Chapter 44: Distractions
“Are you really going to let me run the soundboard, Uncle Kermit?” said Robin excitedly. “Really really? Really and for true? Cause I can do it—I can, you know I can! So, can I? Huh? Can I can I can I?”
Kermit hadn’t had nearly enough coffee to keep up, but he laughed good-naturedly at Robin’s exuberance. Piggy’s response was more practical. She reached out and—gently—pinched Robin’s mouth shut for a moment. Robin looked up at her, his eyes shining with excitement and delight.
“Hush, please, dear,” she said sweetly.
“Mmrfgh Mufmt urh—“
“Robin, hush. Your Uncle Kermit can’t think with all this—“
“Mrhy mthg mjrlp—“
“Knock it off, kid!” Piggy growled. She and Robin stared at each other, her face comically fierce, his verging on hysteria, then they both burst out giggling. Kermit waded in.
“Okay, okay,” he said, putting an arm around each of them. “If you’re going to do this tonight I need more listening and less talking, okay?”
Solemnly, Robin nodded. They walked across the auditorium stage and stepped into the sound booth. Dr. Teeth and Bunsen Honey were both there, along with a very nervous looking Beaker.
“Hi guys—nice of you to take time out to meet with us. I know our show has gotten a little bigger than we initially planned, and I thought this might be a good time to let Robin take over some of the basic functions while we’re all trying to hit our marks.”
“How very exciting! Isn’t that exciting, Beakie!”
“Mee meep,” said Beaker, bobbing his tube-like head.
“A seriously cool plan,” said Dr. Teeth.
Robin positively glowed.
The soundbooth was not large, so Kermit and Piggy exited, leaving their charge in the hands of the technical crew. They sat down on two of the colored cubes and began to go over some program notes, but after Kermit had looked anxiously toward the booth for the third time, Piggy put her soft, gloved hand on his cheek and turned him to face her.
“He’ll be fine,” she said firmly. “Robin’s old enough to do this.”
“Yeah, but—“
“Kermit.” Her voice was gentle, but unyielding. “Vous have work to do.”
“How come you always try to distract me from work except when I want to be distracted?” Kermit grumbled, hunching over his notes.
Piggy let out a little “oh!” of surprise.
“Well,” she said snippily. “Moi is not a mind-reader, you know! If you’d like to be distracted, just say so!”
“Well I’m saying so!” snapped Kermit, throwing down the little notepad.
Piggy reached out, snagged the collar of his blue oxford-cloth shirt and planted an extremely distracting kiss right on his froggy lips.
“That’s better!” Kermit mumbled, and put his arms around her. They ended the kiss smiling at each other. Piggy stroked a soft hand across the smooth line of his scalp.
“Vous are cute when you’re grumpy,” she said ruefully.
“I like to think of it as mood-challenged,” Kermit parried. He sighed, then looked down and picked up the little notebook. “Can you read my note here?”
Piggy squinted, looking at the highly illegible scribble.
“Haven’t a clue,” she said at last. “What song was it?”
“Haven’t a clue,” he echoed. “It could be my grocery list.”
“If you can’t spell it, don’t eat it,” Piggy quipped. Her eye fell on the note below it. “What’s this about Gonzo?”
“Oh! Well, Gonzo isn’t going to make it in the Bop Til You Drop song. We’re running it right after his fruit-balancing thing, and he just won’t have enough time to change.”
“Who’s going to cover for him?” Piggy asked, a little concerned.
Kermit hemmed and hawed.
“Sweetie!” Piggy said, suddenly comprehending. “You’re going to dance with us!”
“Um, yeah,” said Kermit. “Howard said I could,” he added, almost defensively, but Piggy just laughed.
“Are you dancing with me?” she flirted, expecting the answer.
“Um, no—not tonight.”
That, Piggy had not anticipated.
“Oh,” she said. “Because of the last-minute change, I guess.”
“Yeah. I’m dancing with Janice tonight.” He gave her a playful nudge. “How come—you jealous?”
“Moi?” said Piggy, her big blue eyes flying wide. “Moi is not the jealous type.” She turned back down to the notebook with a disdainful sniff, but her pronouncement lost some of its dignity when Kermit let out a snort of laughter.
“Oh really!” he said. “Not the jealous type, huh?”
“Honestly,” snapped Piggy, trying once again to retain a businesslike demeanor. “You are so—“
“Wonderful? Debonair? Sexy?”
Piggy stood up, thoroughly tweaked. “Decipher your own notes,” she said dismissively, but she did not get far. Kermit caught her hand, pulled her back into his embrace and danced her across the empty stage, spinning her expertly in his arms.
“Kermit!” Piggy warned. Kermit dipped her, noting with satisfaction that her hand tightened around his neck—and stayed there when he pulled her back up. “This is so—“
“Romantic?” said Kermit.
“Not the word I was going for,” Piggy murmured.
“Aw c’mon,” teased Kermit, twirling her around twice in quick succession. “Don’t you remember this dance?”
