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Chapter 47: Stand by Me
Intermission came and went. Other than the usual backstage chaos, nothing untoward happened, and everyone found their marks (more or less) as the Christmas show moved through its predetermined paces.
Janice had sneaked into Piggy’s dressing room once for a hasty consultation with Thoreau, and no one was the wiser—except, perhaps Floyd, whose awareness of Janice’s absence from her own place was roused once again. She had joined him, serene and guileless, back in the music room, but there was something in her air of happy distraction that made Floyd pensive. He strummed darkly on his bass, the low notes echoing his melancholy mood. When Janice looked at him, he smiled gamely, but his chest felt tight and pinched. Silently, he vowed to follow her whim tonight—prove himself a worthy courtier no matter what.
Robin had proven every bit the wonder child he had always seemed, and their tech crew was more than delighted with the way everything had run so much more smoothly this night. Beaker had clapped Robin on the back and meeped solemnly at him for a full minute. Robin had nodded respectfully—and cluelessly—but beamed with pleasure at the obvious compliment.
By the time the entire cast had joined on stage to sing their final song, the audience was sighing with pleasure and sated with muppety goodness. They blew through a couple of Christmas carols and Kermit thought—not for the first time—that he was going to have to actually plan a couple of encores if this kept up. He made a mental note to talk to Rowlf and Dr. Teeth about it.
Right now, he held tight to Robin’s hand, and felt Piggy’s arm firm around his waist. This has been our best show yet, his instinct told him, and Kermit thought once again—with almost indescribable pride—that they could do anything, accomplish anything, if they all pulled together. That had always been true. It would always be true. This thought fueled him creatively, and some other part of his brain was working on the New Year’s Eve show, which would be slightly different, and some other part was back at the studio making tweaks and changes to the film that waiting so patiently for their return. Most of Kermit, however, was present in the moment, enjoying the happy enthusiasm of the audience and the warmth of his performing family. That anchored him and grounded him even as it allowed him to reach for the elusive stars he followed.
Perhaps it was fate that intervened, chance that allowed this respite, or perhaps it was the simple result of being in the exact center of his “cosmic flow.” Whatever the reason, Kermit found himself grateful for it. He couldn’t know it then, but he was going to need every bit of grounding he possessed to make it through what was coming.
Morning came with a fury. Backstage was in an uproar, with nary a pig in sight.
“Here it is!”
“Read it! Read it!”
“I’m trying to if you’d just—“
“Stop hogging the—“
“Hey! Watch the tail!”
“If you’d just let me get the stupid paper open, then we could—“
“READ!” yelled Animal insistently. “READ READ READ!”
Scooter scanned the tiny type.
“OUT LOUD! OUT LOUD!”
Scooter startled, but at the look of agreement on all the gathered faces, he complied and began to read out loud:
Christmas has been touted as the season for giving, and at least one of the performers in the Muppets new Christmas show has been giving her all to the cause. Miss Piggy, diva of stage and screen successes too numerous to mention, continues to find new ways to delight and befuddle her fans. With new acts added almost nightly, one wonders how she has the stamina to keep up with this grueling schedule, not to mention the demands of being married to the CEO/Chairman of Rainbow Productions, who is also running this stage show with an iron hand. While suitably showcased in several numbers, one can’t help but lament her lack of individual stage time. Looks like the show isn’t the only thing Mr. the Frog has a firm grip on!
Scooter looked up and grimaced. “I don’t like the tone of this article.”
“Seriously out of key,” quipped Dr. Teeth, but his expression remained grim.
“Of all the snotty little implications!” huffed Gloria Jean. Her arms were crossed and she tapped one foot angrily.
“What’s with this guy Scribbler anyway? Back in the day, he used to write terrific stories about Piggy, didn’t he? Or am I thinking of the wrong guy?”
“No, you’re right,” said Fozzie. “He used to write nice stories, but then when Piggy got--”
“I don’t care what he used to do!” interrupted Dr. Honeydew. “That man is a menace to society.”
