Kermie's Girl (ushy-gushy fanfic)

[Muppetfan44]

Hooray! Auntie Ru I'm so glad that you're back! What a wonderful update! This totally made my day and I can't wait to hear more. Welcome back!

 

[The Count]

So I went back and reread the copy of this story that I have, up to the last chapter posted, all sixty-eight of them. There are clever references, wonderful passages, and moments that hit you where it counts. Love it all and hope more gets posted soonish, much soonish, as this fanfic monster has been left craving Ruahnna's writings.

BTW: Is the following table of contents correct?
Prologue (Chapter 0): Kermie's Girl.
Chapter 1: A Lucky Frog.
Chapter 2: Chez Roberto's.
Chapter 3: Treasure Seekers.
Chapter 4: At the The Frogs.
Chapter 5: Good Remembering.
Chapter 6: The Sum of the Parts.
Chapter 7: This Cant be Much of a Picnic.
Chapter 8: Time Heals All Wounds.
Chapter 9: Piggy the Actress.
Chapter 10: Christmas in Vegas.
Chapter 11: Methinks the Pig Doth Protest too Much.
Chapter 12: Ate Like a Horse—Slept Like a Log.
Chapter 13: Back to Normal.
Chapter 14: Philanthropy.
Chapter 15: Setting the Stage.
Chapter 16: Sustenance.
Chapter 17: Restoration.
Chapter 18: Something Important.
Chapter 19: Conspiracies.
Chapter 20: Funny Doins' Backstage.
Chapter 21: Surprises.
Chapter 22: Reminiscences and Innovations.
Chapter 23: Strange Meetings.
Chapter 24: The Cost of Doing Business.
Chapter 24&½: Another Opening, Another Show.
Chapter 25: Comical Enhancements.
Chapter 26: It's Christmas Time All Over the Stage.
Chapter 27: Christmas Present is Here Today.
Chapter 28: Sufficient Unto the Day.
Chapter 29: After the Show.
Chapter 30: Revelations.
Chapter 31: At the Disco.
Chapter 32: Facing the Reviews.
Chapter 33: Working on Some Things.
Chapter 34: Bunsen Honeydew Decorates for the Holidays.
Chapter 35: Baby's Got a Brand New Act.
Chapter 36: Exceeding Expectations.
Chapter 37: Changing.
Chapter 38: Dark Men.
Chapter 39: Shaking a Leg.
Chapter 40: Hair of the Dog.
Chapter 41: Machinations.
Chapter 42: The Return of the King.
Chapter 43: A Royal Flush.
Chapter 44: Distractions.
Chapter 45: Suppositions.
Chapter 46: Some of my Best Friends are Muppet Fans...
Chapter 47: Stand By Me.
Chapter 48: Comings and Goings.
Chapter 49: Made to Order.
Chapter 50: Planning Ahead.
Chapter 51: Confessions and Conundrums.
Chapter 52: Reflections.
Chapter 53: The Show Must Go On.
Chapter 54: The Show Goes On.
Chapter 55: A Whole Lot of Something Goin' On.
Chapter 56: Lucky.
Chapter 57: Breaking Fast in Vegas.
Chapter 58: A Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight.
Chapter 59: Ho Ho Ho and a Bottle of Ink.
Chapter 60: Translucent.
Chapter 61: Transcendant.
Chapter 62: The Gig is Up.
Chapter 63: The Eye of the Beholden.
Chapter 64: Femenine Upheaval.
Chapter 65: Family Party.
Chapter 66: No Sweat (Pants or Otherwise).

 

[The Count]

Just a friendly little bump, since it's Aunt Ru's birthday. Rully hope she comesback to MC soon, she's got just 7 more posts to achieve an important milestone at these forums. So happy b'day to our great authoress.

 

[Muppetfan44]

Aww, Happy Belated Birthday!

 

[The Count]

Happy 4th birthday to the most wonderous fanfic yet to be finished on the forums. Hard to believe the story got so buried when it started off like gangbusters with three to four chapters in the first few pages of posts. Hopefully the authoress of this grand tale will return to us one day and continue this narrative of most heavy-duty proportions.
Mmm, we gotta keep the frog and pig awaaay from this Scribbler dude and his blackened boss.

