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Chapter 112: Amateur Night, Part II
Sara stared sadly at her little tray of two beautiful sirloin steaks. She sighed at her carefully set table and, like Piggy, she lamented her unnecessary purchase from the lingerie store. Scooter had sounded terribly down and dejected when he called, and she had immediately soothed his worry about spoiling their romantic night. Well, romantic weekend—not. Sara sighed again. She put the steaks back into the freezer, letting the cold air wash over her hot face, and told herself that this was temporary, was necessary, and was part of loving someone in show business. It did not help as much as she hoped it would. She started to close the freezer, but her eye fell on the ten-pound log of lean hamburger nestled coolly up against the ice trays and an idea began to ferment. She shut the freezer door quickly and leaned again the fridge door, thinking. In her mind, she went over the contents of her little pantry, then walked across and opened the door to make sure she had not mis-remembered. She had not. She went back and took the hamburger out of the freezer, setting it in the sink for a minute.
There was no reason to be lonely and miserable on Valentine’s Day just because Scooter had to work. Heck, last year they had just started dating and Scooter and Kermit and Fozzie and the Angels had all been out in the fake desert shooting film, so all she’d gotten were chocolates and a sweet phone call, so it wasn’t like she was used to a lot of pampering. Besides, compared to the devastating disappointment that Kermit and Piggy must be feeling—especially Piggy, poor thing—Sara found it hard to dredge up a lot of self-pity. And she knew what to do about the spot of self-pity she was currently wallowing in.
She set the microwave on defrost and put the frozen meat in a shallow baking pan. While that hummed quietly, she peeled potatoes, and rummaged around in the vegetable crisper for the makings of a decent tossed salad. Looking at the vegetables, she made a face. She had counted on making a one-bowl-two-serving chocolate fudge cake that they could share for dessert, but the mix would make a cake just as well. She looked at the several food projects spread before her and decided that she was going to need reinforcements for this party. Sara tapped her lip thoughtfully. Who would still be available on Valentine’s Day and ready for a little distraction?
In the quiet of the kitchen, Sara giggled, and dialed the phone. Someone answered on the third ring.
“Gonzo the Great, ready to fulfill you daredevil needs at the drop of a hat!” came a familiar raspy voice.
“Hi Gonzo—it’s Sara,” she said.
“Oh, hi Sara! What’s up? Need someone to dive down your drain?”
“Oh, um, no—thanks. I…well, this isn’t exactly dangerous, but I’m trying to stage a party on very short notice.”
“Too bad Piggy’s in New York,” Gonzo said dryly.
“Yes. I thought so, too, but I hoped you might be crazy enough to try to help me….”
It was blatant. It was manipulative. It was…effective.
Gonzo laughed his gravelly laugh. “Sure thing, Sara,” he said. “Tell me what I can do to help.”
“All I know is there’s food,” said Rizzo. “And Sara’s cooking.”
“Si, si—Hi am ins, h’okay? Jus’ tell me where to go.”
“Great,” said Rizzo. “Look—I’m calling Camilla. Can you call Gloria Jean and see if she’ll tell the girls?”
Rizzo’s voice was nonchalant, but Pepe gave him a knowing smirk.
“I see what you are doings,” he said. “Jou are calling Gonzo’s girlfriend because she is mad at him, and jou are not calling Gloria Jean because she is mad at you.”
“We’re not mad. We’re just, um, it’s a little awkward, you know? It was fun, but it’s over now. No blood, no foul. Just, you know, awkward.”
Pepe looked skeptical. “H’okay,” he said. “If jou say so.”
Rizzo put his hands on his hips. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had an awkward break-up,” said Rizzo. “I’ve known you too long, you little shrimp.”
“Hi am a king prawn, and Hi have never had an awkward breakup. Hi have had restraining orders and a few misunderstandings that resulted in lawsuits, but no awkwardness.”
“Just dial the phone, h’okay?” Rizzo said.
“Are jou making fun of me?” Pepe demanded, but Rizzo had the phone up to his ear by then.
“Hey, Camilla—yeah, hi. Look, I know it’s short notice and everything….”
Rory caught her just as she was leaving for her apartment.
“Hey,” he said. “I…I just heard. Gosh, I’m sorry, Piggy.”
Piggy nodded. She assumed it was all over backstage by now, and she was determined to make light of it. It was unprofessional to let your personal life overshadow your performance.
“These things happen,” Piggy said shortly.
“They do,” said Rory. “Trust me—I know. With both of us in shows, our schedule is a nightmare. I’m sorry things didn’t work out for tonight.” He looked at her duffle and coat. “You heading for home now?”
“Yes. Mr. Finkel is waiting for me outside.”
“That nice cabbie?”
“Yes. He’s coming to the show tonight and bringing his wife.”
“Be careful, okay? Everybody knows you’re here now.”
Piggy sighed. Yes, she thought. Everybody knew she was here, and Kermit was in California. The tabloids were bound to have a field day.
Rory had openly intimated that there seemed to be a direct gossip line to the outside world, despite Mr. Lawrence’s dictates to the contrary. Tomorrow she would wake up to reviews of her performance in the papers and a dissection of her relationship with Kermit in the tabloids. She could hardly wait.
