Chapter 6: The sum of the parts
In had been more than a month since Fleet Scribbler’s insidious little insinuation had garnered anyone’s interest, and life at Rainbow Productions had settled in to as close to normal as it ever would. Kermit found he liked going to work again—found new energy and new ideas forming at an alarming rate. The cast was buzzing, the tech crew was unparalleled in anticipating his needs, and Kermit realized with some chagrin--and not for the first time—that it was his emotional equilibrium that set the tone for the others. Gonzo would have said—had said on many occasions—when the pig ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy, but that was not strictly true. In actuality, it was the frog, not the pig, to whom everyone looked for direction and reassurance. Although Kermit had always been more than willing to let Piggy take the fall for the grumpiness he exhibited amidst the behind-the-scenes chaos, he was only beginning to realize that she may have assumed that role intentionally and willingly, forming a buffer between him and all the people and things constantly clamoring for his attention.
The picnic was a distant memory—the photograph in the newspaper merely a miniscule blip on the fast-fading horizon of Hollywood’s microscopic attention span. True, there were moments when the “The Frogs” would enter a restaurant or a party and there would be a slight comma in the conversation, but Kermit and Piggy had little time to think about it, and even less time to worry about it. The past few weeks of filming had been incredible. Working together all day, often within touching distance, Kermit found his eyes searching for her whenever there was a lull. Feeling his gaze, Piggy would turn and their eyes would meet, making them both remember, and blush.
Most days, they could meet for a few stolen kisses between scenes. On good days, there might be enough time and privacy to sneak into Piggy’s trailer or his office for a little between-scene snuggling—provided they didn’t muss Piggy’s make-up. On one incredible day, Piggy had been merciless. She always managed to be adjusting her stockings or stretching luxuriously when his gaze fell on her. To make matters worse, she was never alone. Try as he might, it seemed impossible to have a private moment with her. When he’d knocked on her trailer door (with a sheaf of inconsequential script changes in his hand), she’d opened the door in delight and surprise—whether real or imagined he could not say—then ushered him into a room full of chattering ladies from makeup and wardrobe. She’d kissed him on the cheek (to giggles) and introduced him around like a stranger. Powerless to resist, he had found himself crammed around a tiny table eating cucumber and chocolate sandwiches, petit fours and balancing a cup of tea. Wedged in next to Piggy, with the heat of her leg reaching him through the flannel of his trousers, Kermit stewed in exquisite misery—especially when her sly little hand sneaked down to pat him on the knee. He could barely see through the hormone-induced haze when the interminable tea was over. As the last of the ladies had gushed their way out the door, Piggy had turned to him at last, closed the door with a deft turn of her ankle and fallen on him like a ton of bricks.
Before an indecent interval had passed, Piggy had sent him stumbling out into the light, snuggled into a state of near-asphyxiation and totally, completely and thoroughly kissed. Smiling sweetly at his befuddled state, Piggy shut the trailer door firmly behind him and began preparing for her next scene while Kermit tried to remember who he was and what it was he was supposed to be doing. He’d sailed through the rest of the day barely aware of his surroundings, but it hardly seemed to matter. For the rest of the day’s shoot, Piggy was literally unstoppable, with all her appeal harnessed and put into play on film. But when no one was looking, she shot Kermit longing looks that promised much more than stolen kisses. Just before she’d stepped into the limo waiting to carry her home, Piggy had reached out and taken the two ends of his unknotted tie between her hands, pulled him to her and given him the most chaste, most impossibly demure kiss he had ever known her to give, but her big blue eyes bored into his and he saw there all he needed to see. “I’ll wait up for you,” she’d whispered, and stepped into the car.
At last the day of filming was over, the dailies reviewed, the never-ending paperwork signed, sealed and delivered. “All right, Piggy,” Kermit thought with a smile. “I’m all yours.” He hoped he was up to the challenge.
It was impulse, really, that caused Piggy to stop on Rodeo Drive on the way home. She felt restless, strung with some incredible energy, and she knew if might be hours before Kermit came home, so when the driver slowed and stopped at the red light, Piggy tapped on the glass and pointed. He pulled over and she got out.