“I don’t—wait a minute!” said Piggy. She executed a quick spin, circling him, and when she put her hand out his was there to catch it—and her. They castle-walked halfway across the stage, bodies moving in unison, and Kermit felt her sway against him, hearing the music that played in his head.
“First ending?” said Piggy.
“Huh uh,” said Kermit. “Second time through.” If Piggy had had eyebrows, they would have lifted in surprise, but she rose to the challenge, eyebrows or no. At the predetermined cue, Piggy kicked, her plump leg executing a perfect arc, and Kermit caught her just behind the knee, dipping her down to the floor. He smiled at her, his hand warm on her leg.
“Kiss me,” he demanded, and Piggy shot him a warning look.
“Look you—“ she began, but when Kermit showed signs of dropping her, Piggy put both arms around his neck and kissed him. They were still kissing when Kermit righted them. Staring into each other’s eyes, they castle-walked back the way they had come.
“We used to go dancing,” Kermit murmured.
“We went last night.”
Kermit made a scrunchy face.
“Not what I meant. How come we don’t go dancing anymore—like this?”
“You’re always working,” murmured Piggy, but she said it with such matter-of-factness that Kermit felt a pang, knowing it was true. He was silent for a moment, but his arms tightened around her. They danced to the end of the routine in silence, but when they stopped, Kermit did not loose his hold on her.
“About that,” he said softly. “I never meant—“
What Kermit meant would never be said. There was the sound of clapping from the wings of the stage and the The Frogs startled and looked toward the sound.
Seymour Strathers stepped out of the dimness, clapping and smiling delightedly.
“Wonderful! Wonderful!” he said. “Don’t stop on account of me.”
Piggy and Kermit broke apart. Piggy’s cheeks were flushed becoming, but she stepped forward, rapidly regaining her diva persona.
“Seymour,” she cried. “How nice of you to come around to see us!” She held out her hands to him and batted her eyelashes once.
“That was—that was terrific!” said the casino owner, taking her hands in his. “Is that the new number for tonight’s show?”
Kermit and Piggy exchanged looks and sighs. Show biz had few secrets.
“Um, no,” said Kermit, stepping up beside Piggy. “We were just…um, going over an old routine.”
“Well it was just wonderful to watch you two!” said Mr. Strathers. “I know I should have announced myself, but you were dancing when I came in and, well, I didn’t want to interrupt."
Piggy’s blush became more pronounced, but she covered quickly by stepping back. He did not let go of her hands for a moment and Piggy looked up in surprise. Her wide-eyed gaze seemed to stun him for a moment, then he remembered himself and let go of her hands hastily.
“Oh! Sorry. I just…sorry.” He turned to Kermit. “Um, Scooter sent out some great press releases this morning. We’re getting calls out the wazoo!”
“Sounds painful,” muttered Kermit, but he roused himself and put on a professional smile. “That’s—that’s great! We’re really excited about the show.”
“The show is about to sell out for the whole run,” he continued enthusiastically. “I don’t suppose there’s any way you’d consider extending your stay.”
Fat chance of that, thought Piggy dismally. Kermit had been worried about the production schedule for the new movie, so there was no way—
“That might be a possibility,” said Kermit. Piggy stared.
“Really?” said Mr. Strathers.
“Really?” said Piggy. She shook herself slightly and closed her mouth. Kermit reached for her hand without looking at her, holding it tightly.
“Really,” said Kermit firmly. “Let me talk to the studio and see what they say. If things are sluggish there, we could probably give you a few days.”
“Great!” said Mr. Strathers. “That’s just great!” He beamed at Kermit and Piggy, obviously thrilled. “My partners and I hoped that you’d consent to staying just a little longer. I’d hate to lose you…two. And the show, of course.”
Kermit noted with dissatisfaction the way his eyes lingered on Piggy, and stepped between them without quite seeming to do so.
“Sure thing, Seymour. I’ll check it out and get back to you.”
“Right,” said the casino owner hastily. “Then, um, I’ll just go.”
“Fine,” said Kermit, his voice carefully neutral. Mr. Strathers nodded twice in quick succession, then turned and strode back the way he had come, his footsteps echoing hollowly on the polished floor. They heard the door open and close, then Kermit turned and looked at Piggy, his expression unreadable.
“Would you like that, Piggy?” he asked. “Would you like to stay here a little longer?”
“I like doing the live show,” Piggy said softly. She smiled, and slipped her warm little hands beneath his frill. “And I always like to be where you are, Mon Capitan.”
He smiled, looking happy. “That’s what I like to hear,” he teased. “Come on. Let’s go call the studio, hm?”