Piggy reached down deep and pulled out one of her diva smiles. “Everybody knows Moi is here now—which is just as it should be. So get your game face on, Ducky—we’re going knock them flat tonight.”
“You bet!” said Rory and watched her go. He knew she must be devastated, or at the least bitterly disappointed, but her self-assured sashay out the theater door revealed none of that inner turmoil.
Man, thought Rory. The pig can really act.
Tricia had said she’d packed a dress. Clifford would have said she’d packed most of a dress. He gaped at her trim figure in a goth-like black lace dress with an artfully tattered hem and an irregular neckline that fell off one pale shoulder. Biker boots—biker boots with metal heels—put her almost at his height.
“I think the word you’re looking for is stunning,” said Tricia, then gave Clifford a critical once-over. She reached out the touched the smooth surface of his qiana shirt approvingly. “Nice,” she said. “Wherever you dug this up—I want to come some time.”
“And give away my secrets for looking this good?” said Clifford, looking shocked.
“Would it make you feel better or worse to know Hubby and I used to wear stuff like that?” Mabel asked.
“Better,” said Clifford. “I’ll be you were one hot tamale, Mabel.”
“Worse,” said Tricia. “Don’t make me go change.”
Mabel shooed them out the door.
“Have fun and be careful. There are a lot of nut-jobs out there on the strip.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“I’ll watch out for her, Mabel. See you later.”
They walked out into adventure.
“I wish they’d stock these thing with real food,” Scooter grumbled. The closest thing to an entrée in the vending machine was a package of cheese crackers, but Scooter had already had a package and he wasn’t in the mood for seconds. By this time, he should have been home already, with lunch a distant memory and supper sizzling in the oven.
“Tell me about it,” said Kermit. “And the candy selection stinks, too.”
There had been nothing for it but to dive head-first into the work, and they had done it mostly without complaining. They might be forgiven a little churlishness about the food choices.
“Yeah,” said Scooter. “What I wouldn’t give for a nice, juicy—“
“Helloooo? Where are you guys?”
Scooter turned, homing in on the sound of that voice.
“Sara?” he asked.
“And company,” she said. She peeked around the little kitchen doorway. “Where do you want the food?”
Kermit and Scooter stared as more familiar faces piled up behind her in the doorway. Smiling faces and hands carrying food that smelled more amazing than anything they had dared imagine.
“What?” Kermit said. “Sara—what is all this?”
“Well, you stole my guy on Valentine’s Day,” Sara teased. “So I thought—if you can’t beat them, join them. And bring food,” she added.
Kermit swallowed, the second time in one week that he’d been moved almost to tears by someone’s thoughtfulness.
“Sara, Gonzo—guys—this is, this is really sweet.”
“Speech is over—let’s eat,” said Scooter, and stepped forward to take the tray out of Sara’s hands. “Are those…are those chipotle sliders?”
“With blue cheese,” said Sara.
“And apricot chutney!” said Gonzo. Scooter traded looks with Sara and she shrugged. Kermit still seemed hesitant and Sara looked a little flustered.
“It’s—they’re, um, beef,” she said uncertainly. “I hope that’s okay?”
Kermit smiled. He’d undoubtedly spoiled her Valentine’s Day, and she was worried about the hot food she’d brought him in return.
“Sara, it’s okay—in fact, it’s wonderful,” he said. “Trust me, frog’s aren’t picky—and they smell wonderful.”
Sara relaxed and smiled, stepping back as Fozzie reached between them to place a tray of cupcakes on the counter.
“Look!” he said, pointing proudly. “Red and white sprinkles!”
The opening went off without a hitch. Piggy hit every mark and every note and every trashy nuance the part called for. Popularity was not necessary for professionalism, and Piggy used her disappointment and frustration to fill any chinks in her armor. On stage, she was a force to be reckoned with; backstage, she was distant and untouchable. Only Rory seemed genuinely friendly, and he was gentle with her both onstage and off. By the time they had danced and sung their way through a couple of songs, Piggy felt some of the tightness in her chest give way. She found that she could play to her on-screen boyfriend with genuine fondness, and he seemed to take great delight in every little cock of her hip or shimmy-shake that she threw into her dancing.
Piggy found that being on Broadway was, after all, rather thrilling. Despite her disappointment over Kermit’s late-minute cancellation, nothing could quite damp the joy of the audience roar when she took her first solo, or pulled one of Rizzo’s calculatedly mean pranks on Sandy. And, friendly or not, the sacred mantra “The show must go on!” canceled all other personal concerns once the overture began to play. The girls that had not yet opened one pencil-thin gap into their inner circle nonetheless played convincingly loyal Pink Ladies, listening attentively as she lectured on the questionable purity of “Pinks” verses the innocence of Sandy, and their party hi-jinks proved almost as much fun as they looked to the audience.
Nevertheless, all good things and all distractions come to an inevitable end, and once the show was over and the bows were taken, Piggy found herself moving slowly as she changed into street clothes and took off her makeup in front of the big mirror. The brunette wig she was wearing had been a bit of a surprise to her cast-mates, and Piggy thought they might ought to have practiced with it. It was funny how the way you looked—or a change in the way you looked—could spark such a difference in the way you were treated. She surveyed the dark, pixie-ish hairdo critically, noting the way it reshaped the planes if her face. Wardrobe had come through in spades, and her on-stage outfits had been spot-on, although if her jeans had not had a healthy dose of spandex in the material, she doubted she’d have been able to move, much less dance.
