Chapter 167: Pretty Little Lies
The groceries proved superfluous after all. They ordered in pizza—including one with lantern flies on it that everyone else studiously avoided.
“I know we’re supposed to get rid of them because they’re invasive,” Darcy moaned when Kermit and Piggy were both in the kitchen. “but I just can’t...you know...eat one.” Stacey patted her comfortingly on the back. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I think Kermit’s got it covered. For a little guy, he’s got a big appetite.”
“I’ll say,” murmured Trudy wistfully. “Did you see the way he looks at her? Mm-Mmm.”
“Yeah,” said Kristen, looking away. “I’m glad it wasn’t...I’m glad he’s here.
Kermit returned to the living room, looking over his shoulder to be certain that Piggy was still occupied, and turned toward Trudy on his left. “So…I hear Piggy’s costar is, um, nice….” Kermit said, trying to appear nonchalant.
There was a pause in the conversation, and the women exchanged looks that he could not read.
“Nice,” said Trudy thoughtfully. “I don’t know if I’d say Rory’s nice. He’s very charming,” Trudy said reluctantly, then she brightened.. “Ooh! But he is nice-looking.”
“Oh,” Kermit said, mastering a small surge of jealousy.
“Oh yes—very handsome. Big buff guy,” Kristen chimed in. There was sympathy in her tone, but a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
“He’s a wonderful dancer, too,” Stacy added eagerly. “They are so in sync when they are dancing.”
“Well, they practice a lot,” said Trudy.
“That’s true,” Darcy said. “Every time you see them they’re dancing—or arguing.”
“Or both!” Trudy said merrily.
Piggy’s castmates giggled and Kermit did his best to smile.
“Piggy says they get along,” he offered, trying to remember exactly what Piggy had said. “I heard he’s a good, um, singer?”
“Oh yeah—great baritone. You ought to hear him on “Greased Lightning”!
“Ooh--especially after Piggy took him out on that excursion to the car lot.” She accompanied her comment with air quotes. Kermit remembered something about a drag race or...something? Piggy had been vague about it—or he had been a bad listener, Kermit admitted to himself. He wondered uncomfortably what he had missed.
“They’ve been thick as thieves since she got here,” Kristen added. “It...it took the rest of us a while to catch up.” She looked fondly toward the kitchen where Piggy could be heard humming to herself. “Piggy’s really a sweetheart.”
She’s my sweetheart, Kermit thought, gritting his hard palate as they continued to extoll the virtues of her stage partner. At last, they stopped and looked at Kermit expectantly. Some response seemed called for. With a heartiness he did not feel, Kermit said, “Well, I’m glad Piggy has a good partn--, um stage partner. I, um, certainly look forward to...meeting him, um, Rory, and getting to know him better.”
Again the pause, and the looks that passed between the ladies.
“Better watch out,” Darcy added. “His boyfriend is pretty jealous.”
“Not to mention gorgeous,” Piggy said from the door. Kermit spun around, sheepish at having been caught, but Piggy was smiling at him with affection.
“Oh, Piggy—he is darling when he’s jealous,” Darcy exclaimed while Kermit blushed. “I can see why you don’t want any of those other guys that keep showing up. It’s a good thing—”
There were a few alarmed looks from several of the ladies, and Stacy gave a quick, negative shake of her head. The sudden tension in the room made itself felt and Darcy trailed off. She said “oh” very softly.
“What’s a good thing?” Kermit said, turning a sharp glance on Darcy.
“Um, it’s just….” she began, but trailed off at the sound of furious hissing.
Kermit hopped to his feet, annoyed at being kept in the dark.
“What is it?” he demanded.
No one answered, but their silence was an answer.
He turned to Darcy, recognizing her as the weakest link. He tried his pollywog eyes, the ones Piggy said were absolutely unfair in a fight.
“If something funny is going on at the theater,” Kermit said earnestly, “don’t you think I should know?” Kermit stuffed his emotions and tried to look as sincere as possible.
Darcy looked beseechingly for help from Kristen, tried to catch Piggy’s eye, but Kermit stepped closer, cutting off her shushing friends.
“So, who’s showing up?” Kermit couldn’t know it then, but the way he asked the question gave Piggy some wiggle room.
“The usual suspects,” Piggy answered, shrugging. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Kermit felt his neck tighten. You can’t work in entertainment without knowing about fans who wanted to get up close and personal, but there was...something, something in the way Piggy answered that disquieted him.
“What do you mean—the usual suspects?” Kermit said. Worry strained his voice, making it harsher than before. “Who is—?”
“Some college boys got in the other day.” She realized as she said it she hadn’t told him about it. When had she started keeping secrets from Kermit? When had it become a habit? “But they were nice,” Piggy said meekly, her blue eyes wide. The other women stared at her and then each other. They had never heard that tone of voice from Piggy.
Piggy hoped Kermit wouldn’t notice that she hadn’t really answered the question. She was working on looking normal and sounding normal. She didn’t know if she could act normal with her heart racing like this. At least no one had mentioned the “mugging,” or Seymour or Scribbler—not even Kristen, who Piggy assumed knew most everything.