The boutiques here were marvelous, really, if you had lots of money, and Piggy window-shopped happily, day-dreaming and looking at things that would have been marvelous if you’d been going to a cowboy-spaceman-masquerade, or dinner with the Pope and Motley Crew at the same time. It was time, already, to begin thinking about the Oscars, and she stepped into a minute shop—barely six-by-ten and very exclusive—to get a better look at some of the gowns displayed in the tall windows. No door bell jingled—the shop was too discreet for that—but a salesperson appeared like magic from the back. Thoreau threw his hands up in delight, breaking into a wide smile.
“Darling!” he called, “Piggy, darling!” He practically ran over to kiss her on her two plump cheeks and accept her giggling busses in return. At length, he held her back from him, surveying her with a professional eye. “You’re wearing your hair different now,” he said thoughtfully. “And a little lighter, I think—very nice, very nice.” He leaned forward and gave the rest of her a thorough once-over. “And someone’s been working out, I think.”
Piggy turned so that her assets were out of Thoreau line of view and gave him a stern look. “Dancing, mostly,” she said firmly. “And a little football.”
Thoreau let out a little shriek. “Football—you mustn’t! This temple,”—he swept his hand out, skimming her side—“should not be playing football!”
Piggy ignored him and moved away from his hand, looking at the exclusive selection of glittering gowns. With a dramatic sign, Thoreau came to her side and began to point out the special features of each dress—this one had hand-beading done by monks, this one had enough internal support to give Kate Moss a cross-your-heart figure, this one…. In retrospect, it was possible—likely even--that someone else slipped unnoticed into the little store about this time. And it was a darn shame that the clothes racks were so tightly packed, and that the doorbell was too discreet to chime. After a moment, Thoreau paused in his recital, realizing that Piggy wasn’t listening to a word. He looked at her thoughtfully, taking in the distracted air, the dreaminess in her expression, and air of deep contentment.
“Piggy!” he accused. “You’re in love!”
Miss Piggy snapped to as though he’d slapped her on the rump. She stepped back and gave him an astonished look. “Of course Moi is in love. Moi is happily married—as you well know.”
Thoreau pursed his lips, looking unsatisfied. “Oh yes—Mr. Kermit the Frog, the love of your life.” Thoreau had never felt that anyone--frog or not--was good enough for Piggy.
Piggy glared at him, even took a step toward him. “He is the love of my life, and Moi is the love of his life and don’t you dare say—“
“Calm down, calm down,” Thoreau said placatingly. “I wasn’t trying to start an argument. It’s just, well Piggy, I’ve never seen you look like this before.”
Piggy blushed and looked down. How to explain? How to say that she’d fallen in love with Kermit all over again during the past two months—had become more happy than she had ever imagined. She fidgeted, struggling for words and was surprised to find her eyes moist, her voice choked with tears. After a moment, Thoreau stepped forward and put his arms around her gently.
“It’s okay, darling,” Thoreau said, patting her comfortingly on the back. “Don’t mind me--I’m just a big ninny. Come in the back and have a cup of tea and we’ll find you something nice to take home.”
The next half hour found Piggy pouring out her extreme happiness with Kermit as well as her lingering hurt and upset over the misleading photograph in the newspaper over strong sweet tea and cookies half-dipped in dark chocolate. Thoreau sighed, commiserated and managed to find her something absolutely wicked from the secret cachet of French lingerie in the back. “A little something for both of you,” he had insisted, wrapping it up in tissue paper which appeared considerably more substantial than that item it enclosed. “A very little,” he added mischievously, and laughed out loud when Piggy flushed scarlet.
“You are sweet to listen, Thoreau.”
“I’m just glad you’re happy, darling,” Thoreau said sincerely. “Everybody knows a good man is hard to find.”
Piggy let Thoreau kiss her cheeks and hand her into the limousine. He enjoyed watching her lift her knees daintily into the car, then leaned down, smiling at her radiant face.
“Remember me at Oscar time, darling,” he said, then shut the door and sent her on her way.
Later that evening, even as Kermit and Piggy reveled in their time alone together, someone in town was writing a story, someone whose interest in notoriaty exceeded their interest in the truth. The best lies—or the worst, depending on your point of view—were the ones that were closest to the truth, only veering at the last minute from the gospel. It was true that one of Piggy’s long-time clothiers had seen and commented on the fact that she seemed blissfully in love. It was also true that she left said clothier with new lingerie, although how this information was acquired is unclear even now. And it was also true that Kermit had worked very late that night before coming home. The sum of the whole, however, is usually not the simple sum of the parts—although, in the wrong hands, it can certainly be made to look that way.
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