Chapter 16: Sustenance
“Sweetheart? You almost ready? I could eat a—“
“Coming!” Piggy said quickly, suddenly aware of how long she’d been back in the bedroom. She surveyed the confetti-strewn room in dismay, then took Robin firmly by the hand and pulled him after her toward the living room of their suite. “C’mon, Robin—we’ve got to get some food in your Uncle before he starts chewing the furniture.” She kept her voice light, but an adult would have noticed the strain in her tone, the anxiety in her eyes. Robin, however, was not an adult, and he laughed appreciatively at Piggy’s feeble joke.
“Hey Uncle Kermit!” Robin called as they emerged from the bedroom. “Guess what Aunt Piggy did?”
Piggy felt the blood drain out of her face, then surge back into her cheeks. Oh no, she thought. Not now, not yet. Please, please, please—
“Aunt Piggy said you were going to start chewing the furniture—like Animal!”
Kermit chuckled and eyed the comfy loveseat with comic interest. “Hum—that loveseat looks very appetizing…” Robin giggled again as Kermit cut his eyes toward Piggy. “And there’s something else that looks appetizing,” he murmured, reaching for her hand. Piggy smiled and clasped his hand tightly in return, so relieved that Robin hadn’t made explanations necessary yet that she was fairly successful in hiding her angst.
“Vous are too kind,” she said breathlessly and swept out the door with two adoring men in her wake.
Scooter reached out and took Sara’s hands, squeezed them tightly between his own.
“Sara, I’m really sorry. I know we were supposed to spend Christmas together but—“
“It’s okay,” Sara said gently. “I know your boss needs you right now.”
“It’s just, I mean—“
“You have to go.” Sara smiled and returned the pressure on Scooter’s hands.
Scooter nodded. “I have to go,” he said fervently. “I have to.”
“I know. I understand.”
“I hope so,” Scooter said earnestly. “It’s not just my job, Sara. Kermit’s not just my boss, and those people I work with—well, they aren’t just the people I work with. They’re, um, we’re sortof family,” he said, hoping some of this made sense.
Sara leaned forward until their foreheads were touching. She looked at him solemnly, but her eyes were merry. “I know that too. And I do understand.”
Relief washed over his features. “Really?” he asked. “Really and for true?”
“Really and for true.”
Scooter might have said something more, but found his lips answering hers as she kissed him gently but with definite warmth. At last, Sara sat back and sighed.
“I just wish there was something I could do.”
“That was a good start,” Scooter murmured, gazing at her. Sara smiled, blushing a little, and made as if to stand, but Scooter’s next words caused her to stop where she was.
“You could come, too.” Scooter blinked, hardly able to believe he’d said that last out loud.
Sara looked at him for a moment, not sure she’d heard correctly. “Come—come with you? To Las Vegas?”
“Yeah. I mean—you can stay with Janice and Camilla or some of the chorus girls.”
“Chorus girls?” Sara teased. “You didn’t tell me you worked with chorus girls.”
“Well, um,” Scooter stammered, “Some of them aren’t exactly um, girls, um, I mean, one of them is a pig and….” Scooter knew he was babbling but couldn’t seem to stop himself. Sara handled the problem herself, cupping his face in her hand and smiling into his eyes to let him know she was kidding. He subsided, but looked at her earnestly. “Do you think—I mean, will your parents, um, be okay with this? It’s Christmas and everything. I don’t want to do anything that will make them—“
“Let’s ask,” Sara said simply. “The most they can say is ‘no.’”
“Look, I said I was sorry, Honey,” Gonzo said for what seemed like the one-hundredth time. “I just lost track of time while I was, um, while I was…”
Camilla made a couple of rude “Bawk Begawks” that Rizzo needed no translation to understand. He did his best not to snicker as Camilla made a few other observations that, again, needed no translation to be perfectly understood.
“But—“ Gonzo interjected at one point, but subsided immediately under a flail of “buc buc bucs” that had Rizzo staring fixedly at the floor. If he hadn’t been afraid to leave Gonzo alone with Camilla, Rizzo would have slunk away to find supper on his own. As it was, he had practically exhausted his repertoire of carpet-observing and toe-stubbing when Camilla sailed past him in a regal huff and left a rather forlorn Gonzo staring after her. After a moment, Gonzo sighed and turned to his patient friend.
“So,” he said matter-of-factly. “All-you-can-eat buffet?”
“I’m your man,” Rizzo agreed heartily, and they made for the supper line.
They had only just left the salad bar when Rizzo let out a yelp.
“Sorry,” Gonzo muttered. “I’m trying not to step on your—“
“Not me, dummy,” Rizzo said urgently. “Look—look over there!”