“Keep reading, Scooter,” insisted Rowlf grimly.
“Yeah, what else does it say?”
Unlike her show-stopping turn in “Muppet Follies,” with “You Made Me Love You,” the inimitable Miss Piggy has no solo in this nostalgic 50s show and holiday revue—no chance to strut her stuff apart from her costars—or, at least apart from one costar in particular. The only notable exception is the newest addition to the program, The Nylons song “Bop Till You Drop,” sung with surprising depth and energy by Pepe the Jumbo Shrimp. In this toe-tapping-finger-snapping be-bop, a certain amphibian takes center stage with another dancer, leaving his wife to the furry hands of his long-time buddy, funnyman Fozzie Bear. Whether the spotlight is on or not, Miss Piggy really shines in everything she does.
Other highlights of note include the triumphant reemergence of the Electric Mayhem as something more than studio musicians. Although their last few screen and soundtrack efforts have been solid, it’s a shame they’ve been held back for such a long time by studio commitments.
“Hey man,” said Floyd. “That ain’t fair. I mean, sure, we hit a little slump there for a bit, but it wasn’t Kermit’s fault. No way.”
“Like, that’s not very nice,” said Janice, and her eyes sparked with annoyance. “Kermit’s a real sweetie. And he only danced with me so Gonzo wouldn’t have to give up his big act.”
“Yeah,” said Gonzo. “I asked him to do it—he didn’t take it away from me.”
“Oh no,” said Fozzie, putting his hands over his mouth. “I—this isn’t my fault is it? I just do what Howard tells me!”
Dr. Teeth patted Fozzie on the back. “No sweat, Foz,” he said comfortingly. “This isn’t about anything you did.”
Mabel patted the unhappy bear on the back and handed him a donut and a glass of milk. He downed the milk like a shot and took a distracted bite of his donut.
“Hang on, guys—there’s a little more,” said Scooter dismally. Everyone subsided so Kermit’s personal assistance could read the last paragraph.
The smaller cast also seems to be working effectively here—due, one supposes, to being easier to control and direct. It’s certainly a win-win for the company, and for the audience. This reporter hopes it’s also a win-win for the stalwart and loyal performers who bring it home every night for their appreciate fans. Applause, after all, makes up for a lot. Take your two clapping hands down to the Palace and shell out some serious money for a chance to see the Muppets up close and personal.
“They’re making it sound like Kermit is a tyrant—like he’s ordering us around.”
“Si, Kermit orders me around,” said Pepe, but at the hostile looks held up three of his hands to ward off further comment. His other hand held a donut and a cup of coffee. “Si, si—but Hi like it, h’okay? The frog is fair, bueno?”
“Takes a sorry dog to twist a thing like that,” muttered Rowlf, fuming again. Kermit had not commented on the earlier review he and Scooter had been careful to keep under wraps. Under trash had been more like it, and the sorry rag was even now sitting soggily in the bottom of Rowlf’s trash can.
“We’ve got to do something about this!” Scooter fumed. “I-I have an idea, but I need some help. I’m going to call Marty.”
“Godspeed, my man,” said Dr. Teeth. “Have at it.”
Scooter nodded grimly and left.
At Floyd’s insistence, Scooter had left the tabloid behind, and they were all crowded around it, murmuring in fury and frustration, when Kermit arrived on the set. He had not set his alarm properly, and Scooter had not called him since he had not asked to be called, so he had spent a quiet and unruffled morning and awaken at his own pace to coffee and cereal in his room. Showered and dried, Kermit had made his way down to the stage at the very disreputable hour of 9:30, and his sheepish expression said he expected to be razzed about it.
“Hey guys,” he called. “What’s going on?”
To his utter surprise, the crowd of muppets he had addressed startled to a, um, muppet and turned around to stare at him in guilt and haste.
Kermit had been married too long to not know something was going on--something that he probably ought to know about, but didn’t actually want to know about.
