Hi folks! Your wish, Countie, is my command, but a couple of things first.
My laptop is dead, and SOME of my future-written story is in limbo, but I'm pretty sure it's a temporary problem. We'll see--and I have copies of my posted KG files and MOST of my future-written bits. No sense wailing and pitching a fit.
I haven't forgotten you guys or this story--I appreciate you reminding me you are here and still reading. Hugs all around.
And now....
Chapter 153: Banking the Home Fires
Clifford slid down on the couch and rested his head against the back. He pulled a pillow into his lap and closed his eyes. Mabel was in the kitchen, rattling pots and pans, and he heard the hiss and whir of the coffee pot. Iced coffee with a little something-something sounded pretty darn good about now. He wasn't used to this heat, and it seemed he'd been on an adrenaline rush since he arrived. Or maybe that was just a hormone rush, he thought with a grin.
A few minutes later, Mabel came over with a plate of fresh kiwi, strawberries and apples slices, but one look at Clifford's closed eyes and she started to edge backwards, quiet as, well, a mole.
“I'm not asleep,” he said. “I'm just studying the inside of my eyelids.”
Mabel smiled and put the plate down on the coffee table. “Sounds like a good pasttime. Why don't you stretch out and take a nap? I brought you a snack. Supper's not coming any time soon.”
“I'm not really hungry,”Clifford mumbled, but he opened his eyes and looked at the fruit. It looked delicious. “Well,” he mumbled. “Maybe just a bite.”
Mabel laughed and sat down beside him on the couch, patting his knee with her little hand. She watched him pick up a handful of fruit with his long fingers and eat it with obvious relish.
“You know,” he said. “At home, nobody slices apples and kiwis for me.”
“I'll bet nobody even peels you a grape,” Mabel said, laying on the sympathy.
“You got that right,” he said. “Are you sure you want to be this nice to me?”
Mabel laughed. “Eh, helps me keep in practice for the really important people,” she teased. She was quiet a moment. “I'm glad you came to see me, Honey,” she said.
Clifford was quiet for a moment. “It was really nice of you to…you know…pester me about coming. I—that was kind of new.” He opened one eye and looked at her. “I liked it.”
Mabel didn't make light of it. She heard what he was saying, and didn't try to brush it off as nothing. It wasn't nothing, and she knew that.
“You guys welcomed me in just like I was family,” said Mabel. “That meant a lot to me. Some folks—they just see us as people whose job it is to feed them and wait on them and take care of them, never thinking twice about what we want or need or think. It was real different working for Kermit and the Missus and you all.”
“It's different, all right,” said Clifford dryly, but he put his big hand over hers on top his leg and twined his fingers with hers. “Not everybody finds us as lovable as you.”
Mabel made a chuckle that was half a sigh. “Yeah. Things have been kind of tough on Kermit and the company, lately,” she admitted. “I'm glad they sent the squirt home for a bit.”
“Yeah. That's probably for the best. Kerm's had a lot on his plate lately.”
“Reckon the Missus is holding up okay after…?” She trailed off, not wanting to refer to it directly.
“Miss Piggy?” Clifford snorted. “She's as tough as they come,” he said. “Plus, she's surrounded by tons of admirers 24/7.”
“That's not as easy as it looks,” Mabel said mildly.
“No,” admitted Clifford, and Mabel heard the worry beneath his blithe reassurances. “And when Piggy's upset--”
“Kermit's upset,” finished Mabel. She was silent, playing with the edge of her apron. “You reckon she was furious with him over that picture? I hate to think what she might have said to him.”
But Clifford laughed. “Are you kidding? Way I hear it, she gave him about 30 seconds of the business and then loved him up one side and then the other. Made him feel better.”
Mabel said nothing, and Clifford opened his eyes and looked at her stunned expression.
“Surprised, are you?” he asked. “She can turn on a dime—even in those heels.”
But Mabel was smiling. “So she didn't believe any of that nonsense?” She shook her head. “What am I saying—of course she didn't.”
“Yep. Now, if she was here, and this happened, she might have hi-yahed him into next week before they got it all sorted out, but when they're apart, she's team Kermit all the way.”
“I didn't know that,” said Mabel. “I'm glad.”