So all of us devoted followers wish your masterpiece a happy birthday Aunt Ru.
*Leaves piece of birthday cake with four candles.
*Wonders if Ruahnna's got her stories posted and perhaps further updated on www.fanfiction.net

 

[Muppetfan44]

Orginally Posted by The Count
Happy 4th birthday to the most wonderous fanfic yet to be finished on the forums. Hard to believe the story got so buried when it started off like gangbusters with three to four chapters in the first few pages of posts. Hopefully the authoress of this grand tale will return to us one day and continue this narrative of most heavy-duty proportions.
Mmm, we gotta keep the frog and pig awaaay from this Scribbler dude and his blackened boss.

Well said! Happy Birthday to Kermie's Girl! I would love an update on this momentous occassion. Still on pins and needles about this dark dude...and I've been on them for so long that it's really starting to hurt

*whah whah whahhhh* I know it was a terrible joke, but in the spririt of the bear you gotta throw it out there, just for the halibut,

Okay, I'll stop. Happy Birthday to this wonderful story and I hope we can get an update soon!

 

[The Count]

Pins & Needles? That's probably one of my fave shops in Trade City USA, mostly because it's run by Jack and Sally from Nightmare.
BTW: Ari, you should seriously send Ru an email or something asking if you can be brought to Vegas. It only seems fair to have all of us forum members who are staunch supporters of this fic there.

 

[Muppetfan44]

Originally posted by The Count
BTW: Ari, you should seriously send Ru an email or something asking if you can be brought to Vegas. It only seems fair to have all of us forum members who are staunch supporters of this fic there

Great Idea! I would love to be in this story...and Vegas is always fun. I can totally see Gonzo trying to get his chickens to ride the musical water jets in front of the Bellagio or Statler and Waldorf trying to meet the girls from the Treasure Island Pirate Ship show, lol

 

[The Count]

Would Astoria and Penelope let them get away with that? *Needs an update to this story. Like rully.

 

[Ruahnna]

Chapter 67: Sticky Buns and Cinnamon (Plot) Twists

The silence backstage was deafening. Every nose, beak, snout and proboscis was buried in a magazine. Before the crowd reached epic proportions, Mabel had been circulating with a coffee pot and a basket of hot bread, but even she had long had her long nose embedded in Brenda Star’s article. She left and coffee and bread hot in the kitchen, expecting people to fend for themselves.
The article was long, and Kermit was too afraid of what the article might reveal to have attempted reading it aloud. Instead, he and Scooter had all but held up the newsman on the corner, pressing cash on him in exchange for his entire first stack. Piggy had snatched the first one off the top and Kermit had not heard one single, solitary peep out of her since. There were no moans, no cries of indignation, and no confetti. Kermit took this as a good sign and kept reading.
It was all there. The beginnings of Rainbow Productions, the beginnings of them. The fights, the press coverage, their rise in popularity, Piggy’s superstardom. The current unpleasantness was dealt with in a matter-of-fact manner. The rumors of divorce were not so much dispelled as obliterated against the backdrop of unity portrayed. There was a long sidebar about the Electric Mayhem, another about the upcoming movie and one that gave a timeline of the frog-pig courtship. That one made Kermit blush and clear his throat several times nervously, but more than one member of the cast came up and slapped him heartily on the back in an affectionate and congratulatory manner without saying anything. Although they didn’t dare so much familiarity with Miss Piggy, the ladies (plus Howard and Thoreau) bunched around her and giggled and squealed over several things they found in the article, shooting Kermit occasional speculative looks that made him want to flee the room. But he did not. He stuffed another cinnamon twist in his mouth, chewed determinedly and kept reading.
Brenda’s photographs were works of art, each one capturing some aspect of life backstage or on the home front that epitomized they way this large, eccentric family managed to live and work and entertain. Rowlf received a special mention, including the mention that his previous albums were now available on CD, and Fozzie was given quite a build-up for his upcoming role in Fozzie’s Angels. Howard obsessed over the photo of him coaching chorus practice, swearing it made it rear end look large, but he said it so often and with such enthusiasm that his dismay was doubted. There was a lovely picture of Scooter and Kermit, with both of them looking directorial and executive-ish and a shot of Gonzo on his tightrope that—though no one had seen her up there—could only have been taken from the catwalk high above. The bowl of fruit was dazzling in its sharp detail—in contrast to the fuzzy distance of the ground below. Everyone munched and read and murmured and—finally—breathed a little easier.
Kermit felt the burn of someone’s eyes upon him and blushed. Having his romantic machinations once more on public display made him feel flustered and uncomfortable. It had been a long time since he and Piggy had buried the ax by tying the knot, and being reminded of the folly of his start-and-stop love affair wasn’t easy. He gritted his hard palate and kept reading. Only when his wife appeared at his elbow as if conjured did he finally look up. When he did, he remembered at once why he had gone the distance, pushing himself out of his comfort zone in order to win the heart of the pig he loved.
Piggy’s blue eyes were enormous, and they looked at him with a mixture of relief and hope and uncertainty.
“I thought it was good,” Kermit said simply. He took Piggy gloved hand and squeezed it.
“Me too,” Piggy said, and squeezed back.