It was hard to say for certain without seeing faces, but from the back the two figures ahead of them bore a remarkable resemblance to Dr. Bunsen Honeydew and his meek assistant Beaker, this despite the fact that they were both attired in shockingly bright Hawaiian shirts..
“What the hey….” Gonzo said absently. “I thought they were supposed to be at some wacky inventors convention.”
“Mad scientists, more like,” Rizzo muttered under his breath. They made their way with their laden trays to where the two men were sitting, angling to catch a glimpse of their faces.
“No really, Beaker,” Bunsen was saying, holding out a forkful of something to the man seated across from him. “Go ahead and taste it. I’m sure it’s perfectly—“
“It is you!” Rizzo said, startling Dr. Honeydew so much that he dropped his fork. Beaker looked visibly relaxed and let out a soft “Mee Meep” of relief, gesturing for Gonzo and Rizzo to join them. Rizzo sat down and tucked in with relish.
“Gonzo! Rizzo! What are you doing here?” Dr. Honeydew said. While arguably brilliant in his own field (I said arguably, okay?), Bunsen Honeydew was well known for having no clue about what was going on around him. Despite the fact that preparations for the Vegas show had been going on for well over a month, it was doubtful that any of it had penetrated to his rather dense grey matter.
“Mee Meep MeeMo Mo,” Beaker said earnestly, and Bunsen gave him a look of surprise.
“A Las Vegas show—really, Beakie? I don’t think I heard that.”
“Yeah,” Gonzo said. “We’re going to be performing at The Palace for the next few weeks. What about you guys? I thought you were going to that inventors convention in—where was it, Denver?”
“Something like that,” Bunsen muttered.
“So what are you guys doing here?” Rizzo said around a mouthful of salad. “Convention over already?”
“Oh yes,” Honeydew said vaguely. “Something to do with the implosion of the lab display room.”
“Meep meep meep meep meep meep meep,” Beaker said with a hard look at his companion.
Honeydew sniffed. “I’ve told you for the last time, Beaker, that I turned that Bunsen burner off.” He turned his back on Beaker with finality. “So—how’s the show going? You don’t, um, you don’t need any help, do you?” he said wistfully.
“Fozzie’s filling in for Scooter,” Gonzo said levelly. He and the scientist looked at each other for a long moment.
“I’ll get my things,” Honeydew said. He turned to Beaker. “Come along, Beaker. We’re moving into the Palace.”
“C’mon—we’re going to have to run to make our next connection.”
Scooter grasped Sara’s hand firmly and they ran, carry-ons banging against their legs as they loped awkwardly toward their gate.
“Keep going,” Scooter urged as the stitch in Sara’s side threatened to become an outright tear. “We’re going to make it.”
“We’d better,” rasped Sara, then put all her breath power into gaining the gate. They arrived just as the steward was getting ready to close the door. He gave them a sharp look, but Scooter thrust their tickets in his face and he sighed and let them pass. Moments later, Sara found herself settled comfortably in first class.
“How’d you rate us first class?” she asked.
“Skillful negotiating.”
Sara just looked at him, and Scooter smiled.
“Okay--they were the only seats available and I traded in about a gajillion frequent flyer miles to get them.”
“As long as you got them.” Sara pulled her hair up off of her damp neck and twisted it into a loose bun which she tried unsuccessfully to secure with a pencil. “Have you called him to tell him we’re coming?”
“Nope—I didn’t want to give him an ETA until I was sure.”
“When will you be sure?”
Scooter looked sheepish. “When we land.”
“Kermie?” Piggy’s voice was soft. She didn’t want to wake Kermit, but she wanted to know if he was still awake.
“I’m awake,” Kermit said, and Piggy knew instantly that Kermit had been doing exactly the same thing she’d been doing—lying awake and wondering if she was awake, too.
Piggy propped herself up on one elbow and looked at her husband while Kermit did the same. He smiled at her.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“No,” Piggy said quietly. “I need to—“
“Piggy, I have to tell you—“
They stopped, looking at each other. Piggy read it in his eyes.
“You saw the article.”
Kermit let out a groan. “Which one?” he muttered.
“Oh, Kermie. I…I didn’t want it to ruin our holiday.” She looked in the direction of Robin’s room. “I didn’t want Robin to….”
“No.” Kermit shot her a look. “He told me about the confetti. I have to say, you get points for creativity.”
“I didn’t have a lot to work with,” Piggy said, her cheeks coloring. “When did you find out?”
“Just before supper, when you came up here to powder your nose. You?”
“About the same time. I tried to call Marty but his phone—“ She stopped, suddenly realizing. “He was talking to you.”
“Yep.”