Most of the others had gone, Piggy assumed, and she had the big lighted mirror to herself as she carefully removed her stage makeup. Sitting in front of the mirror, Piggy felt the weight of eyes on her, and turned around twice to see who it was before she realized that the gaze she felt so intuitively was from Kermit. She looked down to see the picture of Kermit smiling up at her, and her big blue eyes filled with tears.
She had teased him a little—swearing that she had a picture of him in his Kermit Klein’s on her table for the world to see—but the picture she had was actually the one of him that she liked the best. He was smiling up at her without benefit of designer clothes or costumes or, really, anything that interfered with the benevolent smile on his face. Piggy remembered being in the photographer’s studio with him when that picture had been taken, remembered the way he had fumed grumpily at the excess interest paid to her by all the photographers. She laughed in spite of herself, remembering the way he had stopped, put his hands on his hips and given her and all of them such a look that they had all laughed. And then Kermit had laughed, too, and smiled at her just so to show that he knew, he understood. One of the photographers—honestly, she couldn’t even remember their names half the time—had snapped the picture, the picture that now stood before her in its little gold frame.
The picture in the frame was blurry now, hidden with a veil of salty tears, but Piggy didn’t move to wipe the wetness from her cheeks. She sat and looked at Kermit, at his bulbous eyes, brimming with playfulness; at his neck frill, which she longed to run her hands under right now; at her frog’s smooth, sexy scalp, and the world seemed suddenly mean and unfair.
She wanted Kermit! She did not want to go home to her little apartment where she had so longed to snuggle up to her husband tonight. She did not want to be here—that is, thousands of miles away from her frog and her house and the wacky and even annoying cast and crew members that peopled their lives in Hollywood. Piggy could not think where to go or what to do. She wanted to go home, but that was impossible now. She couldn’t go to her “home away from home” now, empty and forlorn. She couldn’t call Kermit and hear his voice because he would know she was upset and feel terrible himself. She couldn’t call Marty and say, “I’m so miserable I could just die” because that would imply ungratefulness for the magnificent opportunity she had. She thought of calling Thoreau, but lacked the energy to dig her phone out of her purse.
So, lacking a plan or a will to implement it, Piggy sat at the little dressing table with her head down on her arms and just cried and cried.
How much time had actually passed she never knew, but Piggy heard, with horror, the doorknob begin to twist. She looked up into the mirror at her tear-ravaged face and groped about desperately for some excuse for her red eyes and blotchy skin. In her panic, she knocked the photo of Kermit onto the floor. The glass shattered, the door opened and Piggy burst into tears all over again, completely unable to help herself.
Sandy and the Pink Ladies couldn’t have looked more horrified if Rizzo had suddenly sprouted wings on stage and flown away. Piggy’s female cast-mates looked at each other, eyes wide, then at Piggy, who had surged out of her seat and was trying to rescue the picture of Kermit from the shattered glass on the floor. Carefully, Piggy reached for the picture, pulling it out by the tip, but a fragment of glass scored her index finger through the satin gloves. She jerked back instinctively and put the bleeding digit into her mouth.
Piggy’s cast-mates weren’t unkind. They weren’t even really unfriendly, but the miserable start they’d gotten off to had never quite faded, and it had left them intimate strangers sharing a dressing room and a drama, but little else. They looked at each other in shock and astonishment. They had never seen Miss Piggy rattled before, much less tearful. The walls that had been erected cracked and crumbled, and they reached out to a fellow creature in distress like the warm and generous hearts they really were.
Stacy caught Piggy’s arm before she could finish kneeling on the floor and held her up. Piggy was wearing only her short silk wrapping gown, and her bare legs were vulnerable.
“Don’t,” Stacy said gently. “You’ll cut yourself. Here—let me.” She reached out two pink painted nails and snagged the picture gingerly between her fingers, drawing it carefully free from the wreckage of the frame. She handed it back to Piggy who hugged it protectively and did not look up.
“You okay?” asked Trudy kindly. Piggy nodded but kept her face averted. Darcy came up behind Trudy and Stacy and saw the picture cradled in Piggy’s hands.
“Oh! You broke your picture of the frog!” she blurted. “The frog who stood you up tonight!”
Darcy was hushed with great ferocity by the others as Piggy shoulders began to shake. Piggy wished they would leave, but she couldn’t seem to make herself ask. She couldn’t seem to do much of anything at the moment except cry because Kermit wasn’t here.
Oh! How horrible this was going to be tomorrow! Tomorrow, everyone in the cast and crew would know that, not only had her husband not come to see her, but that she had made a blubbering idiot of herself in front of—
“Hey,” said Kristen gently. “Look—it’s okay. We’ll get the custodian to clean this up and get you a new frame tomorrow, okay?”
It took a moment to register. Someone was being nice to her. Someone was offering to help. Piggy chanced a glance up at the four faces looking down at her.
“Really?” she asked. “I—I knocked the picture off when I was….” Piggy trailed off. It was obvious what she’d been doing—sobbing her heart out. She looked down again, her face flushed.
“Of course,” said Trudy. “We can get you a new frame for that—one to hang up.”
Piggy’s “thank you” was almost inaudible, and the four women exchanged miserable glances.