Naysayers never entirely go away, but they do sometimes get knocked ankles-over-teakettle until they can regroup. Brenda’s article rippled through journalistic community like a nine on the Richter scale, leaving speculations in ruins and rumors spinning their tires for lack of traction.
In the wake of this shockwave, things rocked along contentedly—if not always smoothly—for the little band of performers. As usual, every performance mutated into something almost new.
Foo Foo finally admitted to Rowlf that she didn’t want to watch the show anymore from backstage. The little white dog with the big diva attitude sighed, no longer trying fool herself. She had enjoyed watching the show, but what she really wanted was to be out there with them. Rowlf had grinned a grin that made Foo Foo remember that they were, after all, descended from wolves (some further than others!) and run to tell Kermit. She had immediately insinuated herself into “Bop Til You Drop” and was eyeing “Dream Girls” with an assessing eye, demanding Rowlf learn the choreography for it. Rowlf protested, Foo inveigled and nothing was quite settled, which is how things between them usually went.
Piggy’s trans-stage trek became more routine. Scooter stopped sweating and Kermit stopped pretending to. The Elvi’s show was now sold out every night.
The atmosphere was so thick with holiday spirit that it was hard to move backstage without falling over something being hidden from somebody, and Scooter finally gave up and set up a 30-minute window in which cast and crew could give him their orders for Amazon.com and MC. Despite tremendous pressure, he refused to become involved in any of the forty-eleven ebay auctions that were being fought, and the cast and crew began to haunt Doug and Amanda at the courtesy business area. Thoreau sketched and sewed with a positively fevered air, turning out one amazing costume after another.
Gonzo put his song down on paper, with a little transpositional help from Dr. Teeth. Deeply and truly happy in love, Floyd was so mellow that one day he actually held a door for Piggy and Foo Foo. They gaped in open-mouthed astonishment before escaping into the heat and blur of a Las Vegas afternoon. Shopping reached a fever pitch, and Scooter sighed at one point and calculated that they were going to need an additional 747 to cart everything back home with them. His own Christmas shopping had been done for some time, and he congratulated himself on not adding anything to anyone’s luggage that would require the use of a crane.
Dr. Honeydew and Shantilla saw less of each other as the holiday approached. Beaker watched anxiously for signs of a broken or dented heart and was relieve to see neither. He poured out his concern to Mabel, who asked the Doc point-blank, it being surprisingly easy to ask personal questions to someone who is full of punch and cobbler. “Oh no,” the doctor had said easily. “Not in the least. Shantilla is a lovely girl, but I’m afraid her scholarship doesn’t leave much time for frivolity.” He sighed, smiled, and burped discreetly. “And my mutagenic research has been neglected far too long as it is. Why, as soon as I find Beaker a new helmet—“
Robin marked each day with a big red X on the calendar. He already knew exactly how much space was needed on the floor of their hotel room to contain that train set that Santa might—just might—decided to bring after all, seeing as how he’d been such a good little frog. He reminded himself on a daily basis that Santa would do what was right, train or no train, but in his heart he longed for it.
Kermit—an incorrigible sneak when it came to presents—did not have so much as a spare moment to look under their bed. The days were full of practice for the new show, tweaks for the current show, the shows themselves and, or course, Robin, Piggy and the other members of his unorthodox family.
Brenda’s article had been—from Kermit’s point of view—a lifesaver in the midst of the ocean, a drink of water for a wanderer in the desert, a miracle of no small magnitude—or gratitude. If there was a down side to it, it was simply that the article intensified interest in the show, in the cast and crew and—specifically and intrusively—in the details of his relationship with and marriage to Piggy. Magazines called incessantly, begging for interviews. Scooter fended them off as well as he was able, and Marty took wide swaths out of their ranks with acerbic tirades. Tabloids didn’t bother with permission, and Kermit gritted his teeth to see him and Piggy photoshopped into pictures with everyone from Elvis (which produced tremendous indignation from Pepe and from the Elvi) and Bigfoot. Almost no publication even dared suggest that life backstage was anything less than fairy-tale perfect. It went without saying that Scribbler and his rag were noticeably silent, and it went without saying that this suited Kermit just fine.
It was something of a surprise, therefore, to Rowlf to find the recently placid amphibian muttering grumpily at a newspaper article.
“Stock market down again?” asked Rowlf.
“Sure—sounds good, Scooter,” Kermit murmured, but did not look up.
“Aliens land in Washington?”
“Maybe after the show,” Kermit said vaguely. “Check my calendar.”
Rowlf grinned and walked up behind Kermit, reading over his should. His furry brown presence made Kermit startle.
“Oh—hi Rowlf,” he said distractedly. He paused and looked around him. “Did you see Scooter a second ago?” he asked. “He asked me something about buying alien stock?”
Rowlf ignored this, eyes scanning the paper for what had discombobulated his bossman and friend.
“Whatcha reading?” the canine asked. “Somebody else write a review?”
“Sort of,” Kermit admitted. “It’s a gossip column masquerading as a review.” He pointed one slim green finger at the column of type and grimaced. Rowlf read:

If you would have a Merry Christmas, come see Miss Piggy pitching woo at the Palace. The new Vegas sensation will only run until New Year’s Eve, where it will be replaced with a new holiday show by the Divine Miss Piggy and her cast mates. After that, it’s back to tinsel town for this little diva to finish filming “Fozzie’s Angels,” the greatly anticipated blockbuster coming this summer from Rainbow Productions. With the unstoppable Miss Piggy, and sultry Janice (just Janice, folks) and Camilla the Chicken, this film is sure to be worth the long wait. This film is the latest in a series of recent films designed to showcase the talents of the varied cast of RP, although this reporter thinks the muppets (as RP’s performers are affectionately known) are wise to go back to what worked so well in the past—putting Miss Piggy in front of the camera and seeing what happens next! If you like to see what happens when Miss Piggy takes the stage with her husband, CEO/President of Rainbow Productions, then information about the show is available by calling….

Rowlf looked up. “Seems okay,” he said noncommittally. “Sure, it’s a little narrow on the focus, but it doesn’t say anything bad.”
“True,” Kermit said, still looking unhappy. “It just—I mean, Piggy is fantastic in the show but she’s not….I mean, I….
“Uh huh,” Rowlf said encouragingly, and Kermit finally burst out with what he’d wanted to say.
“I can pitch woo,” said Kermit indignantly.
“So can I,” said Rowlf, “but they mostly just pitch it back.”
Kermit gave him a look and he subsided. “I mean, this is a great article about Piggy, right?”
“Right,” said Rowlf.
“And it certainly makes it sound like we’re living happily ever after.”
“Sounds that way, sure.”
“And the program review is great, right?”
“Right. And…?”
“And…why am I feeling so annoyed?”
Rowlf looked at his old friend and wondered—just for an instant—if what he was about to say was worth the risk. But, his mind prompted, if your friends won’t tell you the truth, then what have you got?
“Um, I think it bothers you because it makes it sound like Piggy saw you, wanted you and got you. And keeps on getting you.”
Kermit smiled in spite of himself. “Not exactly the way I would have phrased it, but it did sort of play out that way.”
“Well, now—hold on,” said Rowlf, putting a hand on Kermit’s arm. “I seem to recall that there was a little more self-direction on your part.”
Kermit squirmed uncomfortably. “I’m not sure I’m following you,” he muttered, but Rowlf shook his head and pinned him with a penetrating gaze.
“Not buying it, buster. I’ve known you a long time—longer than you’ve known Piggy, and I’d have to be an idiot not to see that you took one look at that halfway sophisticated beauty queen with the faux French accent and said, ‘That’s for me!’”
“Well, I don’t think I said that right away….” Kermit protested. “It took me a while to be sure that—“
“Okay, so it took you a while to act on it. That didn’t change when it started.”
“When it started?” Kermit said. “Now wait just a minute, Rowlf, I—“