“Yeah. And Kermit might give her a hard time over—well, everything—when she's on the set or something, but when she's traveling, he's a big cream puff.”
“Most folks don't figure that out,” said Mabel, her voice quiet. Clifford opened his eyes again and smiled.
“Good thing they're not most folks,” he said. He looked at her carefully. “Good thing I'm not most folks,” he said. She turned and looked at him, obviously wanting to say more, but something in Clifford's expression stopped her. She studied his face, squinting at him myopically, then smiled.
“It's not going to be easy,” she said, and that was all.
“Nothing worth having is easy,” said Clifford. “That doesn't scare me.”
“Good to know,” said Mabel.
The door opened and shut, and Tricia came into the living room and looked at them. "Hey peeps," she said. "I'm home!"
It might have been Marty, and it might have been their complete inability to bully an icon such as Kermit the Frog, but whatever the reason, the financial backers scuttled back into the dark recesses they had emerged from. Still, in his quieter moments, Kermit could swear he felt their beady little eyes on him and tried not to think what the long-term consequences would be for shining on the people who held the purse strings.
Piggy behaved herself—more or less—and the tabloids quieted down, at least a little. There had been a few relatively peaceful days, with nothing more than drudgery to sweeten the pot, but it had been rather nice to have no fires to put out, no disaster to have to explain or deal with. Although they didn't say it to each other, both Kermit and Scooter hoped this was not the calm before a perfect storm.
They'd gotten a good three-fifths of the movie—if you counted individual scenes—edited into submission, and the deadlines no longer loomed over their shoulders like an avalanche, waiting for a loud noise or a tremor to dislodge destruction and mayhem. Syncing the movie to the Mayhem's tracks had started, and there was considerably more nodding and smiling going on all around the studio. Even Gonzo's rash had cleared up, which Dr. Honeydew had taken full credit for. Apparently, Rizzo and Gonzo had rounded up their public relations crew and had been doing all sorts of damage control online. The fan sites were all abuzz with happy news, and open speculation about the new movie and what kind of box office it would get. There was even more open speculation about the by-now infamous dance scene. Descriptions of the costumes ranged from the ridiculous to the sublime to the non-existent, but Kermit was so happy they were concentrating on other costuming to not complain. Scooter had told Sara that he'd been approached by everything from Ladies Home Journal to Cosmo asking about the possibility of having the three “Angels” dish a little (or a lot) before the movie premiered. He consorted with Marty, comparing schedules, and they mapped in some big pieces.
“Any word on that white space?” Marty had asked just yesterday, and Scooter had at least had to hesitate before saying, “Not yet--let me call you by the weekend.”
Grease! was packing them in, and the crowds outside afterward had reached epic proportions. Thoreau's new line was being hailed in every fashion mag worth its reputation or angling for one, and Rowlf had phoned in just that morning to say he was playing the Dixieland Delight (“Sounds like a dessert,” Kermit had said, and Rowlf had agreed with him) and would be home--at least for a visit--by St. Patty's Day.
Hollywood had thawed a little toward Kermit, although some counted him lucky he was still breathing. Others counted him lucky to be still married. Still others wondered if it was all some elaborate ruse, and openly speculated that the frog and the pig were headed for divorce at something approaching the speed of gossip. They bore up under it as best they could—each trying to bolster the other—but in truth, nothing that was said or done or thought or written hurt them as much as simply being apart. For that, there was no ready cure.
“Okay,” Scooter admitted as Sara adjusted his tie. “He's kind of pathetic at the end of the day when I'm getting ready to come home to you, but he's hanging in.”
Sara looked distressed, but Scooter just smiled and kissed her.
“I used to look waaay more pathetic when he was going home to Miss Piggy every night and I was going home to an empty apartment.”
“I know,” said Sara. “That's why I took pity on you and finally let you--”
Her lips were too busy to finish the sentence, but they had both lost the train of thought anyway.
“Anyway, as I was saying…,” Scooter began.
“What were you saying, anyway?” Sara murmured, teasing him.
“I was saying that I think I'm going to make him go the middle of next week. We're not exactly ahead, but we're very solid, and nothing we're working on now needs to be prescreened. We've already done the preliminary editing, and we know we have all the shots we have to have. It's just a matter of cabling it all fluidly enough to make sure the plot hangs together.”
