Chapter 17: Restoration
“Need any help?”
At the sound of Scooter’s voice, Fozzie turned, dropped everything in his hands and ran to embrace Scooter in a crushing bear hug.
“Scooter! Oh, Scooter—I am so glad you’re here, I could kiss you!”
Scooter set his glasses back on his nose and patted Fozzie in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “That’s okay, Fozzie,” he said dryly. “I brought my own.”
Despite herself, Sara blushed.
“Kermit out front?” Scooter asked.
“Yes,” Fozzie said. “They’re running ‘One Fine Day.’”
“Hmmm,” Scooter thought. “Didn’t hear it on the way in.” He reclaimed his clipboard and his headset and waded into the mayhem backstage. In considerably less than a half-hour, all the equipment, costumes and people were where they actually belonged. While this was going on, Sara trailed along in Scooter’s wake, occasionally providing assistance but mostly just trying to stay out of the way. Fascinated, she tried to take it all in. A movie studio might be a world apart, but backstage at a theatre was an entirely different universe. Even at rehearsal there was a sense of urgency and immediacy that made you want to move, to join in. Watching Scooter in his natural element made Sara swell with pride, and she marveled again at finding herself here, in Vegas, with Scooter Grosse. As if sensing her thoughts, the young man turned and smiled at her.
“You doing okay?”
“I’m doing great. It fun to watch you work.”
Scooter straightened and leaned in close. His voice was husky-soft and teasing. “If you think this is fun, you should watch me play!” He leaned in to kiss her—would have succeeded, too—if Rizzo had not barreled through at that moment with his hanging rack of clothes.
“I’m moving out of the kitchen,” Rizzo said sulkily. “Happy now?”
Sara and Scooter grinned at each other over the top of the irate rat.
“Yeah,” Scooter said. “I am.”
Since “One Fine Day” was stalled out, Gonzo had decided to make another attempt at his milk-gargling, tight-rope-walking, fruit-balancing act.
“Is my cape on straight?” Gonzo asked. Rizzo gave him a critical eye over his Portabella mushroom and feta-cheese wrap. Although he had left the kitchen for one of the men’s dressing rooms, Mabel had seen that he had not left it empty-handed.
“Little to the left, maybe,” Rizzo said, and his friend tugged obediently on the shoulder. “That’s good,” Rizzo said around a mouthful of tomato, mushroom and cheese. “Don’t forget your goggles.”
“Right,” Gonzo said, slipping them over his eyes and fastening them securely. “Wish me luck.”
“Break a leg or something, won’t you?” Rizzo said gruffly, just a little worried about the feasibility of this latest stunt. At that precise moment, Camilla walked by, gave Gonzo a disdainful look and made a suggestion of her own before stalking off.
“Still mad at you, I see,” Rizzo said.
“Yep,” Gonzo admitted. “But you notice she came by to get a look at my legs in tights.”
Scooter had had his back thumped so many times he felt like he was going to cough up a hairball, and his grown-up, professional hairstyle was disheveled from so many hands ruffling it in affection. “It’s like a family reunion,” Sara thought to herself, “except there’s no Aunt Edna to pinch his cheeks.” She had a sudden wicked thought but managed to get a hold of herself before she acted on it. As a result of the halo effect, Sara was racking up several hugs herself, and she could have sworn Pepe had patted her on the fanny before she was able to extricate herself. Sara only laughed, but Scooter gave the little crustation a look that sent him scurrying in the opposite direction.
Fozzie had been absolutely ecstatic about Scooter’s unexpected arrival, for although he had done a remarkable job under the circumstances, organization was not his forte.
“This is so wonderful,” he said to anyone who would listen. “Now the only thing I have to worry about is my act.”
Floyd opened his mouth to say something but Janice stuffed the end of her granola bar into his mouth at that precise moment. Floyd swallowed what he’d been about to say along with the granola.
“Be nice,” Janice said, touching Floyd’s cheek to take the sting out of her words. Floyd finished chewing and gave her an innocent look that didn’t fool her for an instant.
“Hey now, Babe,” he said. “You know me—I’m always nice.”