“What’s up? You guys look like you’ve see a ghost. Uncle Deadly come for a visit?” Only Fozzie laughed, and nervously. Kermit crossed his arms across his chest. “C’mon, guys—what’s the matter? Animal stuck in the tuba again? Pepe using the sound stage as a trysting place?” Kermit realized belatedly that they had formed a protective circle around someone or something, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“What are you guys looking at?”
“Um, oh, nothing....”
“Gonzo’s got a mole on the back of his hand, and when he makes a fist it looks just like George Washington. Honest.”
“We were just, um....”
“Lookee there! Peaches are on sale! Three cans for two dollars!” Ah, thought Kermit. A paper. That paper. His heart sank. Kermit listened to the litany of excuses with no expression at all on his face, then held his hand out for the paper. His voice sounded hoarse, and tired.
“Let me see it,” he said.
Floyd hesitated, and Kermit turned his gentle eyes on Floyd’s face. Floyd looked defiant--he did not want Kermit to see this paper, but he could not turn down the entreaty in those bulbous eyes. “Aw, c’mon man--you don’t want to see this garbage,” he muttered.
“Yeah--don’t do it, Kermit!”
“I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by wallowing in that sort of--”
“Please,” said Kermit softly. “I need to see what he wrote.”
Kermit read, and the unhappy onlookers all swore that his shoulders slumped progressively as he perused the toxic type, but when he looked up his eyes were hopeful.
“This isn’t so bad,” he said generously. “It--it doesn’t say anything bad about Piggy or you guys.”
“Well, yeah but--”
“That’s true, Kermit, but he sure--”
“And it doesn’t say anything bad about the show.” Kermit interrupted. “He didn’t pan the show. That’s the important thing, right?”
There were half-hearted murmurs of assent, but nobody looked happy. Kermit started to say something, but Rizzo cut him off.
“It was a rotten article, Kermit. It made it sound like you were bossing us all around all the time.”
“Well, sometimes I do,” Kermit objected, but Rowlf would later swear that his amphibian boss stood a little straighter.
“Yeah, well, you don’t do it often enough!” Gonzo insisted. “We know we drive you crazy half the time, but you put up with everything we dish out--and you do it without complaining.”
“Sometimes I complain,” Kermit said quietly, but his mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I’m just, you know, not loud about it. But you guys don’t drive me crazy.”
“Horse hockey,” said Rowlf. “It’s a wonder you don’t lose your mind working with us.”
“But--but guys!--I like working with you. You know that.” Kermit put a hand on the nearest arm. It happened to be Fozzie’s.
“Aw, Kermit...”
“We like working with you, too, green stuff. And that stupid reporter doesn’t have any business printing hoo-doo like that about you!”
“Jes! Hi would like to give that scumbag a piece of my mind, h’okay?” fumed Pepe, then muttered “Jumbo shrimp, my cousin Minolo” under his breath.
“Hey now,” said Floyd, and his bushy eyebrows rose. “Don’t go promising to give up something you can’t do without, there Pepe.”
Pepe inhaled sharply and drew himself up to his full height, which was not so great.
“Hi will show you!” the king prawn said belligerently. “Hi will crush that estupido periodista with all four hands tied behind my back!” He marched toward the door. After a moment’s startled look, Rizzo and Gonzo moved to draw him, protesting, back into the fold. Kermit was smiling now, amused at the sight of Pepe ready to go to war on, well, on his own behalf, if not necessarily Kermit’s. But the sight cheered Kermit nonetheless.
“Look, Pepe,” said Kermit, “that’s really nice of you, but I don’t think that’s the sort of message we want to send. Sure, it was a snarky article, and yes, he did make some unkind and, um, not particularly accurate remarks about me, but I’m bigger than this--we’re bigger than this, you know?”
This time he got a little better reception, but their forlorn faces spurred him to greater effort.
“We’ve just got to keep our noses to the grindstone and ignore all this.”
“Sounds painful,” said Fozzie.
Gonzo looked at him. “Are you kidding? It sounds fun.” Mabel stuffed a donut into Gonzo’s mouth and he muttered “thank you” around a morsel of warm, sticky pastry.
