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Chapter 161: Divine and Conquer
Piggy took her time putting the phone away, using all of her acting skill to impose calm even though she felt like her heart would just burst from all the emotion it contained. She was amazed at how normal she was still managing to appear—how outwardly cool and impervious she must seem once she’d dried her tears. Darcy and Harrison came back to the table next to her, and Stacy slipped into the booth with Piggy and Bobo, sliding over Piggy to sit next to Bobo’s bulk.
“Hi Bobo,” Stacey said sweetly. “Do you mind if I sit here until that fellow in the mint-green Henley gives up and goes away?” She pointed discreetly.
Bobo’s eyes raised in surprise. “I don’t mind at all,” he said in a pleasant rumble. “I’m just here to keep an eye on Miss Piggy, but I surely don’t mind keeping an eye out for you, too.”
“Thank you, Bobo,” Stacey said. “You’re a dear.”
Stacey looked over at Piggy and smiled, and though Piggy’s mouth curved automatically into an answering smile, it was obvious she was distracted. Piggy’s cast mate wondered if Bobo—or anyone—was really keeping an eye on Miss Piggy. She reached out and grasped Piggy’s hand and squeezed, and Piggy’s eyes lost some of their lack of focus and fixed on her.
“Oh,” Piggy began, a little flustered. “Here I am gathering wool instead of….”
“Are you okay, Piggy?” Stacey asked. “You look a little pale, sweetie.”
Piggy started to speak again, but there was a lump in her throat. She nodded, but felt the sharp sting of tears in her eyes again, and almost immediately shook her head. Stacey’s mouth opened in a little “oh” of surprise and she scooted to the edge of her seat.
“Did something happen?” She looked around them, trying to locate a source of distress. “Just now?”
Piggy swallowed the lump and looked up, willing the tears away. It was a heroic effort that didn’t quite come off, but if Stacey had not known her, she might have been fooled. Darcy and Harrison had gone to the next table and turned automatically once they’d gotten settled, planning to chew the fat with the divine Miss P, but when they saw Stacey and Piggy engaged in earnest conversation they scooted over to the edge of their booth to check on things.
“Hey—everything okay, chica?” Darcy asked. “Somebody giving you a hard time?”
Piggy nodded, then shook her head, because the thought of having to explain was just too much. Bobo finally cottoned on to the fact that Miss Piggy was upset—not just upset at him. His ears twitched forward and he shifted in a way that put his bulk between her and some of the public.
Rory and Chad came off the dance floor and plopped down, Chad sliding in on her other side and Rory scooting in after. They sobered as they felt the dark mood that now hovered over their booths. Kristen had been talking to the bartender, a friend of hers, but she’d come back to the table as though sensing that all was not well.
“What now?” cried Chad, but he sounded fierce and protective instead of annoyed. He looked around, eyes narrowed as he scanned the crowd, and a fellow in a mint-green collarless shirt scuttled hastily away.
Piggy took a deep breath, sure that she could do this just the once without blubbering. “I got to talk to Mon Capitan again,” she said. “Our first conversation was short and we couldn’t hear each other very well.” She hastened on, trying to get through it before she lost her composure. “I—Moi can’t explain it and it doesn’t really matter how, but Kermie’s side of the conversation made it sound like Moi was…like we were—“ Her eyes filled with tears but she held onto her composure by a thread. “Like we were s-s-splitting up.”
An accomplished actress knows what reaction her words will have. A brilliant actress recognizes the reaction her words have had on her audience, but Piggy hardly needed to be brilliant to see what they thought. They gaped at her, horrified.
“Aw, Piggy,” said Rory and reached around Chad to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Stacey gripped her hand beneath the table, holding tight.
“How awful,” Chad intoned softly. “Bless you, dear.” He put his arms around her and hugged her.
“And then—and then Moi came here and all those people saw me…d-d-dancing!” she said, the last word almost a wail.
Harrison looked mortified. “When we were—just now? You mean people will…oh. Oh no.” His face went pale.
“What did Kermit say?” asked Bobo. He could be as thickheaded as they come, but there were moments when he rose to the occasion and this was one of them.
“Kermie was very sweet about it,” Piggy said. “He said Moi should not worry and to enjoy myself with my friends.”
Piggy did not know it, but her husband’s esteem rose in the eyes of her friends as they exchanged unhappy glances. The frog must have nerves of steel—but then, anyone married to Miss Piggy would have to be almost fireproof.
Rory broke the silence first. “Okay,” he said. “What would you like to do? We can take you home…?”
“Yes,” said Piggy at once. “Moi would really, really like to go home!”
Kermit opened the door and looked at his visitors, completely at a loss for what to say. Fozzie blew out one of those noisemaker party favors that unravel when you blow into it and it honked unmusically.
“Um, surprise?” he said weakly.
Rizzo had a bag of hot, greasy nuggets from The Golden Kernel, and Pepe had a brown bag full of what probably wasn’t health food. A huge bag of pretzels bulged out of the top of the sack. More practically, Gonzo held up a bottle and looked at his old friend. “You get the glasses and I’ll pour?”
“Deal,” said Kermit, and they all trooped in over the sill.
In the end, Rory and Chad and Kristen went with her, leaving the others behind. Moishe had had a fare when they called, but he sent Sparky, who was just dropping off a load at the poshy four-star hotel a few blocks away. He pulled up and hastened out to open the car door for Miss Piggy and her friends, and in moments they were on the road. Chad and Kristen sat in the back, Piggy sandwiched between them with their arms around her. Rory rode up front, looking anxiously into the back at regular intervals (okay, constantly).
“Want me to stay with you, sweetie?” Kristen asked. “I could run you a hot bath, make you a cup of tea?”
“Well, there’s food at our place,” said Chad, giving Rory a look. “I’ll bet there isn’t any at Piggy’s.”
Denying it would have been pointless, so Piggy didn’t. What did food matter? What did anything matter except losing herself in oblivion if Kermit wasn’t here?
Above her head, she was aware of Kristen nodding, and knew that Rory was nodding in return. Rory turned to the driver.
“Um, Sparky?” he said. “Change of plans….”