Rowlf came over and stood near Piggy. Since Kermit had left almost twenty minutes ago, Piggy had not stopped staring after him.
“Kermit will shake this off. He’ll be back when he’s cleared his head,” Rowlf offered, hoping it was true.
“I hate this,” Piggy said, her hands balling into fists. “I hate what this is doing to him.”
“Been a tough time on the little fellow,” Rowlf agreed.
Piggy nodded without looking at him.
“Too bad there’s not a way to turn these lyrics back the way they were.”
Piggy turned and stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you know this is an ol’ Chiffon song, right? Carole King wrote this—she wrote a lot of great stuff--and the Chiffons took it to number one.”
Piggy looked thoughtful. “I didn’t know that,” she confessed. “I knew the song because we put this version together for one of the shows and never used it. Kermit thought it would play well here. But the original was sung by a girl’s group?”
“Yeah—back in the heyday of the girl’s groups.” He paused a moment and scratched behind one ear. “Um, I guess I mean ladies, I guess—“
Rowlf broke off when Piggy turned to him suddenly, her eyes alight with some burning determination. “Rowlf—can you find me the original lyrics?”
“Well, sure,” he said. “Probably get Scooter to pull them up on Wiki or something.”
“Scooter? Is Scooter here?”
“Yeah—showed up a little while ago with that cute little girlfriend of his.”
“Oh.” Her voice softened. “I’m so glad he’s here. Look, Rowlf, get those lyrics for me, won’t you?” Piggy pleaded. Rowlf started to obey, but Piggy caught his shoulder, turned him back around and kissed him warmly on the cheek.
“What was that for?” Rowlf asked, astounded.
“For knowing everything there is to know about music,” she said simply, and hurried off in the other direction.
Dumbfounded, Rowlf stood there and rubbed his cheek for a moment. “That was surprisingly nice,” he said to himself, then sighed. “No doubt about it—I have got to get out more.”
“Scooter!” Piggy called. “Scooter, where are you?”
“Here I am, Miss Piggy!” Scooter called, backing out of the musician’s room with a box of costumes that needed to be unpacked.
Piggy hastened over to where he stood and afforded him a split-second smile of such relief and pleasure that Scooter felt himself blush.
“Scooter, I want to borrow your jacket.”
“Ma’am?” Scooter looked confused. “Borrow my jacket? The green and yellow one?”
“Yes—just for a minute. I want to try something. Do you have it with you?”
“Um—somewhere around here, I guess. I took it off while I was moving boxes. Want me to go get it?”
“Please,” Piggy said, looking nervously around. “And hurry.”
A few minutes later found Piggy and Howard having a heated discussion.
“I’m not wearing that, that thing,” Howard insisted. “I’ll be your stand-in but I’m not wearing that—“
Piggy leaned forward and looked Howard in the eye. “Put it on and get your show-stepping butt up on the stage before I karate chop you into next week,” she growled. Fear and defiance warred on Howard’s face for a moment. “Please,” Piggy said, her blue eyes wide. “I need your help, Howard.” Grumbling, Howard donned Scooter’s jacket and mounted the stage. Piggy had already memorized the subtle changes in the lyrics she’d heard Kermit sing in rehearsals, and they had time to run the revisited choreography a couple of times with the do-wop back-up singers. By the time Kermit reappeared in the door of the auditorium, looking weary but a little less distracted, they were ready for him.
“Kermie,” Piggy said sweetly, batting her eyelashes at him. “While you were gone I talked to Howard and the boys about making some teensy-weensy little changes to the song.”
“Sell it, sister,” Rizzo muttered appreciatively, watching Piggy in action.
Kermit looked in surprise at Howard, who was wearing what looked like Scooter’s green and yellow jacket.
“Just watch,” Piggy demanded. “Howard’s going to stand in for you—just imagine that this is a letterman’s jacket, okay?”
After a quick nod from Piggy and a minute to get their tempo set, the boys began their a cappella accompaniment, crooning and moving to the music. Although Gonzo still wore his stunt costume, he had at least removed the hood, goggles and cape.
“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 girl.”
“Shooby-dooby-dooby-dooby-do-wah-wah. Shooby-dooby-dooby-dooby-do-wah-wah.”