“As long as you don't hang separately,” Sara intoned, and laughed at Scooter's eye roll.
“Speaking of hanging, Kermit's got a party this Friday, and he'd rather be strung up than go, especially after what happened last time he was in a Hollywood crowd.” Scooter had a frown on his face that made Sara's own face frown in sympathy.
“Are there any Kardashians on the guest list?”
“I don't think so,” said Scooter. “But you never can tell. Strange bedfellows and all that.”
“Speaking of--” Sara began, loving the way Scooter blushed to the tips of his adorable ears. “I am going to be out late that night helping put the magazine to bed. Why don't you go with Kermit?”
“To keep him out of trouble, you mean? I'm pretty sure he's not going to be wearing those cufflinks again any time soon.” He considered it. “I could,” he said thoughtfully. “He's certainly not going to need his plus-1.”
“Then you should go. Besides, you've got your tux all snazzied up and ready to go—you should go and hang out with the beautiful people.”
“I'd rather hang out here with the beautiful people--” Scooter began.
“Cute,” Sara interjected, but kissed him chastely on the lips and turned him toward the door.
“I have to work. Tell him you'll go to the party with him.”
“And throw myself between him and any femme fatales who try to cozy up to him? I could do that….”
“I'm sure you could,” Sara said dryly. “Just remember who you're coming home to cozy up to after.”
“Yes ma'am,” said Scooter. He wasn't about to forget that.
Being on your own has its advantages. You don't have to share a television (not that there's much on worth watching). You don't have to argue about whose turn it is to do the dishes or put the toilet paper on the roll. You don't have to wait for the shower, and you rest assured that what you put in the fridge or the pantry is going to be there when you go back for it. Still, there isn't that much on television, and dishes are quick work, and if you don't want to wait on the shower, well, you can share it. All things being all things, the merger was going pretty well.
Howard was not a closet hog. As a matter-of-fact, his side of the closet (well, corner really) was fairly spartan. A couple of nice suits, his tux in its hanging bag and less than a dozen starched shirts.
“I really prefer a drawer for my pants,” he'd confided. “I iron everything, anyway, so it doesn't matter.”
A roommate who irons is even better than a roommate who cooks, and Howard did both.
Not everything went smoothly. There are always adjustments. Transportation and scheduling conflicts with dinner and a few genuine tussles over things like what hour work was expected to be put away and whether or not breakfast should be a sit-down meal or ignored altogether surfaced without warning. On the whole, however, it had been roundly approved with a sufficient majority to carry the house.
This particular morning, Howard put Thoreau into a taxi with a cup of strong Romanian chai, blew him a kiss and started for the bus stop. He might be successful but he was no snob about public transportation. When he'd been younger, scrambling after auditions, he'd been more than grateful for buses that would take you where you needed to go. Besides, he was only going to run a half-dozen errands before stopping by the studio, and it would be nice to sit and collect his thoughts between.
If New Yorkers are impersonal, the citizens of LA are sometimes overly interested in your business or overly interested in telling you (or showing you) their business. Wanting privacy, Howard had his phone out before he sat, answering a few messages and checking his twitter feed. He was pleased to note that Piggy seemed to be getting the upper hand in the publicity war, with most folks finding her comments less inflammatory than the other diva's actions. While her comments had been pointed, it was roundly acknowledge that they could have been worse. Also, it hadn't hurt that she had kept a pretty low profile after the widely reported comments at the airport. While he had been sorry to abandon Piggy to her fate, Fate had been awfully accommodating. Still….
He sent her a quick text, just to remind her how wonderful she was.
“Broadway will never be the same after you,” he texted. “You've shown them what a real star is like. Snout in the air, dearest. Hugs from both of us.”
Piggy heard her phone buzz and hauled it out. She pulled it out and saw the message, then smiled and sent one back. Rory leaned over her shoulder, being purposefully nosy. “More mush from the frog?” he asked. Piggy poked him with her elbow and gave him a look.
“I wish,” she said. “Mush from Howard and Thoreau.”