“And you didn’t just stand by and wait for it to happen, either. I know you put her off and put her off and there was that one time I really thought she was gonna put her eggs in somebody else’s basket, but every time she got to close to someone else, you dealt yourself back into the game.”
“Well, sure, I mean, I liked Piggy, and I didn’t want to see her hurt by some fly-by-night—“
“Horse-hockey,” said Rowlf. “I seem to recall an incident when Avery Schreiber was on the show—“
“That was just a sham on Piggy’s part,” Kermit argued.
“And when Christopher Reeve came on the show,” Rowlf continued.
“That was a long time ago!”
“What about that knock-down drag-out you guys hand when we were filming The Great—“
“Don’t remind me,” Kermit moaned. “I still get comments on that one when she’s really mad at me.”
“And when we were filming ‘Muppet Treasure Island’ and Tim Curry—“
“But we were married then!”
“Didn’t stop you from turning into a real grouch when they were doing that kissing scene about twenty times.”
“Twenty-three!” said Kermit, “but that’s not the point!”
“Okay, then. What is the point?”
“What’s the point?” Kermit repeated, momentarily stumped. “Um, I guess the point is that it wasn’t just Piggy wanting me. I wanted her, too.”
“And?” Rowlf prompted.
“And, um, once I made up my mind I-I pursued her.”
“That’s right. And?”
“And, um, what happened was my choice, too.”
“And what happened once you decided you wanted to marry her?”
“I, well, um, I did my best to sweep her off her feet.”
“No mean task, that,” Rowlf conceded. “And did you succeed?”
Kermit straightened and squared his shoulders. His expression became wry. “Yes,” he said firmly. “I most certainly did.”
“So what you’re saying is that you didn’t just finally let Piggy catch you,” said Rowlf. “You turned around and caught her.”
“And held on to her.”
“Uh huh. And maybe,” Rowlf said, “you would like the rest of the world to catch a glimpse of the ardent suitor that Piggy was so ardently pursuing.”
Kermit looked down. “Yes,” he admitted. “Is that, is that wrong?” He looked up at Rowlf. “I mean, I’m charming when I want to be, right?”
“I’ve seen you do it.”
“And Piggy wasn’t the first woman to find me, um, attractive,” Kermit said, blushing furiously.
“Nope,” Rowlf said. “You had your share of groupies. Or, at least you did until Piggy karate-chopped them all into the stratosphere.”
“Um, yeah. And I can be a pretty romantic fellow when I want to be,” Kermit persisted.
“Shoot,” said Rowlf, “I’d date you but you’re not my type.”
Kermit tried to squelch Rowlf’s mirth with a look but failed spectacularly. “So…?” he began. “Should I talk to Piggy about this?”
“Talk?” Rowlf said. “Sheesh—you are married!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Forget about it,” said Rowlf. “But heck, no, I don’t think you should talk about it.”
“Then what?”
Rowlf put a hand on Kermit’s shoulder. “Show her.” He looked quickly up the hallway and down. “C’mere—let’s talk about tomorrow night’s show.”