Piggy looked longingly at Howard who, playing the subject of Piggy’s song, went about his merry way without a thought for the love-struck girl pouring her heart out behind him.
“Those arms I long for,” Piggy sang, with an ache so palpable your wanted to cry, “will open wide, and you’ll be proud to have me by your side—One fine day, you’re gonna want me for your girl.”
More shooby-doobying, while the guys cast longing looks at Piggy, who only had eyes for Howard.
“Though I know you’re the kind of guy who only wants to run around,” Piggy sang soulfully. “I’ll keep waiting and—someday Darling, you’ll come to me when you want to settle down! “
Kermit began to smile. Not much of a stretch for her emotionally, Kermit thought, remembering their fitful courtship, but when Piggy got something down, it stayed that way. Halfway through the song, Kermit stepped into Howard’s place, mimicking the choreography he’d seen so far. Howard shucked the offending jacket with alacrity and left the stage to go watch from the back of the auditorium, a critical frown on his face.
Now Piggy had tapped Kermit peremptorily on the shoulder, demanding his attention. He turned, feigning surprise and giving Piggy a comic once-over while she crooned.
“One fine day we'll meet once more, and then you'll want the love you threw away before--One fine day, you're gonna want me for your girl.”
They adlibbed the rest of the choreography, with Piggy vamping and Kermit--in the role of heartbreaker—allowing himself to be persuaded by her attention.
Afterward, Howard had fussed and fumed and fretted, but the group on stage paid him no mind. They didn’t need anyone to tell them they were on the right track now; they knew they’d hit gold, and they planned keep panning.
“I like it, Piggy,” Kermit was saying. “I like the guys following you while you’re following me.”
“Seems like old times,” she quipped, her arms still around his neck from the finale.
“It’s like déjà vu all over again,” Gonzo murmured, and everyone laughed.
“What made you think of it, Piggy?”
Piggy undraped herself from Kermit’s neck, avoiding his eye. “It was really Rowlf’s idea,” she hedged. “Rowlf knows all about the girls groups and their music.”
“Under the category: know thine enemy,” Rowlf joked, and once more, everyone chuckled.
“Can we—can we do the whole thing through a couple of times for me, guys?” Kermit asked. “Just to get the feel of it?”
“S’alright,” Rizzo chimed in.
“I could dance in these tights all day,” Gonzo said.
“For you, Kerm--no problemo,” Clifford said, slicking back his duck tail. “Besides--I could get used to this look.”
After they were satisfied with the progress on “One Fine Day,” Kermit walked off-stage to find Scooter standing in the wings, wearing a headset and grinning from ear to ear. Kermit walked up and stopped in front of his trusted assistant, finally putting a hand on Scooter’s arm.
“Thanks,” Kermit said simply. “Thanks for coming.”
Scooter looked down quickly, eyes stinging, and covered expertly by thrusting his clipboard under Kermit’s nose.
“I’ve got everybody’s stuff in their dressing rooms. Gonzo’s all set to go with his number now.”
“Good. Cue Gonzo, then.”
Scooter smiled. “Sure thing, Boss.”
“Hey Kermit—Johnny’s ready to rehearse his song,” said Sal, walking through the backstage area. The rest of the cast and crew had seen little of Johnny and Sal since they’d arrived as Johnny wandered the casinos on the strip and caught up with old acquaintances. But with the show opening tomorrow night, Kermit had insisted that Johnny show up and run through his songs.
“Has he decided what he’s doing?” Kermit asked, a pen poised over his program notes.
“Johnny’s singing ‘My Way.’”
Kermit looked at him.
“It’s great! It’s revolutionary.” A beat. “It’s the only song he knows all the words to.”
Kermit sighed. “All right, then—but, hey! What about his number for the second half? We’re counting on him to do ‘Christmas All Over the World.’”
“I got it covered,” Sal said earnestly. “I got cue cards. Johnny’s gonna read the lyrics off ‘em if he’s forgets.”
Kermit almost said “Johnny can read?” but managed not to. Sal took exception to criticism of his hero, and it was too much bother to engage him on the subject. Still, the snarky little thought cheered Kermit as he penciled in “My Way” on the program.