“How are they doing?” Rory asked. “Chad's still on cloud nine about being asked to do some of the print ads.”
“Domestic bliss,” Piggy said, then frowned. There was a time when she would have described her own home life as such, rocky though it sometimes was.
“What? Something's going on in your beautiful gray matter,” he demanded. “I know that look.”
Piggy shot him an annoyed look. “You do not,” she said. “Moi was merely looking thoughtful.”
“Moi was looking unhappy,” Rory countered. “It's been pretty quiet on the western front. Everything okay?”
“Everything is peachy,” Piggy snapped. “Why wouldn't it be?”
“Um, the entire continental United States is between you and the frog you love—ring any bells?”
“Speaking of--”
Rory moved wisely out of range. “I'm just checking.”
“You're just poking,” said Piggy. “Stop it.”
Rory changed tactics. “When's your creepy boss coming to see you?”
Piggy knew he was trying to change topics, but she let him. Truth be told, she had moved past patient, and understanding and was well on her way to annoyed. The movie could go hang itself, for all she cared right now. She wanted her frog! She wanted him here and now and in her arms! And if he didn't put enough of their stupid movie to bed to come up here and see her, she was going to explode. Or cry. Well, cry some more. The nights had been sort of awful.
“Mr. Strathers is coming to see me Thursday night,” she said primly. “He was able to buy a ticket from someone who couldn't come.”
Rory looked at her, frowning. “Sure he didn't pry it from the cold, dead fingers of another ardent fan?”
“I don't know what you are insinuating,” Piggy said, but she fought the urge to shiver. Seymour was a little creepy, poor thing. He would never have made it at all if it hadn't been for his father and his father's connections. Still, he had been very lovely to have asked them all to do Christmas together at the Palace, and one must pay one's debts in this business. “Mr. Strathers is coming to see me—that is, to see the show on Thursday. Moi is supposed to have dinner with him afterward.”
“As long as you're going somewhere public,” Rory said. Despite her assertions to the contrary, he had heard from Kristen that Piggy's former boss was a tad odd, and had a bit of a fanboy crush on Piggy. That, and Piggy's obvious discomfort discussing him told Rory that this was a social obligation more than a social call. She had practically admitted it just now.
“We were just going to go to The Grill,” Piggy said. Seymour had argued for Four Seasons, but Piggy had put him off. “I was just there,” she had argued. “If Moi goes again so soon, I'll spoil them.”
“Then let me pick a place,” Seymour had oozed on the phone. “I'd love to take you someplace worthy of showing you off.”
“Vous are very kind,” said Piggy, “but I would prefer to go to The Grill. Besides, you already know the food there is good. That's where I saw you for the first time.” Piggy had stopped, thinking about running into him there, and then again at the sundries shop. How long had he been in town now?
Seymour's voice was full of disappointment—or maybe disapproval—but he managed to be gracious. “All right,” he'd said. “I'll humor you this time.” Piggy had been glad when she'd hung up. Later, however, telling Kermit about it, she had sounded much happier. And Kermit, for his part, had shown more enthusiasm than usual.
“That's great, Honey,” he'd said. “You'll have a nice time seeing Mr. Strathers. Tell him I said hello, okay?”
“Moi will tell him,” she had said. Anything to make Kermit happy. To Rory she said, “There is nothing creepy about having dinner with a former boss in a nice restaurant.” She was no longer glaring at him, but was looking down and plucking at the hem of the pink sweater she was wearing over her black leotard.
Rory noticed this strategic change from offense to defense and pounced on it, but gently. It was still like an elephant landing on your welcome mat, but he at least tried for subtlety. “If you're worried about going out, or about the publicity, or--”
“Not helping,” Piggy muttered, and Rory tried to find better footing.
“Look, I'm trying to be helpful,” he said, but it sounded more whiny than resentful, and Piggy forgave him immediately.
“I know,” Piggy said quickly, still worrying the hem of her sweater.
Rory moved her down the hallway toward the empty stage. They were going to work on the fight scene between Sandy and Rizzo. Kristen and Harrison were probably already waiting for them onstage. “As long as you feel comfortable with it. Kristen said he was, you know, sort of drooling over you at the restaurant. If you think he might make a move on you or something….” It had not quite been phrased as a question, but Piggy answered him anyway with a laugh.