Piggy reached out and touched Kermit’s face. “I’m so sorry.”
Kermit took her hand, kissing the palm. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does. I wish—“
“C’mere,” Kermit said gently. He pulled Piggy into his arms and kissed her. For a few moments, Piggy forgot about being angry, forgot about being sad, forgot everything but the safety and comfort of Kermit’s embrace. “That’s what matters,” Kermit murmured some moments later. “Not what people say. Not what people think. Just you and me, Piggy—that’s what matters.”
“Oh, Kermie….”
“And if anyone says any different, fooey on ‘em,” Kermit said firmly. In spite of everything, or maybe because of it, Piggy began to smile.
“Fooey on ‘em,” Piggy agreed. She snuggled up against him, her head drooping sleepily to Kermit’s shoulder. As long as they were together, everything would be okay.
It was 8:00 the following morning. The big stage was currently empty except for the director, who was checking and rechecking some of his notes.
“Mr. the Frog?”
Kermit turned to meet one of the blue-coated casino employees standing politely.
“Please—call me Kermit,” he said. “How can I help you?”
“Well actually, sir, I hope I’ll be helping you.” He smiled with what looked like genuine fondness at a stocky, middle-aged mole with a no-nonsense squint and sensible shoes. “This is Mabel, and while you’re staying with us at the Palace she’s been assigned to take care of your group. Anything you need in the way of food service, you let Mabel know and she’ll handle it.”
“Wow—this is so nice,” Kermit said, stunned by the hotel’s thoughtfulness. He smiled and held out his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Mabel,” Kermit said. “We sure appreciate the help!”
“No problem, doll,” Mabel said easily. She gave his hand a firm shake. “I’m gonna take good care of you while you’re here. You got any special food requests, you let me know. We got carryout from any of our restaurants and a special-order cook that I’d marry in a flat second if he didn’t have a cute wife and 13 kids.” She looked Kermit up and down. “I’m guessing you don’t order much off the menu, and I hear you got a lady pig here that’s knows her food groups.”
Kermit nodded dumbly, impressed by her insight and frank nature. “Um, that’s right.”
“Got anyone here who knows their way around a kitchen?”
“You called?” Rizzo said, appearing at Kermit’s elbow as if conjured. Still bereft of a dressing room assignment, he’d moved into the kitchenette and had been wandering the hall checking out everyone else’s accommodations. He looked at Mabel speculatively. “You askin’ for a food expert?”
“Sure thing, short stuff. You think you can tell me what everybody here likes to eat?”
“Positively,” Rizzo said. “And you won’t believe half of what I tell you.”
Mabel laughed. “Honey, I raised 147 kids. Nothin’ you tell me is gonna blow my socks off.” She smiled and nodded to Kermit, dismissing him, then jerked her head at the little kitchenette. “C’mon in the kitchen and talk to Mabel. I brought some Danishes and we’ll make coffee. What’s your name, son?” She trundled off, with an ecstatic Rizzo in her wake.
“Uncle Kermit—do I have to sing this song?”
Kermit looked at Robin in surprise. “Well, no—of course not, Robin. But you usually like to be in the show—“
“Oh, I want to be in the show,” Robin said. “I just—I wanted to sing another song, instead.”
Kermit put his hands on his hips in what he hoped was a parental, or at least directorial, pose and gave Robin a stern look.
“I believe we had this conversation once before….”
Robin made a face. “Oh, that. That was a long time ago.” He assumed an air of sophistication that had Kermit’s mouth trying to quirk into a smile. “I’m much more mature now.”
“Oh, I see,” Kermit said.
Piggy, who was sitting at the piano next to Rowlf so they could run some lyrics with new accompaniment, turned her face away to hide her bemusement. Once she had her countenance under control again, she stood up and joined the two amphibians.
“Um—what song did you want to sing, Robin?”
Robin looked over at Rowlf nervously. Rowlf winked and nodded, and started to tickle the ivories with practiced ease. Robin took a deep breath and began.
“Somewhere over the rainbow way up high,” Robin sang, “there’s a place that I heard of once in a lullaby.” The number was perfect for him, his voice still as fresh and clear as a mountain stream. Kermit sighed, delighted, and stepped back to let Robin have the stage all to himself.
“Somewhere over the rainbow,” Robin continued, his voice achingly sweet. For reasons Kermit couldn’t quite explain, he felt a lump in his throat and the bright sting of tears in his eyes.
Piggy slipped her hand inside Kermit’s, clasping it tightly while they listened.
“Oh, Kermie,” Piggy whispered. “It couldn’t be more wonderful.”
“Yes,” Kermit agreed. “It’s just perfect.”
