Chapter 141: Aftermath
On camera, it was all smiles and blushes and wonderful. Off-camera, it was a different story. Just beyond the field of vision of the all-seeing camera’s eye, there was a fierce battle going on, and it involved one angry agent, one annoyed boss, one outraged personal assistant and one not-so-innocent reporter.
“I don’t have to listen to you,” said BrandeE, her lovely makeup ruined by the ugly sneer on her face. “And I don’t have to listen to her agent. Who does he think he is, anyway?”
“That just shows what you don’t know,” Scooter said. His voice was polite but he felt like tackling this airheaded celebrity hound and wrestling the microphone away from her. “And who he is isn’t the point. The point is that Meredith promised—“
"Well, Meredith isn’t here,” said BrandeE primly, her mouth set in a satisfied smirk. “She’s home sick and I’m taking her place tonight, so you can just—“
“Your network is going to hear about this!” gritted Scooter. His cheeks were mottled with the heat of his indignation. “Once Marty talks to your boss, you won’t—“
“Let him,” BrandeE said. Insolently, she fluffed her hair and her cleavage, dismissing him. “By tomorrow morning, I’ll be—“
“BrandeE?” said one of her tech people.
“What?!” she snarled. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
She was not busy. Pig and Frog were completely engrossed in each other, and the viewing public was completely engrossed in their talk about their upcoming movie, how exciting it was that Piggy was on Broadway and the way that her costume was showcasing her curves. There was nothing for the network to do but roll film and watch the ratings go up.
It would be hard for most actresses to rock the red carpet wearing trashy pedal pushers, but somehow, Piggy was managing. And while 40 million viewers at home could see what Kermit saw, they could also see the bright, warning gleam of jealousy in his eyes. Piggy’s alternating sass and bashfulness in the face of his consternation brought a flush to her cheeks, and a smile to many faces in the viewing audience. Women thought Piggy had a right to wear what she chose—especially in her line of work—but Kermit’s unspoken declaration of “Mine, mine, mine—so back off,” was charming. He wasn’t yelling or making a scene or anything, but it was obvious that he’d have much preferred Piggy on his arm in a designer gown than backstage looking like a delectable pastry. Men thought Piggy had a right to wear what she chose—especially since she chose to wear this—but Piggy’s unvoiced declaration of “Yours, all yours, Kermie,” was doing a lot to make the men at home sigh and be glad their wives or girlfriends had roped them into watching the awards show. They could understand Kermit’s well-tamped grumpiness even while appreciating the porcine pulchritude that was on display.
“Um, phone for you,” said the tech guy meekly. “It’s from the office—“
BrandeE snatched the phone away. “Yes?” she said, smiling to make her voice sound friendly, although there was an impatient tone in her voice. “This is BrandeE Varg—“
She cut off in mid-sentence, one hand going to her throat.
“Yes,” she said, sounding as breathless as she had when she’d first introduced Kermit. “But I—“
She cut off again, her eyes going wide, her mouth working stupidly while no sound came out. “But I was just—“
This time, Scooter and Sara could both hear the sound coming out of the phone, and BrandeE held it away from her ear, nodding and blinking.
“But there isn’t anyone else here,” she said, sounding petulant and tearful. There was another silence and she stopped and stared at the phone. After a moment, she handed the phone to Scooter, who managed not to drop it in his surprise.
“Um, hello?” he said. “This is Scooter Grosse, Mr. The Frog’s personal—what? I…well, um, yes. I’m sure we could—what?”
Listening, Sara felt like screaming in frustration. She had the same desire to wrench the phone away from Scooter that Scooter had had when wanting to wrench the microphone away from BrandeE, but she stood there, helplessly, beautifully, and clenched and unclenched her right hand into a fist. The other hand was still holding the small recording camera, still automatically trained on the action, and she glanced down at it just in time to see Scooter say, “I think I know how to make this work”, then he turned and smiled directly into her camera. The next thing her camera saw was Scooter’s hand reaching out to grasp it. Later, on the recording, you could see Scooter’s palm cover the lens, then pull away, and when he did, Sara was in the frame and Scooter was not.