“I mean, I’m not going to pretend this has been easy, and I’d like to give Fleet Scribbler a piece of my mind too, but...but what he says isn’t the truth. Piggy and I are very happily married, and neither of us believes any of what we read in the paper because we know it isn’t true. We just have to keep reminding ourselves that what he says doesn’t matter because it isn’t the truth.”
“Well, yeah and all,” said Floyd, “but that’s doesn’t mean we want to stand by and watch you take a beating in the press.” Janice smiled her approval and stepped forward to put her arms around Floyd’s waist.
“You’re not standing by, Floyd,” Kermit said simply. “You’re standing by me.” Kermit smiled at his friends, his bulbous eyes crinkling at the corners. “And don’t think I don’t know it, guys.” Rowlf reached out and put his big warm paw on Kermit’s back. Kermit was suddenly aware of the warmth and support that, quite literally, surrounded him. He might have said more, but Scooter returned at that precise moment, looking flushed and grimly triumphant.
“Oh, good,” said Scooter. “You’re already here, Kermit. I can just tell everybody at once.”
“Tell everybody what?” asked Kermit.
Scooter smiled. “I’ve been talking to Marty,” he announced. “And we’ve got a plan.”
Piggy was sitting on one of the colored cubes with her legs crossed, granting an enticing look at her plump, gorgeous gams as she listened to Scooter. Kermit admired the view for a moment, then pulled himself back to the present. “You mean we have to talk to a reporter? Here?” demanded Piggy.
Kermit looked skeptical, knowing what Piggy meant. Las Vegas had been, ironically, an oasis in the desert for them, takng them away from the press of Hollywood for a space of time. Diving back into it seemed less than appealing.
“I mean, a reporter is the cause of our troubles. Isn’t that like inviting in a lion to get rid of a bear?”
Scooter grinned, thinking it was an apt analogy.
“Well, sortof,” he said. “But this is a lion that I think you’ll like.”
“Oh?”
“What makes you think so?”
“Well, um, lioness actually,” said Scooter. “She got real reporting chops, and she’s an old friend of Marty’s. She’s agreed to come and see us and do a story about backstage.”
“A fluff piece? What will that prove?”
“Well, not exactly a fluff piece,” said Scooter. “She’s a hard-core journalist—she’s covered wars and all sorts of things, but she’s agreed to write an in-depth story about you and Piggy and the whole company. Try to set the record straight.”
Piggy was looking at Scooter narrowly. “What makes you think I’ll like her?” asked Piggy shrewdly.
Scooter gulped, but stood firm. “Marty said you would. He said you’d like her—that you’d find things in common.”
For an instant, a light flared behind Piggy’s eyes. She smiled and nodded once in a queenly manner. Kermit saw the look and her brief nod of approval, but could not interpret the reason for it properly. He would have asked, but Scooter was standing there—half demanding, half-begging for an answer from him.
“Well, okay, Scooter. If you think it will be okay, and if Marty thinks—“
“I do, and he does,” said Scooter firmly. He whipped out his phone and pressed redial, striding off in the direction of the stage.
Kermit turned and looked at Piggy.
“What?” he asked his wife grumpily. “Who is it?”
“I don’t know yet,” she answered. Kermit looked disbelieving, but she shrugged elaborately and smiled. “I don’t!” she insisted. “But I have an idea.”
Kermit flicked a look at her at that last, and Piggy giggled and put her arms around his shoulders. “A different idea,” she said firmly. “But I’ll keep that one in mind.” She moved away, humming a little.
“Where are you going?” asked Kermit. “I was going to talk to you about solos….”
“I can’t right now, dear,” said Piggy airily. “I have to go find something to wear for our interview.”
Kermit shook his head and watched her go. He had the same feeling that he’d had this morning—that there was more afoot (um, aflipper) than he could quite catch, but the feeling of safety, of being buffered from the outside world, continued. For a moment, Kermit allowed himself to bask in it, then there was a commotion onstage. Smiling ruefully, Kermit went to sort it out.