That’s funny, Fozzie thought to himself. I don’t remember that package being here yesterday. Maybe Scooter mailed something he forgot. He picked it up, shook it, and thought he heard a sound like air leaving a balloon. With a shrug, he untied the string and pulled away the brown paper. He was reaching to open the flap when the box began to jerk in his hands. Fozzie dropped it like a hot potato and covered his face with his hat in a protective gesture that was entirely reflexive. To his relief and considerable astonishment, Pepe the king prawn emerged from the somewhat travel-worn box and glared at Fozzie.
“H’okay—firs’ chou shake me, then chou drop me, h’okay?” He pointed irritably at the brown wrapper. “Is says here ‘Handle gently,” can chou not read?”
“Well, what are you doing in there, anyway?” Fozzie shot back, beginning to be annoyed.
“Is long story,” Pepe began, and Fozzie turned away, but Pepe climbed out of the box and grasped Fozzie firmly by the arm. “I make it short, h’okay? Thees woman, she say she wants me, but… Okay, she does not say it, but it is there, si, in her eyes. When I get there, she is more interested in cocktail that in cocktails, si? So I say to myself, ‘Pepe—chou must leave before you are served as an entrée, si? So, I mails myself to chou. Well, not to chou the bear but to chou Muppets. Where is the green man?”
“Green man?” Fozzie said. “Oh—he’s on stage.”
“H’okay,” Pepe said, cha-cha-cha-ing down the hall. Fozzie watched him go.
“I’m not sure this is better than a bomb,” Fozzie mutter, then turned back to the task at hand.
“Okay guys—from the top this time.” Kermit took his place with the other guys on one side of the stage and Piggy struck an aloof pose on the other end. She was wearing a dark brown wig with a long, bouncy ponytail tied up in a violet bow and a purple poodle skirt with a cute little appliqué that looked like Foo Foo on it. Lace edges peeked out when she moved, for underneath were yards and yards of crinoline, and her white angora sweater had a fashionably fifties-ish beaded collar. On her feet were turned-down bobby socks and black-and-white saddle oxfords.
The men were wearing white tees and boot cut jeans, and the hair style of the day—for those who had hair—was a DA. At a sign from Kermit, Gonzo, Rizzo and Clifford began to “bom bom bom” very softly, setting the tempo for this a cappella number. After a moment, Kermit stepped forward, gazing at Piggy’s unattainable form on the far end of the stage and began to sing in a clear, earnest voice.
“One fine day you’ll look at me, and you will know our love was meant to be—One fine day, you’re gonna want me for your guy.”
The guys chimed in with shooby-dooby do wahs, fanning out behind Kermit in choreographed moves while Howard watched critically from the audience.
Piggy didn’t acknowledge the heartfelt crooning going on behind her. She looked out over the rows of now-empty seat, seemingly indifferent to and unaware of the young man who sang so longingly near by.
“Those arms I long for,” Kermit sang, “will open wide, and you’ll be proud to have me by your side—One fine day, you’re gonna want me for your guy.”
More shooby-doobying, with Clifford deep bass voice anchoring the careful blend of voices.
“Though I know you’re the kind of girl who only wants to run around,” Kermit began. “I’ll keep waiting and—“ He faltered, looking panicked and blank. “Cue, please,” he called. Fozzie who, God bless him, was trying really hard, flipped pages helplessly and gave Kermit back a pretty fair imitation of his own blank and distressed look.
“It’s okay, Fozzie,” Kermit said quietly. “I can’t seem to keep my mind on what I’m doing today.” He looked at his back-up group apologetically. “I’m sorry guys—can we take a break? I need to take a few minutes to get my head on straight.” He left them standing in a huddle and walked, not toward the crowded dressing rooms, but out the back of the auditorium.
“Alright, gentlemen,” Howard said testily. “Try to look a little less wooden on stage, okay? This is an upbeat piece—lots of energy.” He snapped his fingers, setting a peppier tempo. “Like this,” he said, “One, two, three and—“ He put them through their paces vocally and cleaned up the choreography in a couple of places.
Piggy stood where she had been and watched Kermit exit, her features pale and thoughtful. Fozzie came up behind her.
“I’m sorry,” he said miserably. “Was that—was that my fault, too?”
“No,” Piggy said quietly, reaching to pat his hand in a comforting manner. “It’s not anything you need to fix.” She turned and smiled wanly at the anxious bear. “Here,” she said, her voice brisk. “Let me help you with that clipboard.”
Welcome to the Muppet Central Forum!
Jim Henson Idea Man
Back to the Rock Season 2
Bear arrives on Disney+
Sam and Friends Book
Fabulous, but oh man that press release! Poor Kermit and Piggy.