“Hey Scooter?” Kermit said into the headset.
“Yeah, Boss.”
“Johnny’s ready to sing.”
Kermit heard Scooter sigh. “Let me guess—‘My Way,’ right?”
“Right.”
Another sigh. “I’ll go tell Rowlf.”
Kermit turned to find Pepe the king prawn practically underfoot.
“Pepe—what are you doing here?”
“Well, I heard ju needed help with the show, si? So I say to myself, ‘Pepe, ju must go—ju must go and be wit’ Kermin and jour friends in their hour of need, h’okay.”
Kermit looked at him for a moment.
“So, can ju like, make with the salaries thing, now that Pepe is here?”
“Well, gosh, Pepe,” Kermit said, moving toward the backstage at the brisk pace so that the little prawn had to trot to keep up. “We usually reserve salaries for contributing members of the cast and crew.”
Pepe rolled his eyes and looked as modest as he was able. “H’okay,” he said. “Hi will do it. Pepe will dance in jour Vegas show.”
Kermit stopped outside Piggy’s dressing room and looked at him again. “I was thinking more along the lines of stage hand.”
“You wound me.”
“Take it or leave it.”
“Hi am insulted. Hi am—h’okay, h’okay, I am taking it.”
“Good—report to Scooter. He’ll put you to work.”
After Pepe had skulked off, Kermit knocked on Piggy’s dressing room door.
“I’m changing!”
“Um, Piggy, it’s me.”
“Entre vous!”
Kermit opened the door and stuck his head in. “Can we get together on our duet in about twenty minutes.”
“Yes, Mon capitan,” Piggy called, blowing him a kissy-kissy. “I’ll meet you at the piano.”
Kermit pulled the door shut and headed back for the auditorium. Suddenly, everything looked brighter than it had this morning. Sheepishly, Kermit smiled. No matter what lemons life seemed to throw them, they just kept on cranking out lemonade. The show was going to be good, he thought happily. The show was going to be great.
There was a loud crash from the stage area, and a succession of squashy thumps. Kermit heaved a sigh and went to see what was left of Gonzo’s act.
“No one I know calls me at home,” Thoreau answered his phone on the fourth ring, The annoyance in his voice was unmistakable. Piggy had a qualm—a momentary qualm—before plunging ahead.
“Thoreau?”
“Piggy? Piggy, darling!”
Piggy let out a shaky sigh of relief. “Yes—it’s me. I’m so glad you’re home.”
“Where are you? I thought you were in Vegas for Christmas.” His tone made it sound as though Felising your Navidad more than fifteen miles from Rodeo Drive was high treason.
“I am, Thoreau. We’re all here and, and—I-need-you-to-come-please-come-please-please-please!”
“Sweetie—of course I’ll come. What’s the problem?”
“We’ve had some, um, cast changes and some, um, er, unexpected arrivals and I just need someone who appreciates how important it is that I look good—um, that WE look good.”
“Say no more, honey—I always keep a bag packed. Ticket at the counter for me?”
Piggy looked to Scooter anxiously, who nodded without looking up from his handheld. “At the desk,” he mouthed.
“At the desk,” Piggy repeated.
“First class?” he asked sharply. “You know how I hate—“
Scooter looked up, indignant, and gave Piggy a look. “Do I look like an amateur?” Piggy heard him mutter. She smiled into the phone. “Of course,” she said sweetly. “And we’ll send a car.”
The fruit had been cleared from the stage, and Gonzo was being examined rather superfluously by Dr. Honeydew. Since the furry blue performance artist was sitting up and talking, Kermit took his word that he was fine.
“Cue the comedian!” Kermit called.
“Does he mean Fozzie?” Rizzo asked, and Gonzo gave him a withering look. “Just go get me a fresh gallon of milk, will ya?” As Rizzo trotted off, muttering, Gonzo called. “Two percent—don’t forget! I’m watching my figure!”