“I told you already—I’m on it,” Scribbler almost spat into the phone. “Right, right—I’m writing already.” He fell silent, listening to his boss’s excited instruction—one-third-entreaty and two-thirds-demand. “Right, yes,” he tried to interrupt, to no avail. “As soon as I…hang up!” he practically shouted. There was a split-second of dangerous silence, then his boss growled a threat into the phone and hung up on him. Scribbler put the phone away with unsteady hands.
His head was reeling, his heart hammering double-time. Scoop had caught the leading edge of the story—there were advantages to having thousands of cousins, several hundred of whom were in the business—and he had called Scribbler as soon as the story came hurtling down the pike. That had given Fleet enough time to stay a half-step ahead of his boss, and it might have been that near-miss as much as the story which was making his heart thump. Was it true? he wondered. Had Missy really given hubby his walking papers? His instincts said “no” but he could not stop the thrill that ran down his spine at the possibility. Things had been pretty charged-up lately, and there was no doubt that her delicate edges were frayed. What on earth was wrong with that stupid frog? Why, if his girl were here in New York, unprotected and lonely, he knew where he’d be. He was here, wasn’t he? He was here, doing what he could to keep her safe. Hubby doesn’t know she’s in danger, Scribbler’s conscience prodded him a little, but on the heels of that came the second stunning revelation of the evening.
Kermit wasn’t here. Which meant…which meant…? Fleet didn’t know everything it meant, but he would have laid odds he could guess the gist of it. If Kermit wasn’t here, he didn’t know. The frog didn’t know Piggy was fending off a creepy former boss and some crazed psychopath who had tried to drag her off. His brain back-tracked stubbornly and he rolled the information around but arrived at the same conclusion. Kermit did not know. Despite the fact that he knew, and Marty knew and Piggy knew, the frog was in the dark, sidelined from the action. Maybe things weren’t as idyllic at home as Piggy wanted him to think.
Scribbler’s mind was racing around, bungee-jumping to conclusions and he made a sound of frustration and waved his hands beside his ears as though waving away pesky insects. This made a fur-coated woman and her tuxedoed escort step away from him on the sidewalk and move quickly on. Scribbler made a sound of frustration and grimaced, but half-heartedly. He was getting pretty used to looking like an idiot.
He looked up, trying to orient himself and found that he was practically in front of Missy’s theater. The deserted look of the place told him that the show was long over, the crowd dispersed, so there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in heck that she was still there. More from habit than from any real hope of seeing her, Scribbler circled around the building and was astonished to see the backstage door standing open.
A man was there on the concrete stoop, smoking a cancer-stick, the glow of it bright in the darkness. He wore jeans and a yellow tool-belt slung low over his hips, and he was wearing a hard hat. Hastily, Scribbler faded back, hoping he’d not been seen, but the man merely took one last, mournful drag on the cigarette, dropped the butt on the stoop and ground it carefully out with the heel of his steel-toed boot. He turned and walked through the open door.
Scribbler held his breath, eyes fixed hungrily on the opening, but the door remained open. Convulsively, he swallowed, watching the door so intently his head hurt, but no one reappeared to close it. He floated forward, his feet silent, his breath fogging in the frosty air.
He slipped up the steps, his hand reaching for the knob but a loud noise inside made him jerk it back. When his heart had descended back into his ribcage again, Fleet recognized what he’d heard—the buzz of some sort of power tool. While he pondered that, he heard the sounds of hammering. So…they were working inside, probably on a new set of some sort. That meant the show was over, the actors and the management probably gone. If he could only get in….
He was in. He was in, and it had been remarkably simple. He didn’t have a plan, true, but he’d always been quick on his feet. He had a chance to check out where Missy spent her evenings, and all he needed now was a little bit of luck. In spite of himself, Fleet grinned. Things were definitely looking up.
Fleet might not have felt quite as elated if he had known that he had been followed that evening, and that at that very moment, someone was watching him. Watching—and learning.
“Wow. Stinks to be you, today,” said Gonzo. Gonzo had been bypassed by the fairy-godmother of tact, but he did have a knack for stating the bald, ugly truth. Kermit gave him a wan smile.
“Gee, Gonzo—thanks for your support,” he muttered dryly.
“Anytime! What are friends for?” Gonzo replied generously, then topped off his glass and Kermit’s. “So…what are you gonna do?”
Kermit took a big swallow. He had started some time ago with sips, the fiery liquid burning down his gullet, but now, several glasses later, the whiskey seemed almost mellow. “What do you mean?” Kermit asked. He blinked, wishing Gonzo would hold still so he could focus on him.
“I mean, are you gonna set the record straight? Are you gonna try to schedule…I don’t know, an interview or something?”
“I hadn’t thought about that,” Kermit said. Truthfully, he hadn’t done a lot of thinking since arriving home, and even less since the guys had arrived.
“Scooter has probably thought about that,” Rizzo said.
“Yeah,” said Kermit, “but he’s not here. He’s—“
“Sheesh! Are you all crazy?” Scooter demanded, coming through the door. “The door was unlocked! Do you have any idea who could have wandered in….” He stopped, surveying his familiars with a strange expression on his face. It was part incredulity, part annoyance, part sympathy.
He heaved a big sigh, then walked over and stared down at the lot of them, the litter of food on the coffee table, the mostly-empty bottle. Rizzo lifted the bottle in invitation, something he could not have done earlier in the evening when it was mostly full instead of mostly empty. Behind his glasses, Scooter’s eyes narrowed, but before he even opened his mouth to say anything, Gonzo and Fozzie handed over their car keys. Scooter looked at the tangle of keys in his hand and sighed, then his mouth quirked into a wry smile. “Yeah, okay,” he said, reaching for a glass, “but just the one. Somebody’s got to have a clear head around here.”
Chad cooked, Kristen turned on the shower and Rory rooted around for something Piggy could put on that wasn’t eveningwear. Piggy's silhouette was too curvy for Chad’s slim-cut clothes, and Rory’s were huge, but he finally found a pair of workout shorts and a t-shirt that worked if everything was rolled up. When Piggy came out of the shower, her skin pink and flushed, Kristen helped her into the oversized duds and helped her brush out her hair. She arrived in their kitchen looking scrubbed and subdued, but Rory still fought the urge to applaud. Even sad-eyed and damp, sans make-up and dressed in his workout clothes, she was undeniably breathtaking. The aura of tragedy that hung around her seemed to enhance her beauty rather than detract from it.