“But,” Sara said, “but—“
“—and that’s when Piggy agreed to take the role,” Kermit was saying. He turned back to BrandeE, having almost forgotten that she was even there, but she wasn’t there—Sara was—instead. They looked at each other, then Kermit’s grin grew wide and almost reckless and he stood there beaming at her, ready for anything she might ask.
“What a wonderful story, Mr. The Frog,” said Sara smoothly, looking into the camera. “It must have been awfully hard to let Miss Piggy go…to Broadway, I mean.”
It was a lovely set-up, and Kermit spiked it—hard. “Oh, I’m not letting her go—not a chance,” Kermit said, grinning and shaking his head. “I’m just letting Broadway borrow my girl for a bit—that’s all!”
“Oh, Kermie!” Piggy said. “Vous are so silly.”
“And busy, I’ll wager,” Sara interposed. Might as well get all their licks in at once. “I heard you say the movie is slated for a summer release—isn’t that right?” she asked.
“That’s right,” Piggy said, stepping in deftly. This was something they did awfully well—fielding each other's questions to defuse uncomfortable answers. The press had never allowed them the luxury of not being asked to comment on each other and their couplehood, so Kermit and Piggy had honed their cross-patter to a fine edge. “Our movie was originally slated to come out right before school started,” Piggy said, emphasizing her schoolgirl allure. “But summer needed a blockbuster and Kermie is so clever than he agreed to have the movie ready in time.”
“That keeps your schedule pretty tight, doesn’t it, Kermit?” Sara said, sounding concerned. “In fact, you weren’t able to go and see her Broadway debut.”
Kermit looked down, then looked up. “It just about killed me to miss it,” Kermit said simply, “but it’s important to keep your word, especially in this business. I want the fans to know they can count on us.” He looked at Piggy and smiled. “Piggy understands—she’s a trooper, aren’t you, Honey?”
“Moi was able to soldier on,” Piggy said modestly, then looked at Sara with a mischievous expression. “And the sooner my frog is done with the movie, the sooner my frog can come and see me!” she sing-songed, and her expression said she had very definite plans for him when he got there. It was Kermit’s turn to blush and stub his little webbed toes in the ground. Hands in his pockets (a fashion no-no, but a photographic yes-yes), sheepish grin on his face, face flushed with pleasure—Kermit had never looked more gosh-darned adorable. The crowd, which had been murmuring behind their hands earlier while he dealt with the wardrobe-malfunction-from-heck were now nodding and smiling in a friendlier manner. A few of the young, hunky up-and-comers looked at him, envying him his calm (and his pig) while their dates looked at him approvingly.
Kermit looked at Sara, knowing she would not sabotage him, and made a little sound to indicate frustration and pride. “And Broadway just couldn’t wait to have her.” He smiled, looking at Piggy. “Everything worked out very nicely for her to be there while I’m so busy.” He looked at Sara. “She’s sold out—did she tell you? The show is sold out through her run!”
“And in record time!” Sara said. “I’m sure you’re very proud. So Piggy, what advice do you have for Kermit when he goes to present the award by himself tonight? Anything you’d tell him if you were here?”
“Don’t hog the mike,” Piggy quipped and Kermit grinned and shook his head. Piggy giggled, then sobered. “Actually, Moi would say, "Don’t share the mike"—with anyone!” Piggy said. “If you can’t have Moi—just say "No!"”
“There you have it,” Sara said. “Fans are "just saying yes" to Grease! and Rainbow Productions is saying yes to another summer blockbuster, I’m sure.”
“Well, thank you,” Kermit said modestly. “You are too kind.”
“Vous are so right! Kissy kissy! Moi must get ready to go on!”
Sara faced the camera. “This is Sara Vines with—“ Panicky, she looked to Scooter, but he was holding up signs scrawled hastily with a sharpie marker. “—with CBS, on loan from Outrageous Communications, bringing you news from one of America’s celebrity couples, Kermit the Frog and Mrs. The Frog, Miss Piggy. Back in a moment with more awards coverage….”
The red light on the camera went dark, and Sara took a deep breath that would have threatened the integrity of the gown she wore if Thoreau had exercised less attention to detail. She exhaled slowly, feeling her heart racing, but when she turned she saw the camera crew nodding sagely, politely, letting her know it had been okay, had been fine.
