Zere is nothing you can do about zat. Ze best way is to zink of it not as losing your son, but watching a boy become a man. He must learn to make his own decisions, Jenny. Do not mourn your absence now. Enjoy what you’ve been given. Your ami Kermit would probably tell you as much, would he not?”

Jenny walked some more in silence, pondering what Lena had said. Lena kept quiet as well, letting her words simmer in Jenny’s darkened mind, hoping some light would break through those storm clouds.

Just as Samson had done for her, those many years ago.