“Come and sit,” said Rory, standing to hold out a chair. Once Piggy was settled, he held out the other one for Kristen.
“Your mom would be proud,” murmured Kristen, smiling at him.
“My mom would kick my butt if I didn’t show my manners,” he replied, and Piggy smiled faintly. Although she was pretty uniformly pink, it was easy to tell that she’d been crying in the shower. There was nothing for it—nothing but having hubby up here, that is—so no one tried to jolly her out of her dark mood.
Chad approached the table with a saucepan and Piggy shook her head.
“Moi is not hungry,” she said, but Chad rolled his eyes and ignored her. He spooned something fragrant and steaming into the bowl in front of her and she looked down in surprise, her face lighting up a little in spite of her protests.
“Is this—?”
“Rice pudding,” said Chad triumphantly. “My mom used to make it for me when I was unhappy. It’s the ultimate comfort food—hot, sweet, sticky.” He looked at Kristen and Rory, who both held out their bowls sheepishly, and his smug smile said he had expected it. He plopped big spoonfuls of the pudding into their dishes before putting the pan back on the stove. He took the teakettle and filled up a teapot, which he brought to the table. Sugar, cream and lemon were already on the table, and he sat down with the three of them and poured Piggy and himself a cup. Rory took the teapot and poured Kristen a cup before filling his own mug.
It was easier to eat when everyone else was, and Piggy had soon cleaned her bowl. She blew on her tea, added three spoonfuls of sugar and milk to it and then sipped until the whole cup was empty.
“Feeling better, dumpling?” Chad asked, and Piggy nodded.
“Moi is feeling better,” she said composedly, and they all looked at her hopefully, surprised by the optimism in her voice. “I need to call Marty,” she said, and gave a pretty good impression of her “game face”. She stood up, picked up her phone and squared her shoulders before walking into the living room. The three friends looked at each other, eyebrows raised.
“That sounded better,” said Kristen.
“Marty will know what to do,” said Rory, and Chad nodded. Rory had not eaten all of his rice pudding, but Chad had not eaten any. Rory pushed his bowl in Chad’s direction without looking at it.
“Marty will help her figure out a way to come out swinging,” said Chad. After the debacle at their brunch—and before the debacle at the restaurant—Chad and his mother had been more than impressed by the way Marty turned the rumors on their ears and the rumormongers out into the cold.
They talked about the things that had happened so far—sans the attempted pignapping, which only Rory was supposed to know about—and about what this latest crisis would bring.
“Is it just me, or do these incidents seem…I don’t know, a little artificially overblown?” Kristen asked uncertainly. “I mean, there’s always Hollywood gossip, and, gosh, there’s always been talk about Kermit and Miss Piggy, but...do you know what I mean?”
Rory’s face did not betray his surprise, but he was surprised. He was surprised to find Kristen’s thoughts far down the same path his own mind had wandered. It was different, reading about someone in the news, someone famous whom you did not know and whose personal business seemed none of your own, and Rory had thought over and over about what he had read and heard about the The Frogs in the news before he met Piggy.
“I do,” he said thoughtfully. “I—it almost seems like someone is…orchestrating this whole marriage-in-trouble thing to…wait, scratch that. That sounds paranoid, doesn’t it?” But Kristen and Chad were looking at him soberly.
Chad swallowed a mouthful of rice pudding. “Tabloids always have a field day when both parties are celebrities,” he said, “but usually it's because they think the public will believe their twaddle. Not everybody is a paragon,” he added softly. Chad had more reason to know than most.
“So it’s easy to find stuff that makes them look like cheaters,” agreed Rory. “I mean, I heard there were lots of articles in the papers when they were dating, but…since they married, not so much.”
“Fleet Scribbler used to write a lot about them,” Kristen said. She had not decided yet if she believed Fleet’s miraculous rescue of Piggy at the restaurant was genuine or not.
“He used to write a lot about Miss Piggy,” Chad said. “Mother did some research after that incident at Four Seasons.”
Rory and Kristen shot him incredulous looks and he colored and protested. “She was just curious. It just…she just wanted to know the backstory.” He crossed his arms across his chest, looking defensive.
“What did she find?” Rory asked.
Satisfied that they weren’t annoyed with him, Chad continued. “Well, when they were dating, it was a regular circus. Backstage shenanigans, rumors, secret elopements, public spats—even an evil twin robot with a thing for Piggy. Lots of drama, lots of sparks.” He looked nervously toward the living room, where they could faintly hear Piggy’s murmured half of the conversation with her agent. “They’re both pretty jealous, and if one of them showed up at a function with a date, or they went together and Piggy thought Kermit spent too much time talking to some starlet, well….” He looked nervously again toward the living room and dropped his voice a notch. “She is a black belt.”
“What about Kermit? I heard he really flips his lid when the fans get a little over-eager.” Kristen wanted to like Kermit, but she felt protective of Piggy.
Rory cleared his throat, wondering how his first interaction with his co-star's husband was going to go. “Um, Piggy says he’s pretty jealous if someone is really making a move on her, but he really gets torqued off if someone tries to imply she’s got a wandering eye.”
Kristen snorted. “Piggy? She barely notices when men are in the room.” They glared at her and she colored and muttered, “No offense. I mean, she knows you guys.”
“She notices, all right,” Rory said, thinking of the day she auditioned, the way every male in the room was completely under her spell, even Lowry. Heck, even him. “I just don’t think she cares about anybody else…not like that. He’s the one and only.”
“Thank goodness,” Chad muttered. Rory shot him a look. “Can you imagine, really? If she genuinely played the field? Led people on? Men would be lining up to throw themselves off the Brooklyn Bridge.”
“True that,” said Kristen. “So, the question is—why would someone want people to think she was like that? What would you get out of that?”
They were silent for a moment, then Rory heaved a sigh. “You’d get Piggy on Broadway without Kermit.”
They looked at him, confused.
“Do you think Lowry would have even tried to get her if he didn’t think she’d leave Hubby behind?”
“Well, why on earth did she?” Chad demanded. “I mean, why not bring him with her?”