“Mr. Strathers? Don't be ridiculous. He's harmless.”
“Well, yes, I suppose, but what if…if the, um, other person shows up. Will this Strather's character be able to come to your defense if someone makes a move on you again?”
“Since when has Moi needed help dealing with lowlifes?” Piggy demanded, hands on her curvaceous hips.
But Rory wasn't having any of it. “Since Scribbler had to save your bacon a few--”
“Don't you dare say his name to me!” Piggy hissed, looking around as though afraid someone had overheard them. “That…that miserable excuse for a--”
“Who saved you—that guy,” Rory said bluntly, and Piggy squirmed.
“Well, yes,” Piggy admitted, “but he was so…and he…he had no right to post that picture!”
“That is certainly true,” Rory said, “but I was making a point--”
Piggy threw her hands up in the air, huffing out a breath. “Okay, when I'm out with him, I'll have a side order of smack-down at the ready—now will you lay off? Get out here and help me with this scene, because the way Moi is feeling now I'm liable to rip Kristen's head off.”
“Good,” Rory murmured. “Hold on to that.” He didn't want Piggy's old boss to be so besotted by her charms that he wasn't vigilant. It was easy to be distracted by the perfection that was Piggy herself and lose sight of what was going on around you.
They went out onto the stage and Harrison bounded up to her, unaware of the danger. “Ready for a heaping helping of kick-butt?” he asked.
“Starting with you?” Piggy snapped, and Harrison took an involuntary step back. He looked at Rory over her head.
“When's the frog coming?” he demanded. “If he doesn't get up here soon, she's gonna hurt somebody.”
Kermit had seen the number flash up when he'd been on the phone, and had almost dropped it in his coffee in his haste to answer it.
“Mom?” he said into the phone. “Mom—is that--?”
“It's me and your Mom,” said James The Frog, and Kermit felt his eyes widen in surprise. Mom was usually more of the phone caller/letter writer.
“Um, hi Dad—is everything okay?” Phone calls were infrequent enough to be worrisome unless you knew why.
“We're all fine here,” said James serenely. “How are you doing, Son?”
“Oh, um, fine,” Kermit lied. “It's just, um….”
“Son.” James's voice was quiet, but compelling, and Kermit sighed with relief and gratefulness. He did not have to pretend to be Superamphibian in front of his Dad. “Bozos giving you a hard time, are they?”
“Yeah. Little bit,” Kermit said ruefully, and grinned in spite of himself. Just saying it out loud, admitting it to someone else, was a profound relief.
“Well, people are mostly good,” said James. “You know that.”
“I do know that,” Kermit said quietly.
“But sometimes they are mean-spirited and bothersome.”
“Yeah.”
“But it gets better. I promise.”
Kermit was quiet for a moment, waiting to see if his father would say more. “Thanks, Dad,” he said quietly. “I'm hanging in.”
“I know you are, Son,” James said, and the certainty in his voice was like a tonic to his battered soul. Kermit made a small sound of acquiescence, then fell silent. They stood there for another 15 seconds, just feeling connected to each other. “Here's your Mother,” James said quietly, and Kermit heard him say, “Jane?”
“Hi Honey,” Jane The Frog said. “How are you, Sweetie? Are you eating right? Is Piggy really doing okay in New York?”
“I'm—I'm fine, Mom. It's, you know, annoying at times, but everything's good, everything's fine. I'm eating right—mostly. And Piggy seems to be fine. Really. She's doing just swell on Broadway.”
“I'm sorry things are bumpy now,” said Jane. “We love you a lot. There's someone here who would like to talk to you.”
“Hello?”
“Hi Robin!” Kermit cried. The sound of Robin, so close to his heart but many, many miles away was painful and comforting at the same time. “How's it going in the Swamp? Are you keeping up with school?”
“School's okay,” said Robin. “When am I coming back to stay with you?”
Kermit heard his Mother shush Robin gently. “Kermit is very busy,” he heard her say. “You mustn't pester him until he's ready for you to come again.”
“Um, I'm doing…I'm having fun here with Grandma and Grandpa,” Robin said. “Dad and I have been practicing our dives.”