Intermission came and went. Other than the usual backstage chaos, nothing untoward happened, and everyone found their marks (more or less) as the Christmas show moved through its predetermined paces.
Janice had sneaked into Piggy’s dressing room once for a hasty consultation with Thoreau, and no one was the wiser—except, perhaps Floyd, whose awareness of Janice’s absence from her own place was roused once again. She had joined him, serene and guileless, back in the music room, but there was something in her air of happy distraction that made Floyd pensive. He strummed darkly on his bass, the low notes echoing his melancholy mood. When Janice looked at him, he smiled gamely, but his chest felt tight and pinched. Silently, he vowed to follow her whim tonight—prove himself a worthy courtier no matter what.
Robin had proven every bit the wonder child he had always seemed, and their tech crew was more than delighted with the way everything had run so much more smoothly this night. Beaker had clapped Robin on the back and meeped solemnly at him for a full minute. Robin had nodded respectfully—and cluelessly—but beamed with pleasure at the obvious compliment.
By the time the entire cast had joined on stage to sing their final song, the audience was sighing with pleasure and sated with muppety goodness. They blew through a couple of Christmas carols and Kermit thought—not for the first time—that he was going to have to actually plan a couple of encores if this kept up. He made a mental note to talk to Rowlf and Dr. Teeth about it.
Right now, he held tight to Robin’s hand, and felt Piggy’s arm firm around his waist. This has been our best show yet, his instinct told him, and Kermit thought once again—with almost indescribable pride—that they could do anything, accomplish anything, if they all pulled together. That had always been true. It would always be true. This thought fueled him creatively, and some other part of his brain was working on the New Year’s Eve show, which would be slightly different, and some other part was back at the studio making tweaks and changes to the film that waiting so patiently for their return. Most of Kermit, however, was present in the moment, enjoying the happy enthusiasm of the audience and the warmth of his performing family. That anchored him and grounded him even as it allowed him to reach for the elusive stars he followed.
Perhaps it was fate that intervened, chance that allowed this respite, or perhaps it was the simple result of being in the exact center of his “cosmic flow.” Whatever the reason, Kermit found himself grateful for it. He couldn’t know it then, but he was going to need every bit of grounding he possessed to make it through what was coming.
Morning came with a fury. Backstage was in an uproar, with nary a pig in sight.
“Here it is!”
“Read it! Read it!”
“I’m trying to if you’d just—“
“Stop hogging the—“
“Hey! Watch the tail!”
“If you’d just let me get the stupid paper open, then we could—“
“READ!” yelled Animal insistently. “READ READ READ!”
Scooter scanned the tiny type.
“OUT LOUD! OUT LOUD!”
Scooter startled, but at the look of agreement on all the gathered faces, he complied and began to read out loud:
Christmas has been touted as the season for giving, and at least one of the performers in the Muppets new Christmas show has been giving her all to the cause. Miss Piggy, diva of stage and screen successes too numerous to mention, continues to find new ways to delight and befuddle her fans. With new acts added almost nightly, one wonders how she has the stamina to keep up with this grueling schedule, not to mention the demands of being married to the CEO/Chairman of Rainbow Productions, who is also running this stage show with an iron hand. While suitably showcased in several numbers, one can’t help but lament her lack of individual stage time. Looks like the show isn’t the only thing Mr. the Frog has a firm grip on!
Scooter looked up and grimaced. “I don’t like the tone of this article.”
“Seriously out of key,” quipped Dr. Teeth, but his expression remained grim.
“Of all the snotty little implications!” huffed Gloria Jean. Her arms were crossed and she tapped one foot angrily.
“What’s with this guy Scribbler anyway? Back in the day, he used to write terrific stories about Piggy, didn’t he? Or am I thinking of the wrong guy?”
“No, you’re right,” said Fozzie. “He used to write nice stories, but then when Piggy got--”
“I don’t care what he used to do!” interrupted Dr. Honeydew. “That man is a menace to society.”
“Keep reading, Scooter,” insisted Rowlf grimly.