“He’s finishing the movie they just shot,” Rory reminded him. He looked at Chad, his expression sober. “When you both act, sometimes you don’t get to control your own schedule.” He reached for Chad’s hand. “We’ve been lucky.”
“You have been,” said Kristen, and Chad flushed a little, remembering that Kristen’s long-time steady had been on the road.
“But he’s the boss, isn’t he?”
“He’s the boss of Rainbow Productions. He’s not the boss of Broadway.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute. So…you’re saying that somebody might have timed this so that Kermit couldn’t come? So Piggy would have to come up here alone?” Kristen’s expression was somewhere between mortified and belligerent.
Rory thought about the man with the chloroform and the reporter who always seemed to be right where she needed him. “I think they might have,” Rory said, his expression worried. “I think…somebody maybe arrange things so she’d be here by herself.”
“She’s not by herself!” Chad cried indignantly. “She’s got us! She’s got that annoying bear, she’s got lots of friends here!”
Rory smiled at his partner’s bristling outrage, glad they were on the same page.
"It’s true—Piggy doesn’t lack for friends.” He thought about that—such a different reality from what he’d expected when she’d first arrived. She had endeared herself to them all. “Still, I wish Kermit would get up here already.”
“What on earth is wrong with that frog?” Chad muttered.
Piggy answered from the doorway. “Nothing at all,” she said, but she was smiling.
Scooter had had his one drink, and he had packed everybody but his boss off to a couch or a bed or a coat-hanger. They stumbled off to brush teeth or whiskers without a fight. Scooter sat down on the couch next to Kermit and sighed, then reached out and patted Kermit on the back. It was an unconscious gesture, the sort of thing that Kermit had done for him a million times, at least, and he didn’t think about it until later, when he was home snuggled into Sara’s arms.
“Killer week,” Scooter said. “But next week’s going to be better.”
Kermit snorted, then hiccupped. He was tipsy and cranky, but trying to appear more sober than he was. “Next week!” he muttered. “I can’t even stand the thought of tomorrow.”
Scooter thought, but tactfully did not say, that tomorrow wasn’t going to be better with a hang-over. He opened his mouth, planning to tell Kermit about the plane ticket, but Kermit spoke first, driving all thoughts of tickets out of his head.
“I miss Jim,” Kermit said quietly.
Scooter felt like someone had punched him in the gut. Jim’s death—the first of several—was still like an open wound sometimes. Kermit didn’t talk about it much—couldn’t seem to talk about it much—but when he did, it was almost always with a sadness so deep it was hard to fathom.
“Me, too,” Scooter managed. “He was….”
“Yeah,” said Kermit, and they sat there in silence for a moment.
“I miss…I miss having someone who knew me before I was famous—someone who liked me, um, warts and all.”
“Kermit’s got warts?” Rizzo murmured to Gonzo. They had finished their ablutions and, hearing the conversation, had drifted over to offer comfort.
“No,” Gonzo explained gently. “It’s just an expression. He just means—”
“Oh! Oh, right. Gotcha,” Rizzo whispered.
“Jim was pretty amazing,” Scooter agreed, glad his voice didn’t crack. It was still tough, talking about that first parting among them.
“I know,” Kermit said. “I just miss knowing that he always had my back—he was always behind me, supporting me in everything I did. Nobody knew me better than Jim.”
“Well, gosh, Kermit,” said Fozzie, coming to stand behind his amphibian friend and placing a big warm paw on his shoulder. “Nobody misses Jim more than me, but we’ve got a good team behind us, now. I miss Jim, too, but he didn’t leave us empty-handed.”
“Oh, I know,” said Kermit at once. He was always fair. “I mean, Steve is a terrific guy. Jim told me I could count on him anytime I needed to, and he’s never let me down, but I just…sometimes…you just get lonely for the way things were, you know?”
Scooter nodded, not trusting himself to speak for a moment. “I know,” he said softly. Kermit looked over at his assistant and put a hand on his shoulder, knowing that he was remembering Richard, another member of their original hearty band. Richard had been the one to suggest Scooter’s internship with their cast and crew, seeing potential the young man that no one else had thought to tap. He’d brought him to meet Kermit and, well, here they were.
“I get lonely sometimes for the way things used to be,” Gonzo admitted. “When we were still a stage act, before the movies.”
“Yeah,” said Kermit. “The good ol’ days.”
Fozzie came around the couch and sat down beside Kermit. “Do you remember the day Miss Piggy auditioned?”
Kermit sighed and nodded, then made another little hiccup. “I sure do, Fozzie. She was…full of sass and talent.”
“You danced with her.”
Kermit’s face had gone all dreamy. “Yeah. Jim told her we wanted to see what she could do, but it was really just an excuse to put my arms around her.”
Rizzo and Scooter and Fozzie looked at each other. They had all known this, but they couldn’t recall Kermit ever admitting this before.
“Smooth move,” said Pepe, who had only heard about it from the others.
Kermit snorted and hiccupped again. “Are you kidding?” he said. “She had my number from the get-go,” he said. “Followed my lead like a pro, matched every step I took, looking at me with those big, blue eyes…. I almost didn’t hire her.”
Scooter looked at him, and his face must have shown his surprise. “I never knew that, Boss,” he said. “Why did you…almost not hire her?”
Kermit smiled and sighed, then his expression grew wry. “I knew she was…I knew if I hired her, worked with her, spent time with her…I knew it would all be over.”
“Jor carefree bachelor days?” Pepe said mournfully, but Kermit shook his head. He was a little unsteady and it took him a moment to stop shaking his head.
“Nope,” he said happily. “The loneliness.”
Every eyebrow in the room rose.
“Yep,” said Kermit. He looked down at his cup and saw that it was empty, so he handed it to Scooter. “And boy, was I right!” He swung around to beam at them all but overshot, falling over sideways onto the couch. Fozzie scooted over to give him room and he sprawled on his side, beginning instantly to snore. Scooter shooed everybody off to their own sleeping space and went to find a blanket. He returned from the guest room where Fozzie was going to bed down, draped a cover over Kermit’s snoozing form and let himself out.
Now that Sara was in his life, he knew exactly what Kermit meant.