“I’m sorry about your picture,” said Darcy. “And I’m sorry you got, um, that he didn’t…I’m sorry!” she finished helplessly. Tact was not her strong suit.
“He was supposed to come,” Piggy said, so desperate for someone to understand that she chanced an explanation. “He had a problem at work and missed his flight. He...can’t come see me,” she finished, and felt tears leak down her snout.
As usual, Kristen stepped to take the lead. “Oh, Honey—I’m sorry. We all know what it’s like to be disappointed by a man.”
“But he didn’t!” Piggy wailed. “He wouldn’t.”
There was an awkward silence, but Piggy pressed on.
“Kermit was supposed to come—he was coming to see me on opening night and we were supposed to…supposed to spend the weekend together.” She saw the looks of surprise on their faces and shook her head sadly. “Look—I don’t know what you’ve heard or what you’ve read but I—but Kermit and I—“ She shook her head in defeat. “Never mind,” she said wearily. “It doesn’t matter.” She felt tired enough to sleep for a week.
“So…you and the mister are still, um, mister-and-missus-ing?” asked Stacey doubtfully.
Piggy leapt at the opening. “Yes!” she cried. “Of course!” She looked from one pretty face to the next, looking to see if her words were getting through. “I love Kermit! And he loves me! And everything you’ve read about us splitting up is a lie! A stupid, awful, miserable lie, only now that I’m here and he’s there it’s even more awful, because no one understands, or believes or…oh, what’s the use?”
But Piggy was getting through. The women looked at each other in consternation.
“So all of the…stuff in the papers—that’s just, you know, bunk?” asked Darcy wonderingly.
“That’s one word for it,” Piggy muttered.
“And you and Mr. the Frog aren’t splitsville?”
“No! No, no, no!” Piggy cried. “And he’s supposed to come and see me, only there was a problem with the film we did and….” Piggy trailed off. In this business, news traveled fast—true or not. She did not want to imply that the film was in trouble. “But Kermit couldn’t make his plane, so he…he couldn’t come.” She looked to each of them in turn. “I know you probably don’t believe me, but it’s true.”
Stacy stepped forward and put her hand on Piggy’s shoulder. “I believe you,” she said. “I believe you, and I’m sorry about your picture and…” She looked around at the other ladies, noting their nods of approval and encouragement. “And Piggy, we’re, um, we’re sorry we were such witches. We didn’t even give you a chance to show us what you were really like.”
“Here,” said Darcy. She handed Piggy a box of tissues, and Piggy pulled a handful out and wiped her face with them. “I’m really sorry,” Darcy said earnestly. “Don’t pay any attention to me—I got a big mouth.”
“Goes with your big—“ said Trudy.
“Hey!” Darcy said, indignantly. She crossed her arms across her chest, and everyone erupted into giggles. Even Piggy managed a few moist, hiccup-y sounds before subsiding.
“So this is your guy,” Stacey said gently. She reached for the picture of Kermit but stopped before she took it from Piggy. “May I?”
Piggy nodded, and Stacey picked up the little picture and looked at it carefully. She had not really looked at it before, assuming it was window-dressing to bolster Piggy’s claims of wedded bliss.
What a nice smile, she thought with surprise. And he has very gentle eyes.
“Kermit—is that right?”
“Yes. Kermie, um, Kermit the Frog.”
Darcy squatted beside Piggy’s chair. “You guys been together for a long time, huh?”
Piggy nodded. “Since the beginning.” It was true. Although Marty had been there first to push, to cajole, to encourage and bargain and rant, it had not been until Kermit came on the scene that Piggy began to reach her potential as a performer. On the personal front, they brought out the best (and some of the worst) in each other, but the work had always been sensational. You only had to put them on stage together or in front of a camera and things began to happen—things they sometimes couldn’t predict, couldn’t control, and the audience always seemed to love it. Working with Kermit was a high Piggy couldn’t get enough of, but she would have stayed even if it wasn’t. Something in those kind eyes—something she had seen or felt or simply known—had told her that, with Kermit, she’d always be safe.
“And I thought I’d been with my guy for a long time,” teased Kristen.
“Come on, Piggy—here—“ said Trudy, holding out a little black tube. “Put on a little lipstick and let’s go get a bite to eat.”
Piggy’s eyes brightened hopefully at the mention of food. Aside from her impromptu dinner with Tim, since arriving in New York, she’d eaten every single meal as well as every single morsel in between by herself. For the first time she could remember, Piggy had not looked forward to mealtime. “Really?” she said, lifting her still-wet face to look at her new friends.
“Really. Let’s go hit the vegetarian grill. Sound good?”
“Wonderful,” Piggy sighed.
“Yeah—I love The Grill,” Darcy said. “They have a tofu shish-kabob that’s so good you’ll swear you were eating—“
“Darcy!”
Darcy gulped and swallowed what she’d been about to say. “Sorry,’ she said meekly. “And they have really good salads, too.”
Once again, everybody laughed, and Piggy joined in with relish. Kermit had not come, and she had survived. The show had opened and she’d seemed to be well-received. She might have just made her first new friends in New York. Yes, this was new and a little scary and lonely, but she was okay—or she was going to be okay. She was going to make it after all.