“Where was Bobo during all this?” Kermit asked, hands on his hips. He could not have known how appealing he was to Piggy at that moment—her fierce, worried frog.
“Bobo was right there with me.” One of Piggy’s hands was full of napkins, but she mentally crossed her fingers and hoped Kermit wouldn’t ever sort out the timeline. “You know how, um, determined he can be.”
“Yeah—and after Piggy thrashed them good, Bobo bounced them. I don’t think it’s an experience they’ll want to repeat.” Kristen’s countenance reflected a great deal of satisfaction.
Kermit was visibly shaken, processing what he’d heard—and the fact that he was only just now hearing it. “But, Piggy, why didn’t you tell me?” Kermit said at last, and there was hurt in his eyes. You usually tell me everything.
“A lady should be able to take care of herself,” Piggy said primly, and Kermit smiled in spite of himself. At last, some good news.
“I know you’re tough, Sweetheart, but—”
“Besides—what could you have done?” Piggy asked. “Moi is here. You’re there.” Later, when Kermit was gone, Piggy would cry bitterly over the way that had come out, and the way it had made her lover flinch.
“Oh, Piggy.” His glum was so palpable that the ladies all crowded closer.
“Don’t worry, Kermit,” Kristen said hastily. “We’re watching out for Piggy.”
“We girls stick together,” Darcy added. “We watch out for each other.”
“Yeah,” Stacy said gently. “We’ll take care of Piggy.”
“Moi is quite capable of taking care of herself,” Piggy said, her mouth pouty.
Kermit spoke before he could stop himself. “But, but…you’re not supposed to have to take care of yourself. That’s…that’s my job.” Every woman in the room sighed. The good ones are always married.
“We’re here for her,” Kristen explained gently. “When Piggy didn’t show up at The Grill, we thought something might have happened.” That was as close as she dared. If Piggy didn’t want to tell Kermit everything, Kristen felt it wasn’t her place to do it.
“Well, something did happen,” Trudy teased, trying to lighten the mood, “but it looks like it was a good thing.”
“Very good,” Piggy said, flushing and looking at her frog with a defiant blush.
“Very, very good,” said Kermit firmly, and squeezed Piggy’s hand. A swift looked passed between Mr. and Mrs. The Frog. It was all very good to be annoyed with Bobo, but hadn’t they celebrated their own inventiveness in evading the big bear this evening? He and Piggy had ditched her ursine bodyguard with a hasty exit, and Piggy had called Bobo breathlessly from the sidewalk to say she had left. Bobo could be very…literal, and she had not wanted any kind of scene. She had not wanted anything but her frog, and they had run down the sidewalk like truant schoolchildren.
“And Bobo has really been watching out for Piggy?” Kermit asked,
“Absolutely. And Moishe watches out for her, too.” Stacey voice was earnest.
“Who’s Moishe?” Kermit asked, confused and a little aggrieved. He hadn’t seen any “Moishe” on the playbill.
“Her cabbie,” Trudy explained.
“Oh, Mr., um, Finkel,” Kermit said, glad to know this one.
“Yeah. Great guy. Watches her like a mother hen.”
An image of Camilla driving a cab popped uninvited into Kermit’s head, but he nodded like he understood. Piggy had had to give her address to the cabbie tonight, Kermit realized, so she—they—had slipped through another layer of protection. While this conversation was designed to soothe him, Kermit was not feeling very reassured.
“Don’t worry, Kermit. Mr. Lowery is on it, too. They hired more security since somebody showed up backstage—” Darcy said helpfully, then bit her lip.
“Backstage!” Kermit said, remembering again the way Piggy had been so reluctant to let Bobo know of his presence. He tightened his hold on Piggy’s hand and tried to catch her eyes, but she flushed and would not look at him.
“Piggy—you didn’t tell me somebody got backstage!” Kermit remembered her terror after the tunnel attack in Vegas, and the fact that they still didn’t know who that had been. If he had come East, when Piggy did....”
“Oh, Kermie—Moi didn’t want you to worry,” she burst out.
Kermit’s heart sank, torn between anger and dismay. “Worry about what?” he demanded, and Piggy’s friends blanched a little at the steel in his voice. Kermit saw it and his sense of shame grew—but he would not, he could not back down. He dipped slightly to catch Piggy’s eyes and his voice grew gentle. “Tell me,” he pleaded, pollywog eyes ablaze. He tugged on her hand, and Piggy’s resolve crumbled, but Kristen jumped in before she could respond..
“It’s not her fault. Piggy’s been behaving like a nun, but ever since—” She stopped abruptly, then sighed and plunged on. “You know what the tabloids are saying, Kermit. They’re trying to make it sound like you two are skidsville, so of course every hopeful who ever had a crush on Piggy wants to show up at the theater.”