“Yeah, what else does it say?”
Unlike her show-stopping turn in “Muppet Follies,” with “You Made Me Love You,” the inimitable Miss Piggy has no solo in this nostalgic 50s show and holiday revue—no chance to strut her stuff apart from her costars—or, at least apart from one costar in particular. The only notable exception is the newest addition to the program, The Nylons song “Bop Till You Drop,” sung with surprising depth and energy by Pepe the Jumbo Shrimp. In this toe-tapping-finger-snapping be-bop, a certain amphibian takes center stage with another dancer, leaving his wife to the furry hands of his long-time buddy, funnyman Fozzie Bear. Whether the spotlight is on or not, Miss Piggy really shines in everything she does.
Other highlights of note include the triumphant reemergence of the Electric Mayhem as something more than studio musicians. Although their last few screen and soundtrack efforts have been solid, it’s a shame they’ve been held back for such a long time by studio commitments.
“Hey man,” said Floyd. “That ain’t fair. I mean, sure, we hit a little slump there for a bit, but it wasn’t Kermit’s fault. No way.”
“Like, that’s not very nice,” said Janice, and her eyes sparked with annoyance. “Kermit’s a real sweetie. And he only danced with me so Gonzo wouldn’t have to give up his big act.”
“Yeah,” said Gonzo. “I asked him to do it—he didn’t take it away from me.”
“Oh no,” said Fozzie, putting his hands over his mouth. “I—this isn’t my fault is it? I just do what Howard tells me!”
Dr. Teeth patted Fozzie on the back. “No sweat, Foz,” he said comfortingly. “This isn’t about anything you did.”
Mabel patted the unhappy bear on the back and handed him a donut and a glass of milk. He downed the milk like a shot and took a distracted bite of his donut.
“Hang on, guys—there’s a little more,” said Scooter dismally. Everyone subsided so Kermit’s personal assistance could read the last paragraph.
The smaller cast also seems to be working effectively here—due, one supposes, to being easier to control and direct. It’s certainly a win-win for the company, and for the audience. This reporter hopes it’s also a win-win for the stalwart and loyal performers who bring it home every night for their appreciate fans. Applause, after all, makes up for a lot. Take your two clapping hands down to the Palace and shell out some serious money for a chance to see the Muppets up close and personal.
“They’re making it sound like Kermit is a tyrant—like he’s ordering us around.”
“Si, Kermit orders me around,” said Pepe, but at the hostile looks held up three of his hands to ward off further comment. His other hand held a donut and a cup of coffee. “Si, si—but Hi like it, h’okay? The frog is fair, bueno?”
“Takes a sorry dog to twist a thing like that,” muttered Rowlf, fuming again. Kermit had not commented on the earlier review he and Scooter had been careful to keep under wraps. Under trash had been more like it, and the sorry rag was even now sitting soggily in the bottom of Rowlf’s trash can.
“We’ve got to do something about this!” Scooter fumed. “I-I have an idea, but I need some help. I’m going to call Marty.”
“Godspeed, my man,” said Dr. Teeth. “Have at it.”
Scooter nodded grimly and left.
At Floyd’s insistence, Scooter had left the tabloid behind, and they were all crowded around it, murmuring in fury and frustration, when Kermit arrived on the set. He had not set his alarm properly, and Scooter had not called him since he had not asked to be called, so he had spent a quiet and unruffled morning and awaken at his own pace to coffee and cereal in his room. Showered and dried, Kermit had made his way down to the stage at the very disreputable hour of 9:30, and his sheepish expression said he expected to be razzed about it.
“Hey guys,” he called. “What’s going on?”
To his utter surprise, the crowd of muppets he had addressed startled to a, um, muppet and turned around to stare at him in guilt and haste.
Kermit had been married too long to not know something was going on--something that he probably ought to know about, but didn’t actually want to know about.