Sara stared sadly at her little tray of two beautiful sirloin steaks. She sighed at her carefully set table and, like Piggy, she lamented her unnecessary purchase from the lingerie store. Scooter had sounded terribly down and dejected when he called, and she had immediately soothed his worry about spoiling their romantic night. Well, romantic weekend—not. Sara sighed again. She put the steaks back into the freezer, letting the cold air wash over her hot face, and told herself that this was temporary, was necessary, and was part of loving someone in show business. It did not help as much as she hoped it would. She started to close the freezer, but her eye fell on the ten-pound log of lean hamburger nestled coolly up against the ice trays and an idea began to ferment. She shut the freezer door quickly and leaned again the fridge door, thinking. In her mind, she went over the contents of her little pantry, then walked across and opened the door to make sure she had not mis-remembered. She had not. She went back and took the hamburger out of the freezer, setting it in the sink for a minute.
There was no reason to be lonely and miserable on Valentine’s Day just because Scooter had to work. Heck, last year they had just started dating and Scooter and Kermit and Fozzie and the Angels had all been out in the fake desert shooting film, so all she’d gotten were chocolates and a sweet phone call, so it wasn’t like she was used to a lot of pampering. Besides, compared to the devastating disappointment that Kermit and Piggy must be feeling—especially Piggy, poor thing—Sara found it hard to dredge up a lot of self-pity. And she knew what to do about the spot of self-pity she was currently wallowing in.
She set the microwave on defrost and put the frozen meat in a shallow baking pan. While that hummed quietly, she peeled potatoes, and rummaged around in the vegetable crisper for the makings of a decent tossed salad. Looking at the vegetables, she made a face. She had counted on making a one-bowl-two-serving chocolate fudge cake that they could share for dessert, but the mix would make a cake just as well. She looked at the several food projects spread before her and decided that she was going to need reinforcements for this party. Sara tapped her lip thoughtfully. Who would still be available on Valentine’s Day and ready for a little distraction?
In the quiet of the kitchen, Sara giggled, and dialed the phone. Someone answered on the third ring.
“Gonzo the Great, ready to fulfill you daredevil needs at the drop of a hat!” came a familiar raspy voice.
“Hi Gonzo—it’s Sara,” she said.
“Oh, hi Sara! What’s up? Need someone to dive down your drain?”
“Oh, um, no—thanks. I…well, this isn’t exactly dangerous, but I’m trying to stage a party on very short notice.”
“Too bad Piggy’s in New York,” Gonzo said dryly.
“Yes. I thought so, too, but I hoped you might be crazy enough to try to help me….”
It was blatant. It was manipulative. It was…effective.
Gonzo laughed his gravelly laugh. “Sure thing, Sara,” he said. “Tell me what I can do to help.”
“All I know is there’s food,” said Rizzo. “And Sara’s cooking.”
“Si, si—Hi am ins, h’okay? Jus’ tell me where to go.”
“Great,” said Rizzo. “Look—I’m calling Camilla. Can you call Gloria Jean and see if she’ll tell the girls?”
Rizzo’s voice was nonchalant, but Pepe gave him a knowing smirk.
“I see what you are doings,” he said. “Jou are calling Gonzo’s girlfriend because she is mad at him, and jou are not calling Gloria Jean because she is mad at you.”
“We’re not mad. We’re just, um, it’s a little awkward, you know? It was fun, but it’s over now. No blood, no foul. Just, you know, awkward.”
Pepe looked skeptical. “H’okay,” he said. “If jou say so.”
Rizzo put his hands on his hips. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had an awkward break-up,” said Rizzo. “I’ve known you too long, you little shrimp.”
“Hi am a king prawn, and Hi have never had an awkward breakup. Hi have had restraining orders and a few misunderstandings that resulted in lawsuits, but no awkwardness.”
“Just dial the phone, h’okay?” Rizzo said.
“Are jou making fun of me?” Pepe demanded, but Rizzo had the phone up to his ear by then.
“Hey, Camilla—yeah, hi. Look, I know it’s short notice and everything….”
Rory caught her just as she was leaving for her apartment.
“Hey,” he said. “I…I just heard. Gosh, I’m sorry, Piggy.”
Piggy nodded. She assumed it was all over backstage by now, and she was determined to make light of it. It was unprofessional to let your personal life overshadow your performance.
“These things happen,” Piggy said shortly.
“They do,” said Rory. “Trust me—I know. With both of us in shows, our schedule is a nightmare. I’m sorry things didn’t work out for tonight.” He looked at her duffle and coat. “You heading for home now?”
“Yes. Mr. Finkel is waiting for me outside.”
“That nice cabbie?”
“Yes. He’s coming to the show tonight and bringing his wife.”
“Be careful, okay? Everybody knows you’re here now.”
Piggy sighed. Yes, she thought. Everybody knew she was here, and Kermit was in California. The tabloids were bound to have a field day.
Rory had openly intimated that there seemed to be a direct gossip line to the outside world, despite Mr. Lawrence’s dictates to the contrary. Tomorrow she would wake up to reviews of her performance in the papers and a dissection of her relationship with Kermit in the tabloids. She could hardly wait.
Piggy reached down deep and pulled out one of her diva smiles. “Everybody knows Moi is here now—which is just as it should be. So get your game face on, Ducky—we’re going knock them flat tonight.”