Kermit was less formal, and less restrained. He leaned forward and gave Sara a brief but intense half hug.
“Thank you,” he murmured near her shoulder. “You saved my life there.” Then he was moving off, talking to the camera crew himself—thanking them for their assistance—and then consulting with Scooter. Sara watched them, heads bent together and she saw both of them talking to the screen now that the cameras weren’t rolling. Sara drifted forward and took her camera from Scooter, smiling when she realized it was still recording. She saw Piggy on the camera crew's big screen, but although they could see her, it was obvious she could only hear them now.
“—wonderful,” Kermit was saying.
“Miss Piggy,” Scooter jumped in. “I’m sorry the first part was all messed up—we were having, um, having—“
“—technical difficulties!” Kermit blurted. Scooter looked at him and there was a whole unspoken conversation going on there, with Scooter nodding and gesturing emphatically and Kermit resisting stubbornly, shaking his head. Only when she was inches from both of them could Sara hear Kermit’s voice, so far below a whisper it was almost silent.
“—and then she’s got to go onstage in a little bit,” Kermit insisted. “I’ll talk to her after the awards. I just want to get through this and then—“
“What if she hears it from somebody else?!” Scooter gritted. “What if she sees it before—“
“Kermit? Kermie, mon frog—I must go! We are having an eensy-weensy little meeting about the new guest star for the beauty school song and I—one moment, Mon Capitan,” she said sweetly. They saw her put one satin-gloved hand over the mic. “Knock it off!” she yelled, and Kermit and Scooter both grinned in spite of themselves as several people backstage—including whoever was operating the camera—jumped. “I must leave you now, Kermie. You must do a wonderful job presenting the award without Moi—“ Here, Piggy’s eyes grew suspiciously wet, and she held her breath and waited for her voice to return to normal, apparently unaware that they could still see her. Kermit felt like someone had punched him in the chest as he watched her pull herself together, then answer in a convincingly cheery sing-song. “Moi will be onstage but when vous are done and Moi is done I want to hear all about everyone and everything,” she said.
“Sweetie, just call me as soon as your show is over,” Kermit said, “and I’ll tell you all about who I saw and what they won and…everything.”
“And what they are wearing—or not,” Piggy giggled, and Kermit flinched.
“Oh, ha ha, sure thing, Honey. You call me, okay? As soon as you’re off stage, okay?” Scooter made rolling gestures with his hand, partially mollified. “Don’t wait until you get back to your apartment—I want to tell you everything as soon as you’re free, okay?”
“Yes, Kermie,” Piggy said, the picture of docility, even if she didn’t know he could see her. Kermit and Scooter and Sara saw a big, well-built fellow with red-gold hair gesture frantically toward the stage, and Piggy waved him on irritably. “Moi will call you. Love you, Mon Capitan,” she said, and Kermit felt the impact like a tidal wave, knocking him back and pulling at his feet, threatening his balance.
“Love you,” Kermit said softly. “Bye Piggy.”
She walked out of camera range, and Kermit looked away, trying to master his expression before he made eye contact with anyone. Scooter and Sara traded looks, and Sara reached out to touch her fiancé’s shoulder. She thought Scooter was right—Kermit should tell Piggy what had happened now, but she could understand why Scooter didn’t want to argue with Kermit when he was obviously struggling to compose himself. She looked at Scooter, then stretched forward impulsively and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, glad to be at his side—even here and wearing a truss.
“Marty cleared everything with my editor?” She didn’t really doubt it—she just wanted to fill the silence so Kermit could have a little privacy.
Scooter grinned. “Marty cleared everything with everybody,” he said. “It’s all good, now.”
Sara looked in the direction BrandeE had last been seen, waving her hands at her mascara to keep it from running. “Everybody?”
Scooter’s reply was mild. “Everybody who matters,” he said.
Kermit joined them, subdued but composed. “Thank goodness that’s over,” he said simply. “Let’s go on in and see if we can find our seats.” Scooter knew he would check in to the green room as well, wanting to have an idea of where to go and what to expect later.