Piggy took her time putting the phone away, using all of her acting skill to impose calm even though she felt like her heart would just burst from all the emotion it contained. She was amazed at how normal she was still managing to appear—how outwardly cool and impervious she must seem once she’d dried her tears. Darcy and Harrison came back to the table next to her, and Stacy slipped into the booth with Piggy and Bobo, sliding over Piggy to sit next to Bobo’s bulk.
“Hi Bobo,” Stacey said sweetly. “Do you mind if I sit here until that fellow in the mint-green Henley gives up and goes away?” She pointed discreetly.
Bobo’s eyes raised in surprise. “I don’t mind at all,” he said in a pleasant rumble. “I’m just here to keep an eye on Miss Piggy, but I surely don’t mind keeping an eye out for you, too.”
“Thank you, Bobo,” Stacey said. “You’re a dear.”
Stacey looked over at Piggy and smiled, and though Piggy’s mouth curved automatically into an answering smile, it was obvious she was distracted. Piggy’s cast mate wondered if Bobo—or anyone—was really keeping an eye on Miss Piggy. She reached out and grasped Piggy’s hand and squeezed, and Piggy’s eyes lost some of their lack of focus and fixed on her.
“Oh,” Piggy began, a little flustered. “Here I am gathering wool instead of….”
“Are you okay, Piggy?” Stacey asked. “You look a little pale, sweetie.”
Piggy started to speak again, but there was a lump in her throat. She nodded, but felt the sharp sting of tears in her eyes again, and almost immediately shook her head. Stacey’s mouth opened in a little “oh” of surprise and she scooted to the edge of her seat.
“Did something happen?” She looked around them, trying to locate a source of distress. “Just now?”
Piggy swallowed the lump and looked up, willing the tears away. It was a heroic effort that didn’t quite come off, but if Stacey had not known her, she might have been fooled. Darcy and Harrison had gone to the next table and turned automatically once they’d gotten settled, planning to chew the fat with the divine Miss P, but when they saw Stacey and Piggy engaged in earnest conversation they scooted over to the edge of their booth to check on things.
“Hey—everything okay, chica?” Darcy asked. “Somebody giving you a hard time?”
Piggy nodded, then shook her head, because the thought of having to explain was just too much. Bobo finally cottoned on to the fact that Miss Piggy was upset—not just upset at him. His ears twitched forward and he shifted in a way that put his bulk between her and some of the public.
Rory and Chad came off the dance floor and plopped down, Chad sliding in on her other side and Rory scooting in after. They sobered as they felt the dark mood that now hovered over their booths. Kristen had been talking to the bartender, a friend of hers, but she’d come back to the table as though sensing that all was not well.
“What now?” cried Chad, but he sounded fierce and protective instead of annoyed. He looked around, eyes narrowed as he scanned the crowd, and a fellow in a mint-green collarless shirt scuttled hastily away.
Piggy took a deep breath, sure that she could do this just the once without blubbering. “I got to talk to Mon Capitan again,” she said. “Our first conversation was short and we couldn’t hear each other very well.” She hastened on, trying to get through it before she lost her composure. “I—Moi can’t explain it and it doesn’t really matter how, but Kermie’s side of the conversation made it sound like Moi was…like we were—“ Her eyes filled with tears but she held onto her composure by a thread. “Like we were s-s-splitting up.”
An accomplished actress knows what reaction her words will have. A brilliant actress recognizes the reaction her words have had on her audience, but Piggy hardly needed to be brilliant to see what they thought. They gaped at her, horrified.
“Aw, Piggy,” said Rory and reached around Chad to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Stacey gripped her hand beneath the table, holding tight.
“How awful,” Chad intoned softly. “Bless you, dear.” He put his arms around her and hugged her.
“And then—and then Moi came here and all those people saw me…d-d-dancing!” she said, the last word almost a wail.
Harrison looked mortified. “When we were—just now? You mean people will…oh. Oh no.” His face went pale.
“What did Kermit say?” asked Bobo. He could be as thickheaded as they come, but there were moments when he rose to the occasion and this was one of them.
“Kermie was very sweet about it,” Piggy said. “He said Moi should not worry and to enjoy myself with my friends.”
Piggy did not know it, but her husband’s esteem rose in the eyes of her friends as they exchanged unhappy glances. The frog must have nerves of steel—but then, anyone married to Miss Piggy would have to be almost fireproof.
Rory broke the silence first. “Okay,” he said. “What would you like to do? We can take you home…?”
“Yes,” said Piggy at once. “Moi would really, really like to go home!”
Kermit opened the door and looked at his visitors, completely at a loss for what to say. Fozzie blew out one of those noisemaker party favors that unravel when you blow into it and it honked unmusically.
“Um, surprise?” he said weakly.
Rizzo had a bag of hot, greasy nuggets from The Golden Kernel, and Pepe had a brown bag full of what probably wasn’t health food. A huge bag of pretzels bulged out of the top of the sack. More practically, Gonzo held up a bottle and looked at his old friend. “You get the glasses and I’ll pour?”
“Deal,” said Kermit, and they all trooped in over the sill.
In the end, Rory and Chad and Kristen went with her, leaving the others behind. Moishe had had a fare when they called, but he sent Sparky, who was just dropping off a load at the poshy four-star hotel a few blocks away. He pulled up and hastened out to open the car door for Miss Piggy and her friends, and in moments they were on the road. Chad and Kristen sat in the back, Piggy sandwiched between them with their arms around her. Rory rode up front, looking anxiously into the back at regular intervals (okay, constantly).
“Want me to stay with you, sweetie?” Kristen asked. “I could run you a hot bath, make you a cup of tea?”
“Well, there’s food at our place,” said Chad, giving Rory a look. “I’ll bet there isn’t any at Piggy’s.”
Denying it would have been pointless, so Piggy didn’t. What did food matter? What did anything matter except losing herself in oblivion if Kermit wasn’t here?
Above her head, she was aware of Kristen nodding, and knew that Rory was nodding in return. Rory turned to the driver.
“Um, Sparky?” he said. “Change of plans….”
“I told you already—I’m on it,” Scribbler almost spat into the phone. “Right, right—I’m writing already.” He fell silent, listening to his boss’s excited instruction—one-third-entreaty and two-thirds-demand. “Right, yes,” he tried to interrupt, to no avail. “As soon as I…hang up!” he practically shouted. There was a split-second of dangerous silence, then his boss growled a threat into the phone and hung up on him. Scribbler put the phone away with unsteady hands.