“What’s up? You guys look like you’ve see a ghost. Uncle Deadly come for a visit?” Only Fozzie laughed, and nervously. Kermit crossed his arms across his chest. “C’mon, guys—what’s the matter? Animal stuck in the tuba again? Pepe using the sound stage as a trysting place?” Kermit realized belatedly that they had formed a protective circle around someone or something, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“What are you guys looking at?”
“Um, oh, nothing....”
“Gonzo’s got a mole on the back of his hand, and when he makes a fist it looks just like George Washington. Honest.”
“We were just, um....”
“Lookee there! Peaches are on sale! Three cans for two dollars!” Ah, thought Kermit. A paper. That paper. His heart sank. Kermit listened to the litany of excuses with no expression at all on his face, then held his hand out for the paper. His voice sounded hoarse, and tired.
“Let me see it,” he said.
Floyd hesitated, and Kermit turned his gentle eyes on Floyd’s face. Floyd looked defiant--he did not want Kermit to see this paper, but he could not turn down the entreaty in those bulbous eyes. “Aw, c’mon man--you don’t want to see this garbage,” he muttered.
“Yeah--don’t do it, Kermit!”
“I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by wallowing in that sort of--”
“Please,” said Kermit softly. “I need to see what he wrote.”
Kermit read, and the unhappy onlookers all swore that his shoulders slumped progressively as he perused the toxic type, but when he looked up his eyes were hopeful.
“This isn’t so bad,” he said generously. “It--it doesn’t say anything bad about Piggy or you guys.”
“Well, yeah but--”
“That’s true, Kermit, but he sure--”
“And it doesn’t say anything bad about the show.” Kermit interrupted. “He didn’t pan the show. That’s the important thing, right?”
There were half-hearted murmurs of assent, but nobody looked happy. Kermit started to say something, but Rizzo cut him off.
“It was a rotten article, Kermit. It made it sound like you were bossing us all around all the time.”
“Well, sometimes I do,” Kermit objected, but Rowlf would later swear that his amphibian boss stood a little straighter.
“Yeah, well, you don’t do it often enough!” Gonzo insisted. “We know we drive you crazy half the time, but you put up with everything we dish out--and you do it without complaining.”
“Sometimes I complain,” Kermit said quietly, but his mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I’m just, you know, not loud about it. But you guys don’t drive me crazy.”
“Horse hockey,” said Rowlf. “It’s a wonder you don’t lose your mind working with us.”
“But--but guys!--I like working with you. You know that.” Kermit put a hand on the nearest arm. It happened to be Fozzie’s.
“Aw, Kermit...”
“We like working with you, too, green stuff. And that stupid reporter doesn’t have any business printing hoo-doo like that about you!”
“Jes! Hi would like to give that scumbag a piece of my mind, h’okay?” fumed Pepe, then muttered “Jumbo shrimp, my cousin Minolo” under his breath.
“Hey now,” said Floyd, and his bushy eyebrows rose. “Don’t go promising to give up something you can’t do without, there Pepe.”
Pepe inhaled sharply and drew himself up to his full height, which was not so great.
“Hi will show you!” the king prawn said belligerently. “Hi will crush that estupido periodista with all four hands tied behind my back!” He marched toward the door. After a moment’s startled look, Rizzo and Gonzo moved to draw him, protesting, back into the fold. Kermit was smiling now, amused at the sight of Pepe ready to go to war on, well, on his own behalf, if not necessarily Kermit’s. But the sight cheered Kermit nonetheless.
“Look, Pepe,” said Kermit, “that’s really nice of you, but I don’t think that’s the sort of message we want to send. Sure, it was a snarky article, and yes, he did make some unkind and, um, not particularly accurate remarks about me, but I’m bigger than this--we’re bigger than this, you know?”
This time he got a little better reception, but their forlorn faces spurred him to greater effort.
“We’ve just got to keep our noses to the grindstone and ignore all this.”
“Sounds painful,” said Fozzie.
Gonzo looked at him. “Are you kidding? It sounds fun.” Mabel stuffed a donut into Gonzo’s mouth and he muttered “thank you” around a morsel of warm, sticky pastry.