“Cue the comedian!” Kermit said again, but as so often happened at dress rehearsal, no one was actually listening to the director. Scooter had been temporarily commandeered by Piggy so, with a sigh, he hopped down from his chair and went to find the errant funny-man himself. Kermit found him backstage, one hand over his face and the other crushing his pork-pie hat nervously.
“Oh no!” Fozzie moaned. “Oh no, oh no!”
“What’s the matter?” Kermit asked, immediately concerned. “What’s wrong, Fozzie?”
“They’re—they’re here!”
“Who’s here?”
“You know--them—the one’s who are always out to get me!”
Kermit looked around nervously. He did not like the direction this conversation was taking. He wished desperately for someone else to come along, but years of married life had taught him that it is usually safe to repeat what someone hysterical says to you, if only to ensure that you heard them right.
“Um, the ones who are always out to get you?”
Fozzie looked up, relieved that Kermit understood. “Yes!” he said earnestly. “I thought I had gotten away from them, but they’re here.”
Kermit was genuinely alarmed now. He put one hand on Fozzie arm, squeezing it firmly to make sure he had his friend’s attention. “Fozzie—I won’t let anyone get you, but I’m not sure what we’re talking about here.”
“Them!” Fozzie panted. He grabbed Kermit by his skinny little shoulders and shook him. “Those—those guys! Those old guys from the balcony! They’re here!”
“Here in Vegas?” Kermit asked, just to be sure, while his teeth stopped rattling.
“Here at our hotel! I saw them in the café—they’re coming to the show tomorrow!”
Kermit scrunched up his face, dismayed but still a little skeptical.
“Fozzie—are you sure it’s them? A lot of old people come to Vegas and—“
“It’s them! I know it’s them!”
“You mean Statler and Waldorf?”
“That’s right! And—“ He paused for dramatic effect. “They brought their wives!”
“Oh.” Kermit digested this bit of unwelcome news resignedly. Hecklers were the bane of any performer's existence, but these particular gentlemen had made it practically a crusade to heckle Kermit and his merry band of thespians. Never the most secure of entertainers, Fozzie had gotten more than his fair share of attention from the balcony barnacles. He sighed, then grasped Fozzie by the shoulders.
“Well, look, Fozzie—you don’t need to be worried about those guys.”
“I—I don’t?”
“No—you’ve got a great act for the show. You’re really going to wow them.”
Fozzie’s voice was very small.
“Really?”
“Really—and besides, you already know the worst these fellows can do. Better the devil you know—“
“They brought a devil with them?” Fozzie wailed.
“No—no—it’s just an expression.” He caught Fozzie’s gaze again, making him look him in the eyes. “You’re going to be fine, Fozzie. I believe in you, and I’m gonna be right back here cheering for you, no matter what those guys do.”
“Oh, Kermit,” Fozzie said, wilting a little as the nervousness leaked out of him. “I’ll—I’ll do my best.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to it. Now get out there and knock ‘em dead.”
“If only….” Fozzie muttered, but he crammed his hat back on his head with new vigor and strode out on the stage. Kermit watched him go, hoping for the best.
Once Fozzie was safely on-stage, Kermit waggled a finger at Mabel, who trundled over obediently.
“Hey Mabel,” Kermit said, “I was hoping you could do a little undercover work for me.”
Mabel gave him an affronted look that made him blush right down to his webbed toes and begin to stammer out an apology, then she smiled at him and patted him on the back.
“Go on,” she said. “I’m just yanking yer chain. Whatcha need, honey?”
“Um—could you check out a couple of guys at the hotel. Fozzie thinks a couple of our hecklers have come all the way from home to heckle him. He saw them in the café.”
“Fozzie—that’s the bear with the hat, right?”
“Right. He’s worried about his stand-up act.”
“Can’t blame the guy,” Mabel murmured, but she cocked her head at Kermit attentively. “Who are these bozos?:
“Um, two older gentlemen. They’re names are Statler and Waldorf and, er, Fozzie thinks they came with their wives. One of them has, um, white hair and a little mustache, and the other one has dark hair and doesn’t have a mustache.”
“Lucky for her,” Mabel said with a wink, but waved off Kermit’s explanations. “Got it, got it, honey—let Mabel see what she can do for you.”
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