“Fine by me,” said Scooter. He’d already had more excitement tonight than he wanted. He turned and proffered his arm. Smiling, Sara took it, slipping her hands beneath his elbow, and they made their way inside.
Howard and Thoreau slipped into their seats at the last possible moment, and let out identical breaths, then smiled and tried to keep from giggling. Piggy had been absolutely right—once Kermit had come back on, normal and back to himself—she had forgotten they even existed.
“Which is as it should be,” Thoreau had insisted in the cab. “Piggy doesn’t just deserve to be adored—she needs to be.”
Mr. Finkel had caught Thoreau’s eye in the rear-view mirror and nodded.
“Well, Kermit’s pretty good at that when he applies himself,” Howard had admitted. “Wonder what on earth was going on before—nerves?”
“I guess he was just rattled at having to do the carpet by himself,” Thoreau had said. “You’d be surprised how many performers get rattled at having to walk the red carpet.”
“I suppose so,” Howard said. “But all’s well that ends well, right?”
“Sure,” said Thoreau. “Let’s go with that.”
“Gee, Tiger,” Gina teased. “You are a hot commodity tonight!”
Newsie blushed from the tip of his sharp nose to the roots of his russet hair, and Gina would swear later that his glasses fogged up.
“Gina,” he murmured, eying the camera sloth. “I’m…I’m working.”
“You got that right, Goldie,” said Rhonda. “Good stuff that was. And that fluff piece with Fozzie is gonna be nice filler. You sure think fast on your feet.”
“And off them,” said Gina airily, a sly smile on her face. The Newsman was mortified and cast an anxious look toward Tony, but the camera sloth saved his grin until the anxious reporter looked back toward Rhonda.
“You think it went okay?” he asked. “It was a little irregular….”
“Irregular, he says,” quipped Rhonda. “What a hoot. This whole place is a circus, so irregular is the special of the day. But I don’t see what’s so odd about you two interviewing each other—you are the resident expert on Muppet news, ain’tcha?”
“Well,” said The Newsman. “That is true.”
“And his network was supposed to be interviewing the top frog and hog—“
The Newsman startled and looked around nervously. “I don’t think you should refer to Kermit and Miss Piggy that way,” he said stiffly.
“What—you think they’ll fire you?” Rhonda scoffed.
The Newsman shook his head. “I think she’ll kill me,” he said firmly.
“Fine,” Rhonda huffed. “Keep your shorts on. Anyway, I thought your piece with Brian Williams was good. He got info for his network, we got a good interview for our network—it’s all good.”
“I didn’t really know much about what happened.”
“The Kardashians make news doing nothing all the time,” Rhonda snorted. “Her getting all up in Kermit’s grill was as close to a plotline as you’re likely to see.”
The Newsman was quiet for a moment, thinking. “I don’t think Kermit actually has a grill,” he began. “He doesn’t have any teeth—“
“Oh for the love of Mike Wallace,” Rhonda groaned. “It’s just an expression. What I meant was that you guys did fine deflecting all the hoopla away from Kermit’s wardrobe malfunction and onto his reunion with the---“
“Rhonda!” Newsie cried, certain that—somehow—Miss Piggy would know if they spoke disrespectfully.
“Okay, okay. His reunion with his Sweetie.” She looked at him and her lipsticked mouth twisted into a wry smile. “That make you feel better?”
“That was better,” Newsie said primly. “And you really thought our back-and-forth interview was good? I don’t want to be too cutesy—“
Rhonda slapped a hand over her eyes, but Gina interposed skillfully before the fashionable rat could rant.
“Too late,” Gina teased, one arm around Newsie’s shoulder. “You’re cute as a button on Walter Cronkite’s suit!” She turned him deftly back toward the crowd, but her eyes were on Rhonda. “Want us to mingle around and look for stories?”
“Sounds good,” said Rhonda. “If you catch anything good, holler!”
Sweet mercy, he was shaking. He was actually shaking with…disbelief or horror or glee or some combination of the three. He stared at the camera in his hands as though afraid it might transform into a snake and bite him.
“What d’ja get?” Scoop asked. “What was happening in there?”
