Chapter 55: A Whole Lot of Something Goin’ On
There was great deal of squealing and exciting cheering and screaming going on, and a lot of it seemed to emanate from one particular row of seats. The auditorium noise had already been cacophonous when Piggy had made her first appearance on the stage—the same mixture of polite applause, wild chanting and desperate proposals as usual—and had surged once again when the Electric Mayhem took the stage. It gathered momentum as Gonzo did his thing, then hushed expectantly when the entire theater went dark. When the spotlight came up on Pepe, all bets were off.
By the time the muppets were taking to the aisles to pull audience members out to dance, two members from this row were already on their feet, dancing wildly. Camilla was cutting a rug with a distinguished-looking man whose silvered temples were belied by the enthusiastic way he matched his partner, strut for strut. Rowlf paused beside the young couple for an instant, looking for a partner, when—as one—they let out a shout and pulled their unsuspecting friend out into the aisle and practically into Rowlf’s arms.
“Sorry,” Layla said, blushing and stammering even as she glared at her two friends. “I didn’t mean to crash into you like that.”
“Not a problem,” Rowlf said, grabbing her hand and twirling her under his arm with perhaps more enthusiasm than skill. “I sortof enjoyed it.” This last—said with a big wolfish grin—made his partner laugh out loud. It was impossible not to smile, impossible not to enter into the spirit of the dance. The next time the music so led, she turned Rowlf expertly under her arm.
“My kind of woman,” Rowlf said, half-shouting over the noise. “But then—that’s the problem. They’re all my kind of woman!” There was resignation and no small amount of devilry in the comment, and his partner laughed, as did the young couple next to them. Just when Layla was beginning to relax and enjoy herself, Rowlf grabbed her hand, pressed a gallant kiss on it and ran back to the stage with Camilla.
It was over in an instant, and the three fans found themselves flopping down into their seats with exhausted but delighted smiles on their faces.
“That was amazing,” said Lisa. “We got to be part of a muppet show!”
“Sha!” agree Prawnie. “We got to be part of a muppet show together!”
Layla sat between them in stunned contentment, then roused herself at last to speak. “If you ever do anything like that again—“ she began ominously, them broke into a wide smile. “I’m going to hug both of you! That was sooo great!” She might have said more, but the curtain was opening. They sat back in respectful silence to watch and listen. (Even though it was just Johnny.)
As the show progressed, Autumn gave an expert play-by-play directly into her companion’s ear. Her voice was low and carried well, but she was courteous to those around her and mindful of their desire to watch the show without commentary. This minor problem was solved by flipping the armrest up, and Autumn Transylvania snuggled up against her companion, so close that her soft lips occasionally brushed his neck or ear as she spoke.
This proved to be a two-edged sword, for while her seat-mate was very grateful for her help, he was equally distracted by her closeness. Her perfume permeated his senses and her silky hair brushed softly against his neck. In order to get close enough to whisper into his ear, Autumn had one arm behind his waist and the other one rested lightly on his chest. Utilitarian this position might be, but it was far from impersonal, and the young man found his attention wandering with alarming frequency. It was thrilling to be here, center front at the Muppets stage show, but it was also thrilling to be seated very close to this enticing figure in a silk dress the color of rich, dark chocolate. He couldn’t see the dress, but he could hear the whisper of fabric as it moved against her skin, feel the occasional brush of the ruffled sleeve against his cheek when she brushed her hair back from her face. Ed was momentarily distracted by Autumn’s attempts to describe Gonzo’s act—she made an admirable attempt to explain the inexplicable—and when Pepe took the stage she was so stunned for a moment that he was left wondering what had happened to strike her so spectacularly mute. Finally, amid giggles and a few screams of “Elvis! Elvis!” Autumn regained enough composure to explain what was happening. Ed laughed appreciatively as Autumn snuggled back against him, but when Johnny Fiama took the stage, it was hard for Ed to stay focused on the song he’d heard a dozen dozen times before.
“He’s loosening his tie,” Autumn said, and her voice held bemusement. “Going for a big finish, I think.”
“Hard to blame him,” her seat-mate murmured. If he turned his head the slightest fraction of an inch, it would be possible to press a kiss against her smooth forehead. He had been thinking about it for some time.
Autumn shifted a little, maneuvering a little closer. “Now he’s taking his jacket off,” she murmured. “And his shirt is very well-ironed.”