Thoreau worked over the little piece of silk in his hands as tenderly as if it were a baby. It might as well have been, for any rough handling would ruin it. While he worked, he muttered and fussed and cooed, his long, slim fingers rolling the seams under expertly. Although usually highly territorial, Piggy had conceded the use of her large dressing room with surprisingly little fuss, and Thoreau had made himself quite at home. On the dressing table far, far away from where he sewed, a steaming mug of tea perched, pervading the room with the rich apricot smell. Thoreau looked at it longingly, but he could not disentangle his fingers until this entire seam was stitched, so he put his head down and redoubled his efforts. At last, with a self-satisfied sigh, the dressmaker sat back and stretched luxuriously. After carefully popping his neck he stood, putting his hands over his head and reaching as high as he could. That done, he bounced a little on his toes to get the kinks out and wandered over to sip his still-steaming tea with relish.
There was a knock on the door, and Thoreau turned.
“Come,” he called, expecting Piggy, but was pleased to see Mabel poke her nose into the room.
“Hey there, doll,” she said, trundling in with a tea pot. “Came to see if you needed a refill.”
“Not yet,” said Thoreau, “but give me a sec.” He drained the mug and held it out to the motherly mole. “Hit me,” he said.
“Well, I might,” said Mabel, obediently pouring, “if you don’t stop holing up in here all hunched up. Can’t be good for you.” She grabbed his free hand and dragged him after her. “Come in the kitchen, why doncha? Make a little civil conversation.”
Thoreau laughed. He had not been so expertly handled since—well, since Piggy had invited him to come by dangling the considerable carrot of dressing her impressive form. He followed Mabel to the kitchen to find a handful of the cast and crew sitting around munching and making desultory conversation.
Beaker waved and Thoreau waved back. Gonzo waved a fork, chewing industriously. Clifford was there, too, leaning his long rangy form against the counter. One of the chorus girls—lets see, this one was Amy Lu, the cute little pig—looked up and smiled in a friendly manner. She was no Piggy, but she was a good dancer with a tidy figure.
“Hello,” said Thoreau, a little shy at suddenly bursting into the crowd. Dr. Teeth pushed a chair toward him with one long leg.
“Take a load off,” said the bandmaster, then returned to his conversation with Clifford. Thoreau sat, and Mabel put a bowl of some sort of vegetable chowder in front of him. The smell of it made Thoreau almost light-headed with hunger and he realized belatedly that he had not eaten yet that day. He lifted the spoon to his mouth and tried not to let out a moan of pleasure as the flavor erupted on his tongue. He swallowed, his expression dreamy.
“Wow,” Thoreau said. Gonzo nodded at him. And Beaker gave a little chuckle behind his hand.
“See what you’re missin’?” Mabel said saucily. She put a hot roll in front of him.
“Oh no,” he said, horrified. “I don’t eat carbs.” But Mabel ignored him, and soon the smell of the bread had pervaded his head. Guiltily, Thoreau reached out and broke off a tiny piece, then put it on his tongue. He almost swooned, but recovered quickly and reached for another—slightly larger—piece. At least, he thought defiantly, it wasn’t buttered. Not that it needed to be. The soft bread practically melted in your mouth. Eventually the roll disappeared, along with the soup.
While he savored his soup, Thoreau listened to the conversations swirling around him. Sara and Scooter came in from touring the strip, looking drowsy and hot. Mabel poured them iced tea and Scooter sat. There wasn’t another chair in the tiny kitchenette, but Scooter simply pulled Sara onto his lap. The older males in the room kept their faces carefully neutral, but they were all thinking the same thing. Scooter sure has grown up, their expressions said.
This is like a family, Thoreau reflected. In the highly competitive entertainment industry, people paired or clumped for specific projects, but practically none of them stayed together for this length of time. He felt a surge of gladness that Piggy was so well-buffered from the outside world, especially since the outside world had turned somewhat hostile of late. Having an adoring public was great, but the public could be fickle. Fans were one thing, but families last. He continued to muse as the crowd dispersed, lost in thought.
“You need anything else, love?” asked Mabel, her small hand on her shoulderblade.
Thoreau shook his head and patted his trim abdomen.
“No,” he said. “Heaven forbid!”
Mabel laughed. “How ‘bout another roll?”
“No!” Thoreau insisted, holding up his hands to ward of another assault on his will-power. “I’m good!”
Mabel chuckled again and patted him on the shoulder. “I hear you’re better than good,” she teased. “Piggy says you’re the best.”
Thoreau flushed with pleasure. “Well,” he said. “I try.”
“Good boy,” said Mabel approvingly. She sat down near him, looking thoughtful. “Um, do you know a skinny guy wears a trenchcoat? Longish hair?”
Thoreau shuddered. “I hope not.” He peered at Mabel’s face, seeing something like anxiety there. “Why?”
“Nothin’,” she said distractedly. “Just—“
“Somebody bothering you, Mabel?”
“Me? No. Nobody’s botherin’s me.” She smiled, waving the goblins of worry away. “Listen to me. When there’s work to be done.” The mole stood up and wiped her hands on her apron. Thoreau stood, too.
“Speaking of work….”
He headed back toward Piggy’s dressing room. Hmmm, his mind pondered. Skinny guy in a trenchcoat. He might find a way to ask Piggy.
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