His head was reeling, his heart hammering double-time. Scoop had caught the leading edge of the story—there were advantages to having thousands of cousins, several hundred of whom were in the business—and he had called Scribbler as soon as the story came hurtling down the pike. That had given Fleet enough time to stay a half-step ahead of his boss, and it might have been that near-miss as much as the story which was making his heart thump. Was it true? he wondered. Had Missy really given hubby his walking papers? His instincts said “no” but he could not stop the thrill that ran down his spine at the possibility. Things had been pretty charged-up lately, and there was no doubt that her delicate edges were frayed. What on earth was wrong with that stupid frog? Why, if his girl were here in New York, unprotected and lonely, he knew where he’d be. He was here, wasn’t he? He was here, doing what he could to keep her safe. Hubby doesn’t know she’s in danger, Scribbler’s conscience prodded him a little, but on the heels of that came the second stunning revelation of the evening.
Kermit wasn’t here. Which meant…which meant…? Fleet didn’t know everything it meant, but he would have laid odds he could guess the gist of it. If Kermit wasn’t here, he didn’t know. The frog didn’t know Piggy was fending off a creepy former boss and some crazed psychopath who had tried to drag her off. His brain back-tracked stubbornly and he rolled the information around but arrived at the same conclusion. Kermit did not know. Despite the fact that he knew, and Marty knew and Piggy knew, the frog was in the dark, sidelined from the action. Maybe things weren’t as idyllic at home as Piggy wanted him to think.
Scribbler’s mind was racing around, bungee-jumping to conclusions and he made a sound of frustration and waved his hands beside his ears as though waving away pesky insects. This made a fur-coated woman and her tuxedoed escort step away from him on the sidewalk and move quickly on. Scribbler made a sound of frustration and grimaced, but half-heartedly. He was getting pretty used to looking like an idiot.
He looked up, trying to orient himself and found that he was practically in front of Missy’s theater. The deserted look of the place told him that the show was long over, the crowd dispersed, so there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in heck that she was still there. More from habit than from any real hope of seeing her, Scribbler circled around the building and was astonished to see the backstage door standing open.
A man was there on the concrete stoop, smoking a cancer-stick, the glow of it bright in the darkness. He wore jeans and a yellow tool-belt slung low over his hips, and he was wearing a hard hat. Hastily, Scribbler faded back, hoping he’d not been seen, but the man merely took one last, mournful drag on the cigarette, dropped the butt on the stoop and ground it carefully out with the heel of his steel-toed boot. He turned and walked through the open door.
Scribbler held his breath, eyes fixed hungrily on the opening, but the door remained open. Convulsively, he swallowed, watching the door so intently his head hurt, but no one reappeared to close it. He floated forward, his feet silent, his breath fogging in the frosty air.
He slipped up the steps, his hand reaching for the knob but a loud noise inside made him jerk it back. When his heart had descended back into his ribcage again, Fleet recognized what he’d heard—the buzz of some sort of power tool. While he pondered that, he heard the sounds of hammering. So…they were working inside, probably on a new set of some sort. That meant the show was over, the actors and the management probably gone. If he could only get in….
He was in. He was in, and it had been remarkably simple. He didn’t have a plan, true, but he’d always been quick on his feet. He had a chance to check out where Missy spent her evenings, and all he needed now was a little bit of luck. In spite of himself, Fleet grinned. Things were definitely looking up.
Fleet might not have felt quite as elated if he had known that he had been followed that evening, and that at that very moment, someone was watching him. Watching—and learning.
“Wow. Stinks to be you, today,” said Gonzo. Gonzo had been bypassed by the fairy-godmother of tact, but he did have a knack for stating the bald, ugly truth. Kermit gave him a wan smile.
“Gee, Gonzo—thanks for your support,” he muttered dryly.
“Anytime! What are friends for?” Gonzo replied generously, then topped off his glass and Kermit’s. “So…what are you gonna do?”
Kermit took a big swallow. He had started some time ago with sips, the fiery liquid burning down his gullet, but now, several glasses later, the whiskey seemed almost mellow. “What do you mean?” Kermit asked. He blinked, wishing Gonzo would hold still so he could focus on him.
“I mean, are you gonna set the record straight? Are you gonna try to schedule…I don’t know, an interview or something?”
“I hadn’t thought about that,” Kermit said. Truthfully, he hadn’t done a lot of thinking since arriving home, and even less since the guys had arrived.
“Scooter has probably thought about that,” Rizzo said.
“Yeah,” said Kermit, “but he’s not here. He’s—“
“Sheesh! Are you all crazy?” Scooter demanded, coming through the door. “The door was unlocked! Do you have any idea who could have wandered in….” He stopped, surveying his familiars with a strange expression on his face. It was part incredulity, part annoyance, part sympathy.
He heaved a big sigh, then walked over and stared down at the lot of them, the litter of food on the coffee table, the mostly-empty bottle. Rizzo lifted the bottle in invitation, something he could not have done earlier in the evening when it was mostly full instead of mostly empty. Behind his glasses, Scooter’s eyes narrowed, but before he even opened his mouth to say anything, Gonzo and Fozzie handed over their car keys. Scooter looked at the tangle of keys in his hand and sighed, then his mouth quirked into a wry smile. “Yeah, okay,” he said, reaching for a glass, “but just the one. Somebody’s got to have a clear head around here.”
Chad cooked, Kristen turned on the shower and Rory rooted around for something Piggy could put on that wasn’t eveningwear. Piggy's silhouette was too curvy for Chad’s slim-cut clothes, and Rory’s were huge, but he finally found a pair of workout shorts and a t-shirt that worked if everything was rolled up. When Piggy came out of the shower, her skin pink and flushed, Kristen helped her into the oversized duds and helped her brush out her hair. She arrived in their kitchen looking scrubbed and subdued, but Rory still fought the urge to applaud. Even sad-eyed and damp, sans make-up and dressed in his workout clothes, she was undeniably breathtaking. The aura of tragedy that hung around her seemed to enhance her beauty rather than detract from it.
“Come and sit,” said Rory, standing to hold out a chair. Once Piggy was settled, he held out the other one for Kristen.