Fleet shook his head to clear it. “They were…he was….” He shook his head again, trying to clear it.
“What?” asked Hurley. “They were what? Kissing? Hitting?”
Scoop gave Hurley an annoyed look, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“No!” Scribbler said, then, “I mean—“ He seemed to come back to himself. “I mean, they were back behind the screen , and he had, um, his arm, er, around her, and they were, you know, talking about her dress.”
“Talking? Sounded like they were arguing,” said Hurley, looking interested.
“Wouldn’t you argue if your girlfriend showed up at the awards ceremony when you were supposed to be seen with your wife?” Fleet said. The narrative was blooming in his mind like an explosion—his boss was going to be ecstatic!—and he averted his eyes lest they see the lie written on his face.
“Huh. So that’s what happened,” said Hurley, who seemed too cynical to be surprised. “Wonder how many guys here tonight that happened to?”
“His girlfriend?” said Scoop doubtfully. “Kermit and what’s-her-face are an item? That’s one I haven’t seen.”
“I think it burst onto the public consciousness tonight,” Scribbler said, thinking of the torn dress and wondering idly if lightning would strike him. It was obvious from their comments that they had no idea of what had really happened. Scoop seemed unconvinced, but Hurley seemed all-too-ready to believe that Kermit’s interaction with the bodacious babe had a more carnal explanation. And, Scribbler’s mind prompted, it wasn’t like his readership now was all that discerning. If it walked like a frog….
Hurley was already making notes on his phone, obviously hashing out his own version of the story, reminding Scribbler that news goes from fresh to stale in very short order, but Scoop was looking increasingly unhappy. “If this was a lover’s spat,” Scoop demanded, “then how come his assistant was back behind the screen with them?”
Scribbler waved this question away as though it were smoke. “You know how it is,” he said casually. “All the big-time producers have assistants that do more than run their business—they have to help with image patrol, too—right?”
“Yeah,” said Hurley without even looking up. “So, you’re saying that the red-head went back there and talked them both down in time for Kermit to come out and play patty-cake with the wife—that about it?”
Scribbler hadn’t said that, but it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t. He managed to nod vaguely. “Something like that,” he mumbled.
Scoop was now looking at him askance—not at all sure what to think—but Scribbler tried to stick to his guns and put his stamp on what had happened. He felt a sharp nudge in the vicinity of his kidneys—something that might be his conscience—but he did his best to pretend it was indigestion and ignore it. He had promised Missy that he wouldn’t lie, but the ugly truth (or at least the part of it he was planning on telling) was proving very convenient.
His camera raccoon came up to him, looking interested, and Scribbler grinned at him. “Give me a moment to get this down and send it off,” he said, working on his handheld. He’d rather have had his notebook, but there wasn’t time for it tonight—he needed to get the story, or at least his version of it, out before someone else did. He looked over his shoulder and was glad to see Hurley talking to a cable network series regular—not quite a star, but plenty luminous to keep Hurley busy for a few moments. He also saw Scoop staring after him with a troubled expression, and he tried really hard not to feel like a louse. Mentally, he replaced Scoop’s face with Harve’s friendly, open countenance, and wondered if he and Gladys were cozied up to the dinky little tv in his apartment hoping to see him tonight.
He was doing this for them, too, his brain argued. If he didn’t get something for the boss—something good (or bad, depending on your point of view—then he wasn’t going back to New York. The thought of New York kicked what was left of his scruples to the curb and his expression grew grim. He had to get back to New York, where Missy was, because somebody had to look after her. New York was a dangerous place, and he didn’t like the thought of her up there alone, unprotected.
She’s got the bear now, Scribbler remembered, and it made him feel somewhat better, but not much. He was not sure what it said about him, but he knew something about the way a solitary, determined individual could winnow their way in, could get close to a subject—and it made him decidedly uneasy. His uneasiness and his conscience were making his stomach roil, but he gritted his teeth and did what he had to do.
I have to, he told himself, and hoped against hope that Missy would believe him.
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MEEEE! meemeemeemeemee! Yep. Had to be done.
Recess? Pass. I prefer snack time.
Aaaaah, that's funnnee.