“You bet!” said Rory and watched her go. He knew she must be devastated, or at the least bitterly disappointed, but her self-assured sashay out the theater door revealed none of that inner turmoil.
Man, thought Rory. The pig can really act.
Tricia had said she’d packed a dress. Clifford would have said she’d packed most of a dress. He gaped at her trim figure in a goth-like black lace dress with an artfully tattered hem and an irregular neckline that fell off one pale shoulder. Biker boots—biker boots with metal heels—put her almost at his height.
“I think the word you’re looking for is stunning,” said Tricia, then gave Clifford a critical once-over. She reached out the touched the smooth surface of his qiana shirt approvingly. “Nice,” she said. “Wherever you dug this up—I want to come some time.”
“And give away my secrets for looking this good?” said Clifford, looking shocked.
“Would it make you feel better or worse to know Hubby and I used to wear stuff like that?” Mabel asked.
“Better,” said Clifford. “I’ll be you were one hot tamale, Mabel.”
“Worse,” said Tricia. “Don’t make me go change.”
Mabel shooed them out the door.
“Have fun and be careful. There are a lot of nut-jobs out there on the strip.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“I’ll watch out for her, Mabel. See you later.”
They walked out into adventure.
“I wish they’d stock these thing with real food,” Scooter grumbled. The closest thing to an entrée in the vending machine was a package of cheese crackers, but Scooter had already had a package and he wasn’t in the mood for seconds. By this time, he should have been home already, with lunch a distant memory and supper sizzling in the oven.
“Tell me about it,” said Kermit. “And the candy selection stinks, too.”
There had been nothing for it but to dive head-first into the work, and they had done it mostly without complaining. They might be forgiven a little churlishness about the food choices.
“Yeah,” said Scooter. “What I wouldn’t give for a nice, juicy—“
“Helloooo? Where are you guys?”
Scooter turned, homing in on the sound of that voice.
“Sara?” he asked.
“And company,” she said. She peeked around the little kitchen doorway. “Where do you want the food?”
Kermit and Scooter stared as more familiar faces piled up behind her in the doorway. Smiling faces and hands carrying food that smelled more amazing than anything they had dared imagine.
“What?” Kermit said. “Sara—what is all this?”
“Well, you stole my guy on Valentine’s Day,” Sara teased. “So I thought—if you can’t beat them, join them. And bring food,” she added.
Kermit swallowed, the second time in one week that he’d been moved almost to tears by someone’s thoughtfulness.
“Sara, Gonzo—guys—this is, this is really sweet.”
“Speech is over—let’s eat,” said Scooter, and stepped forward to take the tray out of Sara’s hands. “Are those…are those chipotle sliders?”
“With blue cheese,” said Sara.
“And apricot chutney!” said Gonzo. Scooter traded looks with Sara and she shrugged. Kermit still seemed hesitant and Sara looked a little flustered.
“It’s—they’re, um, beef,” she said uncertainly. “I hope that’s okay?”
Kermit smiled. He’d undoubtedly spoiled her Valentine’s Day, and she was worried about the hot food she’d brought him in return.
“Sara, it’s okay—in fact, it’s wonderful,” he said. “Trust me, frog’s aren’t picky—and they smell wonderful.”
Sara relaxed and smiled, stepping back as Fozzie reached between them to place a tray of cupcakes on the counter.
“Look!” he said, pointing proudly. “Red and white sprinkles!”
The opening went off without a hitch. Piggy hit every mark and every note and every trashy nuance the part called for. Popularity was not necessary for professionalism, and Piggy used her disappointment and frustration to fill any chinks in her armor. On stage, she was a force to be reckoned with; backstage, she was distant and untouchable. Only Rory seemed genuinely friendly, and he was gentle with her both onstage and off. By the time they had danced and sung their way through a couple of songs, Piggy felt some of the tightness in her chest give way. She found that she could play to her on-screen boyfriend with genuine fondness, and he seemed to take great delight in every little cock of her hip or shimmy-shake that she threw into her dancing.
Piggy found that being on Broadway was, after all, rather thrilling. Despite her disappointment over Kermit’s late-minute cancellation, nothing could quite damp the joy of the audience roar when she took her first solo, or pulled one of Rizzo’s calculatedly mean pranks on Sandy. And, friendly or not, the sacred mantra “The show must go on!” canceled all other personal concerns once the overture began to play. The girls that had not yet opened one pencil-thin gap into their inner circle nonetheless played convincingly loyal Pink Ladies, listening attentively as she lectured on the questionable purity of “Pinks” verses the innocence of Sandy, and their party hi-jinks proved almost as much fun as they looked to the audience.
Nevertheless, all good things and all distractions come to an inevitable end, and once the show was over and the bows were taken, Piggy found herself moving slowly as she changed into street clothes and took off her makeup in front of the big mirror. The brunette wig she was wearing had been a bit of a surprise to her cast-mates, and Piggy thought they might ought to have practiced with it. It was funny how the way you looked—or a change in the way you looked—could spark such a difference in the way you were treated. She surveyed the dark, pixie-ish hairdo critically, noting the way it reshaped the planes if her face. Wardrobe had come through in spades, and her on-stage outfits had been spot-on, although if her jeans had not had a healthy dose of spandex in the material, she doubted she’d have been able to move, much less dance.