Scribbler looked at the phone in his hand for a moment, feeling the vibration and wondering if he dared to answer. He dared, expecting the worse, and was not disappointed.
“You failed miserably,” the voice positively shrieked. Scribbler was glad that his boss had left LA in the wake of Brenda Starr’s devastating article. “Everybody in town thinks they’re bigger lovebirds than Brad Pitt and what’s-her-face.”
Scribbler winced. There was a sinking suspicion in his gut that maybe everybody was right. “I can’t help what everybody else writes,” he said, settling for sullen. “Besides, what good will it do them to be lovebirds if one of them is--“
“If! If! If! I’m sick of you and your ‘ifs’!” the phone blasted. “We need action, not dreams.” There was the sound of heavy, frustrated breathing on the other end of the phone line.
“Plan B is shaping nicely,” Scribbler dared in the relative silence while his boss drew breath. The heavy breathing was replaced by a sudden sharp intake of breath.
“Oh? Tell me.” The yelling had stopped.
“I think I can get inside.”
There was a suspicious silence on the other end of the line, but an interested suspicious silence.
“Tell me….”
“Part of the problem has been getting them apart.”
There was an undignified snort. “No kidding. Back at the studio, they were stuck tighter than glue.” This conjured up an image in Scribbler’s mind of Kermit and Piggy, kissing happily under the mistletoe, and he brushed it away irritably.
“So…I’ve found a way to infiltrate their little group.” He started to say he thought he’d also found a way to get Piggy alone for a minute, but he didn’t like the way that might be construed.
“So what’s the net here—gossip?”
“Absolutely.”
“What about pictures?”
“I’m working on that.” He did not say that he thought he knew of a time that a camera might not be so obvious. Better to just show up with the goods than to advertise them and show up empty-handed.
“What kind of a time frame are we talking?”
“Let’s just say that I have high hopes for a very happy New Year.”
Visions of sugarplums weren’t dancing in anyone’s head. Visions of tons of bored and hung-over readers buying their tabloid along with their early-morning Alka Seltzer were.
“Scribbler,” the voice said at last. “You just might get a Christmas bonus after all.”

“Hey Gonzo,” Rizzo called from the bathroom where he was applying aftershave. “What do you get a girl for Christmas who says she has everything?”
“Cream cheese?”
Rizzo poked his head around the doorframe, looked at Gonzo despairingly and sighed. “I’m beginning to understand why you don’t have a girlfriend anymore.”
“Fine,” said Gonzo touchily. “But don’t blame me when you have to eat your bagels plain.”
Rizzo came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. His hair was waving wildly in the air-conditioned room and he smoothed at it ineffectively. “This dry heat is getting to me,” he said. “I’m getting all frizzy.”
Gonzo made no comment, perusing a mail-order catalog determinedly. He continued to read while Rizzo toweled off and got dressed.
“Come down to eat with us,” he said.
“I’ll be in the way,” Gonzo muttered.
“You won’t be in the way.”
“I’m fine.”
“We’re going to the buffet….”
Gonzo’s resolve wavered, but he firmed up his intention to be miserable. “No thanks.”
Rizzo put his hand on the knob. “They got pickled sardines….” He was halfway out the door when he heard the squeak of bedsprings.
“Hang on,” Gonzo said. “I’m coming.”

It was very late when the man sat down on the edge of his hotel bed and took his carefully polished Italian loafers off. He lay back wearily on the pillows, took his phone out and dialed without looking. One ring, two rings—how late was it in--?
“Yeah? Who is it?”
“Thought I’d better check in.”
“Hey! S’about time. How’s it going? What was the assignment?”
The man in black spoke at length into the phone, trying to seem nonchalant. The silence when he finished was impressive.
“You’re kidding me.”
“I’m not.”
“How much they paying?”
He named a figure and received a wolf whistle.
“Not playing around, is he?’
“Nope. My client wants me to try and get her as soon as possible.”
“What about the frog.”
“What about the frog?”
“He won’t like it.”
“He won’t be in a position to do anything about it.”
There was a pause in which greed and reluctance wrestled with each other, but greed is pretty slippery and quite strong. “Go for it. If you don’t do it….”
“Someone else will.”
“Yeah. Someone else will. From what I’ve heard on the grapevine, it’s just a matter of time.”