“I mean, I’m not going to pretend this has been easy, and I’d like to give Fleet Scribbler a piece of my mind too, but...but what he says isn’t the truth. Piggy and I are very happily married, and neither of us believes any of what we read in the paper because we know it isn’t true. We just have to keep reminding ourselves that what he says doesn’t matter because it isn’t the truth.”
“Well, yeah and all,” said Floyd, “but that’s doesn’t mean we want to stand by and watch you take a beating in the press.” Janice smiled her approval and stepped forward to put her arms around Floyd’s waist.
“You’re not standing by, Floyd,” Kermit said simply. “You’re standing by me.” Kermit smiled at his friends, his bulbous eyes crinkling at the corners. “And don’t think I don’t know it, guys.” Rowlf reached out and put his big warm paw on Kermit’s back. Kermit was suddenly aware of the warmth and support that, quite literally, surrounded him. He might have said more, but Scooter returned at that precise moment, looking flushed and grimly triumphant.
“Oh, good,” said Scooter. “You’re already here, Kermit. I can just tell everybody at once.”
“Tell everybody what?” asked Kermit.
Scooter smiled. “I’ve been talking to Marty,” he announced. “And we’ve got a plan.”
Piggy was sitting on one of the colored cubes with her legs crossed, granting an enticing look at her plump, gorgeous gams as she listened to Scooter. Kermit admired the view for a moment, then pulled himself back to the present. “You mean we have to talk to a reporter? Here?” demanded Piggy.
Kermit looked skeptical, knowing what Piggy meant. Las Vegas had been, ironically, an oasis in the desert for them, takng them away from the press of Hollywood for a space of time. Diving back into it seemed less than appealing.
“I mean, a reporter is the cause of our troubles. Isn’t that like inviting in a lion to get rid of a bear?”
Scooter grinned, thinking it was an apt analogy.
“Well, sortof,” he said. “But this is a lion that I think you’ll like.”
“Oh?”
“What makes you think so?”
“Well, um, lioness actually,” said Scooter. “She got real reporting chops, and she’s an old friend of Marty’s. She’s agreed to come and see us and do a story about backstage.”
“A fluff piece? What will that prove?”
“Well, not exactly a fluff piece,” said Scooter. “She’s a hard-core journalist—she’s covered wars and all sorts of things, but she’s agreed to write an in-depth story about you and Piggy and the whole company. Try to set the record straight.”
Piggy was looking at Scooter narrowly. “What makes you think I’ll like her?” asked Piggy shrewdly.
Scooter gulped, but stood firm. “Marty said you would. He said you’d like her—that you’d find things in common.”
For an instant, a light flared behind Piggy’s eyes. She smiled and nodded once in a queenly manner. Kermit saw the look and her brief nod of approval, but could not interpret the reason for it properly. He would have asked, but Scooter was standing there—half demanding, half-begging for an answer from him.
“Well, okay, Scooter. If you think it will be okay, and if Marty thinks—“
“I do, and he does,” said Scooter firmly. He whipped out his phone and pressed redial, striding off in the direction of the stage.
Kermit turned and looked at Piggy.
“What?” he asked his wife grumpily. “Who is it?”
“I don’t know yet,” she answered. Kermit looked disbelieving, but she shrugged elaborately and smiled. “I don’t!” she insisted. “But I have an idea.”
Kermit flicked a look at her at that last, and Piggy giggled and put her arms around his shoulders. “A different idea,” she said firmly. “But I’ll keep that one in mind.” She moved away, humming a little.
“Where are you going?” asked Kermit. “I was going to talk to you about solos….”
“I can’t right now, dear,” said Piggy airily. “I have to go find something to wear for our interview.”
Kermit shook his head and watched her go. He had the same feeling that he’d had this morning—that there was more afoot (um, aflipper) than he could quite catch, but the feeling of safety, of being buffered from the outside world, continued. For a moment, Kermit allowed himself to bask in it, then there was a commotion onstage. Smiling ruefully, Kermit went to sort it out.