“Your mom would be proud,” murmured Kristen, smiling at him.
“My mom would kick my butt if I didn’t show my manners,” he replied, and Piggy smiled faintly. Although she was pretty uniformly pink, it was easy to tell that she’d been crying in the shower. There was nothing for it—nothing but having hubby up here, that is—so no one tried to jolly her out of her dark mood.
Chad approached the table with a saucepan and Piggy shook her head.
“Moi is not hungry,” she said, but Chad rolled his eyes and ignored her. He spooned something fragrant and steaming into the bowl in front of her and she looked down in surprise, her face lighting up a little in spite of her protests.
“Is this—?”
“Rice pudding,” said Chad triumphantly. “My mom used to make it for me when I was unhappy. It’s the ultimate comfort food—hot, sweet, sticky.” He looked at Kristen and Rory, who both held out their bowls sheepishly, and his smug smile said he had expected it. He plopped big spoonfuls of the pudding into their dishes before putting the pan back on the stove. He took the teakettle and filled up a teapot, which he brought to the table. Sugar, cream and lemon were already on the table, and he sat down with the three of them and poured Piggy and himself a cup. Rory took the teapot and poured Kristen a cup before filling his own mug.
It was easier to eat when everyone else was, and Piggy had soon cleaned her bowl. She blew on her tea, added three spoonfuls of sugar and milk to it and then sipped until the whole cup was empty.
“Feeling better, dumpling?” Chad asked, and Piggy nodded.
“Moi is feeling better,” she said composedly, and they all looked at her hopefully, surprised by the optimism in her voice. “I need to call Marty,” she said, and gave a pretty good impression of her “game face”. She stood up, picked up her phone and squared her shoulders before walking into the living room. The three friends looked at each other, eyebrows raised.
“That sounded better,” said Kristen.
“Marty will know what to do,” said Rory, and Chad nodded. Rory had not eaten all of his rice pudding, but Chad had not eaten any. Rory pushed his bowl in Chad’s direction without looking at it.
“Marty will help her figure out a way to come out swinging,” said Chad. After the debacle at their brunch—and before the debacle at the restaurant—Chad and his mother had been more than impressed by the way Marty turned the rumors on their ears and the rumormongers out into the cold.
They talked about the things that had happened so far—sans the attempted pignapping, which only Rory was supposed to know about—and about what this latest crisis would bring.
“Is it just me, or do these incidents seem…I don’t know, a little artificially overblown?” Kristen asked uncertainly. “I mean, there’s always Hollywood gossip, and, gosh, there’s always been talk about Kermit and Miss Piggy, but...do you know what I mean?”
Rory’s face did not betray his surprise, but he was surprised. He was surprised to find Kristen’s thoughts far down the same path his own mind had wandered. It was different, reading about someone in the news, someone famous whom you did not know and whose personal business seemed none of your own, and Rory had thought over and over about what he had read and heard about the The Frogs in the news before he met Piggy.
“I do,” he said thoughtfully. “I—it almost seems like someone is…orchestrating this whole marriage-in-trouble thing to…wait, scratch that. That sounds paranoid, doesn’t it?” But Kristen and Chad were looking at him soberly.
Chad swallowed a mouthful of rice pudding. “Tabloids always have a field day when both parties are celebrities,” he said, “but usually it's because they think the public will believe their twaddle. Not everybody is a paragon,” he added softly. Chad had more reason to know than most.
“So it’s easy to find stuff that makes them look like cheaters,” agreed Rory. “I mean, I heard there were lots of articles in the papers when they were dating, but…since they married, not so much.”
“Fleet Scribbler used to write a lot about them,” Kristen said. She had not decided yet if she believed Fleet’s miraculous rescue of Piggy at the restaurant was genuine or not.
“He used to write a lot about Miss Piggy,” Chad said. “Mother did some research after that incident at Four Seasons.”
Rory and Kristen shot him incredulous looks and he colored and protested. “She was just curious. It just…she just wanted to know the backstory.” He crossed his arms across his chest, looking defensive.
“What did she find?” Rory asked.
Satisfied that they weren’t annoyed with him, Chad continued. “Well, when they were dating, it was a regular circus. Backstage shenanigans, rumors, secret elopements, public spats—even an evil twin robot with a thing for Piggy. Lots of drama, lots of sparks.” He looked nervously toward the living room, where they could faintly hear Piggy’s murmured half of the conversation with her agent. “They’re both pretty jealous, and if one of them showed up at a function with a date, or they went together and Piggy thought Kermit spent too much time talking to some starlet, well….” He looked nervously again toward the living room and dropped his voice a notch. “She is a black belt.”
“What about Kermit? I heard he really flips his lid when the fans get a little over-eager.” Kristen wanted to like Kermit, but she felt protective of Piggy.
Rory cleared his throat, wondering how his first interaction with his co-star's husband was going to go. “Um, Piggy says he’s pretty jealous if someone is really making a move on her, but he really gets torqued off if someone tries to imply she’s got a wandering eye.”
Kristen snorted. “Piggy? She barely notices when men are in the room.” They glared at her and she colored and muttered, “No offense. I mean, she knows you guys.”
“She notices, all right,” Rory said, thinking of the day she auditioned, the way every male in the room was completely under her spell, even Lowry. Heck, even him. “I just don’t think she cares about anybody else…not like that. He’s the one and only.”
“Thank goodness,” Chad muttered. Rory shot him a look. “Can you imagine, really? If she genuinely played the field? Led people on? Men would be lining up to throw themselves off the Brooklyn Bridge.”
“True that,” said Kristen. “So, the question is—why would someone want people to think she was like that? What would you get out of that?”
They were silent for a moment, then Rory heaved a sigh. “You’d get Piggy on Broadway without Kermit.”
They looked at him, confused.
“Do you think Lowry would have even tried to get her if he didn’t think she’d leave Hubby behind?”
“Well, why on earth did she?” Chad demanded. “I mean, why not bring him with her?”
“He’s finishing the movie they just shot,” Rory reminded him. He looked at Chad, his expression sober. “When you both act, sometimes you don’t get to control your own schedule.” He reached for Chad’s hand. “We’ve been lucky.”
“You have been,” said Kristen, and Chad flushed a little, remembering that Kristen’s long-time steady had been on the road.