There was a knock on Piggy’s dressing room door, but the knocker did not wait for an answer before barging in. This was not as reckless as it sounds because Piggy was not in the room at the time. It was mid-afternoon. Most of the cast had long since left the morning rehearsal and even the early-bird arrivers would not be coming for at least a couple of hours. Thoreau looked up in surprise to see Howard standing in the doorway, hands on his hips. He was not in his usual sweats, but was dressed much like Thoreau in well-pressed khakis and a polo.
“This is an intervention,” Howard said firmly.
Thoreau’s mouth dropped open, then he put down the skirt he was hemming and smiled.
“Ha ha, Howard. Tres amusant.”
“Not joking,” Howard sing-songed. "Mabel sent me in here to see if there was any moss growing on you.”
“On this shirt? It wouldn't dare,” the dressmaker quipped.
“She made French onion soup with low-fat cheese and I saw her making limeade by hand.”
The sound of food made Thoreau positively light-headed. He looked at the skirt in his lap miserably. “I-I can’t. In a minute.”
“No excuses. I have strict orders to--”
“Please—I lack five more sequins.” He looked so anguished that Howard gave in.
“Five sequins, and then food.”
“Promise.”
Howard gave him a look. “Alright,” he agreed grudgingly. “But don’t make me go get the pig.”


The Pig was shopping. It was doubtful Howard—or even Kermit—could have gotten her undivided attention at the moment. She was out on the strip with Camilla and Dr. Teeth, deep in negotiations with a Eurasian saleswoman about the relative quality of the silk in the two ties she held in her hands. The woman was knowledgeable and frank, and Piggy was finally satisfied.
“Wrap them up separately,” she said, flashing her plastic. One time Piggy did not skimp was when she was buying presents. Another time Piggy did not skimp is when she was buying something for herself. As a matter of fact…but we digress. Suffice it to say that the merchants of the strip selling genuine quality were much gladdened by the shopping excursion. Dr. Teeth all but cleaned out a little kiosk selling “odious bling” (as Piggy described it) but she had to admit that it did what was wanted for the musician’s stage ensembles. Camilla did more window shopping (and window dressing) than her companions, catching the eye of more than one Vegas native. Two vultures trying to eye her surreptitiously crashed headlong into a man selling cold juice drinks on the corner, and Camilla turned and winked at them while they hastened to help restore the shopkeeper’s wares.
Piggy giggled. “You bad hen, you. Santa’s not going to bring you anything but coal.”
Dr. Teeth smiled his toothy grin at the ladies. “After an afternoon with you two ladies, Santa won’t have to bring me anything, either,” he said gallantly. This time, both women giggled.
“If Santa does come down your chimney, he’ll be blinded by that horrible rhinestone thing around your neck,” Piggy scolded, but there were no real teeth in it. She leaned over and looked at the good doctor’s watch. “Ooh. It’s time to be getting back. Robin’s been with Beaker and I promised to be back.”
Camilla bawked something and Piggy shrugged. “He’s actually a pretty good sitter as long as he’s not in mad scientist mode.”
“Be-gawk?”
“Sure. Go ahead,” Piggy said. “I can see the hotel from here and it’s broad daylight. What could happen?” She started up the strip.
If the crowd of pedestrians hadn’t been so thick around her, Piggy might have seen an unobtrusive care pull out from the curb as she started for the hotel. If the crowd of cars hadn’t been so thick, the car might have managed to stop closer to where she passed. And if the crowd of off-duty showgirls hadn’t been so thick in the block leading up to the Palace, the person who emerged from the cab might have caught up to Piggy. If that had happened….but it did not.
“Missed her!” the man said fiercely as her shapely figure strode into the casino. “I knew I should have moved the second she was alone.”
His companion was more philosophical. “Next time you get a clear shot,” he said simply, “take it.”