Most of the others had gone, Piggy assumed, and she had the big lighted mirror to herself as she carefully removed her stage makeup. Sitting in front of the mirror, Piggy felt the weight of eyes on her, and turned around twice to see who it was before she realized that the gaze she felt so intuitively was from Kermit. She looked down to see the picture of Kermit smiling up at her, and her big blue eyes filled with tears.
She had teased him a little—swearing that she had a picture of him in his Kermit Klein’s on her table for the world to see—but the picture she had was actually the one of him that she liked the best. He was smiling up at her without benefit of designer clothes or costumes or, really, anything that interfered with the benevolent smile on his face. Piggy remembered being in the photographer’s studio with him when that picture had been taken, remembered the way he had fumed grumpily at the excess interest paid to her by all the photographers. She laughed in spite of herself, remembering the way he had stopped, put his hands on his hips and given her and all of them such a look that they had all laughed. And then Kermit had laughed, too, and smiled at her just so to show that he knew, he understood. One of the photographers—honestly, she couldn’t even remember their names half the time—had snapped the picture, the picture that now stood before her in its little gold frame.
The picture in the frame was blurry now, hidden with a veil of salty tears, but Piggy didn’t move to wipe the wetness from her cheeks. She sat and looked at Kermit, at his bulbous eyes, brimming with playfulness; at his neck frill, which she longed to run her hands under right now; at her frog’s smooth, sexy scalp, and the world seemed suddenly mean and unfair.
She wanted Kermit! She did not want to go home to her little apartment where she had so longed to snuggle up to her husband tonight. She did not want to be here—that is, thousands of miles away from her frog and her house and the wacky and even annoying cast and crew members that peopled their lives in Hollywood. Piggy could not think where to go or what to do. She wanted to go home, but that was impossible now. She couldn’t go to her “home away from home” now, empty and forlorn. She couldn’t call Kermit and hear his voice because he would know she was upset and feel terrible himself. She couldn’t call Marty and say, “I’m so miserable I could just die” because that would imply ungratefulness for the magnificent opportunity she had. She thought of calling Thoreau, but lacked the energy to dig her phone out of her purse.
So, lacking a plan or a will to implement it, Piggy sat at the little dressing table with her head down on her arms and just cried and cried.
How much time had actually passed she never knew, but Piggy heard, with horror, the doorknob begin to twist. She looked up into the mirror at her tear-ravaged face and groped about desperately for some excuse for her red eyes and blotchy skin. In her panic, she knocked the photo of Kermit onto the floor. The glass shattered, the door opened and Piggy burst into tears all over again, completely unable to help herself.
Sandy and the Pink Ladies couldn’t have looked more horrified if Rizzo had suddenly sprouted wings on stage and flown away. Piggy’s female cast-mates looked at each other, eyes wide, then at Piggy, who had surged out of her seat and was trying to rescue the picture of Kermit from the shattered glass on the floor. Carefully, Piggy reached for the picture, pulling it out by the tip, but a fragment of glass scored her index finger through the satin gloves. She jerked back instinctively and put the bleeding digit into her mouth.
Piggy’s cast-mates weren’t unkind. They weren’t even really unfriendly, but the miserable start they’d gotten off to had never quite faded, and it had left them intimate strangers sharing a dressing room and a drama, but little else. They looked at each other in shock and astonishment. They had never seen Miss Piggy rattled before, much less tearful. The walls that had been erected cracked and crumbled, and they reached out to a fellow creature in distress like the warm and generous hearts they really were.
Stacy caught Piggy’s arm before she could finish kneeling on the floor and held her up. Piggy was wearing only her short silk wrapping gown, and her bare legs were vulnerable.
“Don’t,” Stacy said gently. “You’ll cut yourself. Here—let me.” She reached out two pink painted nails and snagged the picture gingerly between her fingers, drawing it carefully free from the wreckage of the frame. She handed it back to Piggy who hugged it protectively and did not look up.
“You okay?” asked Trudy kindly. Piggy nodded but kept her face averted. Darcy came up behind Trudy and Stacy and saw the picture cradled in Piggy’s hands.
“Oh! You broke your picture of the frog!” she blurted. “The frog who stood you up tonight!”
Darcy was hushed with great ferocity by the others as Piggy shoulders began to shake. Piggy wished they would leave, but she couldn’t seem to make herself ask. She couldn’t seem to do much of anything at the moment except cry because Kermit wasn’t here.
Oh! How horrible this was going to be tomorrow! Tomorrow, everyone in the cast and crew would know that, not only had her husband not come to see her, but that she had made a blubbering idiot of herself in front of—
“Hey,” said Kristen gently. “Look—it’s okay. We’ll get the custodian to clean this up and get you a new frame tomorrow, okay?”
It took a moment to register. Someone was being nice to her. Someone was offering to help. Piggy chanced a glance up at the four faces looking down at her.
“Really?” she asked. “I—I knocked the picture off when I was….” Piggy trailed off. It was obvious what she’d been doing—sobbing her heart out. She looked down again, her face flushed.
“Of course,” said Trudy. “We can get you a new frame for that—one to hang up.”
Piggy’s “thank you” was almost inaudible, and the four women exchanged miserable glances.
“I’m sorry about your picture,” said Darcy. “And I’m sorry you got, um, that he didn’t…I’m sorry!” she finished helplessly. Tact was not her strong suit.