He fought the urge to chuckle. Autumn had a way of making what was happening on stage come alive. She had a way of making his senses come alive too. He stopped thinking about it and just did it, pressing his lips against her temple. Autumn looked up in surprise, and the next surprise surprised them both. They leaned together and kissed, but Autumn pulled back much sooner than hoped. Her voice was affectionate, but chastening.
“Come now, darling” she said. “Don’t you want to know what’s going to happen next?”
Her companion’s voice was husky. “I have a pretty good idea of what’s going to happen next.”
Again, that trill of husky laughter, but Autumn was resolute. “We’ll catch up, of course…but after the show.”
Floyd was doing better than expected under the circumstances. He poured his pain into his music and managed not to give himself away in front of Janice. He had wanted to talk to her before the show—makes this okay before they performed together, but in the end he simply couldn’t make himself. He dodged the necessity of talking in an uncharacteristically cowardly way: He hid in the men’s room until the last possible moment.
They had gotten through their first two numbers admirably, enjoying the exuberant audience reaction to their playing, and then simply enjoying the audience reaction to seeing Gonzo’s spandexed figure balancing fruit. Floyd thought wryly that the audience would never think of kumquats the same way again, and the thought almost made him chuckle.
Now, however, with Dream Girls taking the stage, Floyd felt a stab of regret and…something else, something primitive. He wished he’d made his peace before he had to stand here in front of a crowd and play and watch Clifford sing soulfully to the woman of his dreams. Dream girl indeed. The stuff of his dreams at least. There had been many moments through the years when Floyd had doubted his good fortune, wondered what he had ever done to secure a woman as fine as Janice, but he had never quite thought before that it wouldn’t last. Maybe it was because he hadn’t…. Floyd looked down and watched his strings, but his eyes were suspiciously bright and his chest felt like it did that time Piggy caught him putting Foo Foo in a drawer. She had given him such a whack he swore he could still feel the ache every time the weather changed.
Thoughts of Foo Foo made him smile. She had been her usually impertinent self, but she was the only one backstage who didn’t seem to be walking on eggshells around him. Well—Foo Foo and Pepe, who was his usual insufferable self. Janice had not seemed to notice that Floyd was dismal and glum, but he had kept to himself, and she had no reason to suspect he already knew what she must be planning to tell him. Floyd supposed that you were less aware of the sad things in life when you were in love—at least, that was the way he remembered it.
While they had been filming the second movie, the set of the Happiness Hotel had sparked some fond memories.
“Like, it’s like our first apartment, Honeybunch,” Janice had teased.
“Yeah,” Floyd had quipped, looking up at the peeling wallpaper and falling plaster. “Only maybe not so nice.”
“Same elevator,” Janice added, smiling broadly.
“But the rats here dress some nicer,” he had countered.
It was not, strictly, true—their first apartment had been tiny, but clean. Well, clean but pleasantly messy, he amended. They had not had much, but they had not needed much—they had had their music, and they had had each other. What else was there?
Another dull pain pierced his heart, and Floyd sighed and leaned into the music.
He…he didn’t think Janice disliked him, he thought unhappily. But she’d obviously moved on into a new relationship—a different relationship. Had he been too mellow? Too slow to commit? He bristled just a little, thinking that image unfair. True—they had never done the deed and signed the paper, but he had been Janice’s hard-rocking man for a long, long time. He had never—no, not one time—been anything but absolutely faithful in word and deed and want, and he was sure that Janice must have known it. And there had been that one time—oh, ages ago—when Crazy Harry had blown up one of the sets, and Kermit had given them all an unexpected few days off.
They had thrown a blanket into his backpack and hitched their way to France. A couple of shops later—a thrift for seashore duds and a little bistro for a loaf, a round of local cheese and a bottle of wine, and they were set. For two glorious days they had basked on the beach, not talking much but not needing to. At night, they spread the blanket in the shelter of the dunes and stared up at the stars and contemplated the complete rightness of their lives. He thought it would go on forever.
And now—now he’d been replaced, and by another bass player. That stung, too, if Floyd was honest. He felt himself one in a series now, instead of Janice’s one and only. Still—and Floyd wrestled with himself over and over here—Clifford was a good guy, a talented guy. If Janice loved him, and he loved Janice…. Floyd tried hard not to want to kill him with his bare hands, and managed to keep his distance backstage.
The song was coming to a close, which meant the first half was over. Floyd took a deep, deep breath, held it, and let it go.
Well, thought Floyd. I guess even forever doesn’t last as long as it used to.
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