“But he’s the boss, isn’t he?”
“He’s the boss of Rainbow Productions. He’s not the boss of Broadway.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute. So…you’re saying that somebody might have timed this so that Kermit couldn’t come? So Piggy would have to come up here alone?” Kristen’s expression was somewhere between mortified and belligerent.
Rory thought about the man with the chloroform and the reporter who always seemed to be right where she needed him. “I think they might have,” Rory said, his expression worried. “I think…somebody maybe arrange things so she’d be here by herself.”
“She’s not by herself!” Chad cried indignantly. “She’s got us! She’s got that annoying bear, she’s got lots of friends here!”
Rory smiled at his partner’s bristling outrage, glad they were on the same page.
"It’s true—Piggy doesn’t lack for friends.” He thought about that—such a different reality from what he’d expected when she’d first arrived. She had endeared herself to them all. “Still, I wish Kermit would get up here already.”
“What on earth is wrong with that frog?” Chad muttered.
Piggy answered from the doorway. “Nothing at all,” she said, but she was smiling.
Scooter had had his one drink, and he had packed everybody but his boss off to a couch or a bed or a coat-hanger. They stumbled off to brush teeth or whiskers without a fight. Scooter sat down on the couch next to Kermit and sighed, then reached out and patted Kermit on the back. It was an unconscious gesture, the sort of thing that Kermit had done for him a million times, at least, and he didn’t think about it until later, when he was home snuggled into Sara’s arms.
“Killer week,” Scooter said. “But next week’s going to be better.”
Kermit snorted, then hiccupped. He was tipsy and cranky, but trying to appear more sober than he was. “Next week!” he muttered. “I can’t even stand the thought of tomorrow.”
Scooter thought, but tactfully did not say, that tomorrow wasn’t going to be better with a hang-over. He opened his mouth, planning to tell Kermit about the plane ticket, but Kermit spoke first, driving all thoughts of tickets out of his head.
“I miss Jim,” Kermit said quietly.
Scooter felt like someone had punched him in the gut. Jim’s death—the first of several—was still like an open wound sometimes. Kermit didn’t talk about it much—couldn’t seem to talk about it much—but when he did, it was almost always with a sadness so deep it was hard to fathom.
“Me, too,” Scooter managed. “He was….”
“Yeah,” said Kermit, and they sat there in silence for a moment.
“I miss…I miss having someone who knew me before I was famous—someone who liked me, um, warts and all.”
“Kermit’s got warts?” Rizzo murmured to Gonzo. They had finished their ablutions and, hearing the conversation, had drifted over to offer comfort.
“No,” Gonzo explained gently. “It’s just an expression. He just means—”
“Oh! Oh, right. Gotcha,” Rizzo whispered.
“Jim was pretty amazing,” Scooter agreed, glad his voice didn’t crack. It was still tough, talking about that first parting among them.
“I know,” Kermit said. “I just miss knowing that he always had my back—he was always behind me, supporting me in everything I did. Nobody knew me better than Jim.”
“Well, gosh, Kermit,” said Fozzie, coming to stand behind his amphibian friend and placing a big warm paw on his shoulder. “Nobody misses Jim more than me, but we’ve got a good team behind us, now. I miss Jim, too, but he didn’t leave us empty-handed.”
“Oh, I know,” said Kermit at once. He was always fair. “I mean, Steve is a terrific guy. Jim told me I could count on him anytime I needed to, and he’s never let me down, but I just…sometimes…you just get lonely for the way things were, you know?”
Scooter nodded, not trusting himself to speak for a moment. “I know,” he said softly. Kermit looked over at his assistant and put a hand on his shoulder, knowing that he was remembering Richard, another member of their original hearty band. Richard had been the one to suggest Scooter’s internship with their cast and crew, seeing potential the young man that no one else had thought to tap. He’d brought him to meet Kermit and, well, here they were.
“I get lonely sometimes for the way things used to be,” Gonzo admitted. “When we were still a stage act, before the movies.”
“Yeah,” said Kermit. “The good ol’ days.”
Fozzie came around the couch and sat down beside Kermit. “Do you remember the day Miss Piggy auditioned?”
Kermit sighed and nodded, then made another little hiccup. “I sure do, Fozzie. She was…full of sass and talent.”
“You danced with her.”
Kermit’s face had gone all dreamy. “Yeah. Jim told her we wanted to see what she could do, but it was really just an excuse to put my arms around her.”
Rizzo and Scooter and Fozzie looked at each other. They had all known this, but they couldn’t recall Kermit ever admitting this before.
“Smooth move,” said Pepe, who had only heard about it from the others.
Kermit snorted and hiccupped again. “Are you kidding?” he said. “She had my number from the get-go,” he said. “Followed my lead like a pro, matched every step I took, looking at me with those big, blue eyes…. I almost didn’t hire her.”
Scooter looked at him, and his face must have shown his surprise. “I never knew that, Boss,” he said. “Why did you…almost not hire her?”
Kermit smiled and sighed, then his expression grew wry. “I knew she was…I knew if I hired her, worked with her, spent time with her…I knew it would all be over.”
“Jor carefree bachelor days?” Pepe said mournfully, but Kermit shook his head. He was a little unsteady and it took him a moment to stop shaking his head.
“Nope,” he said happily. “The loneliness.”
Every eyebrow in the room rose.
“Yep,” said Kermit. He looked down at his cup and saw that it was empty, so he handed it to Scooter. “And boy, was I right!” He swung around to beam at them all but overshot, falling over sideways onto the couch. Fozzie scooted over to give him room and he sprawled on his side, beginning instantly to snore. Scooter shooed everybody off to their own sleeping space and went to find a blanket. He returned from the guest room where Fozzie was going to bed down, draped a cover over Kermit’s snoozing form and let himself out.
Now that Sara was in his life, he knew exactly what Kermit meant.
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Can me have some please?
: Aunt Ru should have some on the stove, I think.
I love the idea of Fleet being so enamored that he chased her (politely, unlike Seymour) cross-country, not once but twice! It makes sense that he'd harbor a grudge against Kermit, especially since he (unlike some frogs) didn't hem and haw and play hard to get. Very nice backstory imagining!
You noticed that too, huh?