“He was supposed to come,” Piggy said, so desperate for someone to understand that she chanced an explanation. “He had a problem at work and missed his flight. He...can’t come see me,” she finished, and felt tears leak down her snout.
As usual, Kristen stepped to take the lead. “Oh, Honey—I’m sorry. We all know what it’s like to be disappointed by a man.”
“But he didn’t!” Piggy wailed. “He wouldn’t.”
There was an awkward silence, but Piggy pressed on.
“Kermit was supposed to come—he was coming to see me on opening night and we were supposed to…supposed to spend the weekend together.” She saw the looks of surprise on their faces and shook her head sadly. “Look—I don’t know what you’ve heard or what you’ve read but I—but Kermit and I—“ She shook her head in defeat. “Never mind,” she said wearily. “It doesn’t matter.” She felt tired enough to sleep for a week.
“So…you and the mister are still, um, mister-and-missus-ing?” asked Stacey doubtfully.
Piggy leapt at the opening. “Yes!” she cried. “Of course!” She looked from one pretty face to the next, looking to see if her words were getting through. “I love Kermit! And he loves me! And everything you’ve read about us splitting up is a lie! A stupid, awful, miserable lie, only now that I’m here and he’s there it’s even more awful, because no one understands, or believes or…oh, what’s the use?”
But Piggy was getting through. The women looked at each other in consternation.
“So all of the…stuff in the papers—that’s just, you know, bunk?” asked Darcy wonderingly.
“That’s one word for it,” Piggy muttered.
“And you and Mr. the Frog aren’t splitsville?”
“No! No, no, no!” Piggy cried. “And he’s supposed to come and see me, only there was a problem with the film we did and….” Piggy trailed off. In this business, news traveled fast—true or not. She did not want to imply that the film was in trouble. “But Kermit couldn’t make his plane, so he…he couldn’t come.” She looked to each of them in turn. “I know you probably don’t believe me, but it’s true.”
Stacy stepped forward and put her hand on Piggy’s shoulder. “I believe you,” she said. “I believe you, and I’m sorry about your picture and…” She looked around at the other ladies, noting their nods of approval and encouragement. “And Piggy, we’re, um, we’re sorry we were such witches. We didn’t even give you a chance to show us what you were really like.”
“Here,” said Darcy. She handed Piggy a box of tissues, and Piggy pulled a handful out and wiped her face with them. “I’m really sorry,” Darcy said earnestly. “Don’t pay any attention to me—I got a big mouth.”
“Goes with your big—“ said Trudy.
“Hey!” Darcy said, indignantly. She crossed her arms across her chest, and everyone erupted into giggles. Even Piggy managed a few moist, hiccup-y sounds before subsiding.
“So this is your guy,” Stacey said gently. She reached for the picture of Kermit but stopped before she took it from Piggy. “May I?”
Piggy nodded, and Stacey picked up the little picture and looked at it carefully. She had not really looked at it before, assuming it was window-dressing to bolster Piggy’s claims of wedded bliss.
What a nice smile, she thought with surprise. And he has very gentle eyes.
“Kermit—is that right?”
“Yes. Kermie, um, Kermit the Frog.”
Darcy squatted beside Piggy’s chair. “You guys been together for a long time, huh?”
Piggy nodded. “Since the beginning.” It was true. Although Marty had been there first to push, to cajole, to encourage and bargain and rant, it had not been until Kermit came on the scene that Piggy began to reach her potential as a performer. On the personal front, they brought out the best (and some of the worst) in each other, but the work had always been sensational. You only had to put them on stage together or in front of a camera and things began to happen—things they sometimes couldn’t predict, couldn’t control, and the audience always seemed to love it. Working with Kermit was a high Piggy couldn’t get enough of, but she would have stayed even if it wasn’t. Something in those kind eyes—something she had seen or felt or simply known—had told her that, with Kermit, she’d always be safe.
“And I thought I’d been with my guy for a long time,” teased Kristen.
“Come on, Piggy—here—“ said Trudy, holding out a little black tube. “Put on a little lipstick and let’s go get a bite to eat.”
Piggy’s eyes brightened hopefully at the mention of food. Aside from her impromptu dinner with Tim, since arriving in New York, she’d eaten every single meal as well as every single morsel in between by herself. For the first time she could remember, Piggy had not looked forward to mealtime. “Really?” she said, lifting her still-wet face to look at her new friends.
“Really. Let’s go hit the vegetarian grill. Sound good?”
“Wonderful,” Piggy sighed.
“Yeah—I love The Grill,” Darcy said. “They have a tofu shish-kabob that’s so good you’ll swear you were eating—“
“Darcy!”
Darcy gulped and swallowed what she’d been about to say. “Sorry,’ she said meekly. “And they have really good salads, too.”
Once again, everybody laughed, and Piggy joined in with relish. Kermit had not come, and she had survived. The show had opened and she’d seemed to be well-received. She might have just made her first new friends in New York. Yes, this was new and a little scary and lonely, but she was okay—or she was going to be okay. She was going to make it after all.
Glad that Piggy's found some friends as well, the big apple can have a pretty hard core. Thanks for the Christmas gift, Ru! I'm glad I found this hidden gift under the Central's Tree, er Alerts!