“You'll be showing me up in no time,” Kermit said. He tried to remember the last time he'd taken a comforting swim in the backyard pool.
“Naw—you'll always be a good diver,” said Robin. “Aunt Maggie says so.”
“Then it must be so,” Kermit said dryly. “What else does Aunt Maggie say?”
“She said those reporters better stop writing those nasty stories about you and Aunt Piggy or--”
“Kermit?” His mother was on the phone again, and Kermit fought back a smile. He supposed Robin had been shushed before he could repeat what Maggie might have said, but it cheered him nonetheless to think that his articulate, fool-intolerant sister was indignant on his behalf.
“Hi Mom.”
“Robin was just--”
“It's fine, Mom. I know.” He was grinning, and maybe because she could hear him grinning, she became less determinedly cheery.
“Maggie just gets, you know, angry about all the mean publicity.”
“I'm not wild about it myself,” said Kermit, “but it's okay here. Really. I'm doing fine, the movie's fine.”
“How's our girl?” Jane The Frog asked, a little catch in her voice. She loved her rather unusual daughter-in-law with a fierceness that always touched Kermit.
“She's amazing,” Kermit said, his voice warming. “She's doing just great.”
“Really?” said Jane. “I know she's probably missing you like gangbusters.”
“Yeah,” said Kermit. “It's one of her most endearing qualities.”
Jane laughed, the sound warm and comforting. “I can understand why you think so,” she said. She hesitated, and Kermit felt his own breath hitch. She was leading up to something, was not sure how he was going to react. Fear gripped his heart for an instant, and he wondered worriedly if--
“Do you want us to come and see you?” she asked.
Surprise made him silent. They were worried about him. They thought he might need them, or want them.
The silence stretched while he tried to think what to say, but nothing came out, and his Mother's voice surged into the silence between them.
“Sweetie—do you want me to come and see you?” she asked. “I could come and cook for you and keep you company while…well, while you're working on the film.”
Kermit's voice was very gentle. “Mom, I always love to have you visit me. But I'm fine. I promise I am. I'm working a lot, but it's paying off. And as soon as I can, I'm going to go see Piggy.”
“Oh, good,” said Jane. “She must be lonely.”
Kermit started to tell her Piggy had friends up there, that she was doing just fine without him, but something kept him from saying the words. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “But she's a brick. And she's doing fantastic in the show. Sold out and everything.”
“I know,” said Jane. “We read it in the local paper.”
Surprise would have made Kermit's eyebrows rise—if he'd had any.
“But you're…you're okay?”
“Mom—I'm good.”
“Jane, Honey, the boy is fine. He's a grown frog now—he's been taking on the world for a long time by himself,” Kermit heard his Father mutter, and he smiled, more content than he had been in days.
“Look—give my love to everybody, okay? Tell them I appreciate them. All right?”
“Of course,” said Jane. Her voice sounded just a little wet, and Kermit closed his eyes, holding the phone against his aural organ carefully and drinking in the sound of her, of home.
“And when this is all over—the movie, Broadway—we'll come home and spend a few days with you guys.”
“That would be just lovely,” said Jane, sounding more like her usual brisk self. “Look, your Father is giving me the evil eye. Time for us to go. We love you, Kermit—dress warm, okay?”
“Mom—it's 74 degrees here,” Kermit said, but he was smiling. “Love you. Bye.”
Scooter moved behind him, standing awkwardly in the doorway. “Everything okay at home?” Scooter asked. Kermit smiled and nodded, centered and grounded again.
“Oh yeah,” said Kermit. “Everything at home is fine.”
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Christmas Music
Macy's Thanksgiving Parade
Jim Henson Idea Man
Back to the Rock Season 2
Bear arrives on Disney+
Sam and Friends Book
.oh fleet , fleet fleet fleet fleet. Really ,what did you expect , in a way i feel bad for him.( not that much) and Piggy , i just want to hug her .( i always want to hug her ) And the Kermit and Piggy convo( want to hug them both )
Never say that, I had a bad enough time dealing with Doc Hopper, chasing me for my legs.
People chase me for my legs all the time.
agrees with the sentiment, then giggles knowingly.