Kermit had gone very still. “Have they been showing up?” he asked at last. Kermit had always had a knack for cutting through the silly, bizarre and extraneous to land right on the point.
Piggy’s heart began to thump so loudly she was afraid Kermit would hear it. She silently willed them not to mention the note found in her jacket pocket. All the ladies traded glances, torn between honesty and loyalty.
Darcy had been told her whole life that she lacked tact, and a lack of tact seemed called for. She took her moment. “Well, duh,” she said earnestly. “Wouldn’t you?”
The room fell silent.
“I did,” Kermit said quietly. Piggy stepped forward and took his hand, holding tightly.
“You did,” she agreed. Kermit turned to her, surprised at the insistence in her voice. She was something to behold—eyes bright, face flushed, blond curls quivering with feeling. He couldn’t really blame anyone for hoping. She leaned in and bussed his jaw, and Kermit pressed back against the pressure to prolong the contact. It grounded him, and helped his voice remain steady. Instead of saying anything more, he put his arms around her protectively. Piggy turned her face into his shoulder as her friends looked away, eyes bright, throats working. Kermit’s bafflement and misery was so profound it was almost palpable.
“Moi is fine,” Piggy said, muffled against his chest. “It was probably just one of the workmen who are building the new staircase.” (Lightning was apparently busy elsewhere.)
Kermit did not release her for another long moment, then he took a deep breath and tried to make himself relax. It was not a convincing effort. Piggy felt his chest rise, and the slow measured breath he released, and she looked up and smiled at him. “Moi is fine,” she repeated, making herself believe it. “What could go wrong, now that you’re here?”
“I just don’t want anything to go wrong,” Scooter said. There were spreadsheets covering the little kitchen table and Scooter’s laptop was open on the coffee table.
It was the first time he’d ever done one of these sans Kermit, and Sara sat beside him for creature comfort and let him use her as a sounding board.
“Why do they want to meet?” she asked. “What are they hoping to...do?”
“I’m not sure there’s much they can do, except make us miserable,” Scooter said. “Kermit’s already agreed to move up the release date, and we’re not over budget or anything. Last time they made a run at Kermit, he sent them away with a flea in their ear.” Scooter hoped he could handle any unexpected jabs with Kermit’s sangfroid. Sara’s question had landed squarely on the conundrum Scooter could not wave away. What did they want? Why were they interrupting a day of work during a schedule that was already tight? He pointed to a folder on his laptop. “There’s our agreement with them, if you want to look. It’s pretty boring. They can’t arbitrarily change anything unless we violate our side of the agreement.”
“Good to know,” Sara said. She picked up the laptop and clicked on the folder, scanning the contents before picking a file and opening it. The usual boring legalese danced across the page. Party of the first part, hereafter known as Rainbow Productions... party of the second part, hereafter known as—Sara clamped down on here very un-Sesame Street moniker and kept scanning. Scooter had discovered some invoice originals out of order, and was muttering to himself as he sorted them. Sara listened with half an ear, agreeing with Scooter that insurance agents were all doomed to a special circle of— Scooter was still muttering, but Sara had stopped listening.
“Hey Scooter,” Sara said slowly. “When did you all schedule this meeting?”
“--tetanus shots for the cast and crew, paid on—what? Did you ask me something, Sara?”
“Yeah,” Sara said. Something in her voice made Scooter look up.
“What--what was it?”
“When did you schedule this meeting? Was this last-minute?”
“Last-minute? What—um, no. They went back to their office the other week and sent us a snotty email and said...” He looked at her face. “Why? Why are you asking?”
Wordlessly, Sara handed over the laptop, pointing a section of text she had highlighted. “Did you know that clause was in there?”
Scooter looked at the screen, read for a moment and then shook his head as though to clear it. He used the touchpad to scroll back up through the text, then read down until he hit the section Sara had highlighted again. Beside him, Sara was silent, hoping she was wrong.
“”N-No,” said Scooter, bewildered. “I don’t even know why that’s in there. It’s never been an issue before because....”
“Because Kermit’s always been there,” Sara fished.
“Yeah,” said Scooter. Behind his glasses, his eyes were wide—and bleak. He sighed and went to get his phone off the charger in the kitchen. “I’d better call Kermit.”
Sara looked at him worriedly. “Wait--um, maybe call Marty first? See what he thinks?”
Scooter checked the time, then shrugged. “It’s worth a try,” he said. “He might still be in his office.”
Tricia snuggled into Clifford’s side, insisting she was cold, but everywhere her skin touched his felt soft and very warm. Her mouth was so close to his ear that he could feel her breath as she whispered. “And Coraline is going to do ‘Ultraviolet’ tomorrow. I’m worried she might blow the whole grid if she really gets going.”
“She does like to move around,” Clifford murmured. He was mindful of how much his bass voice could carry, so his words were almost silent. Tricia scooted closer to hear him, which was surprising, because she was already practically occupying the same coordinates in the space-time continuum as him. Earlier, she had definitely been in his space, but there had not been much talking then.
“And I think—I think we’re going to do “You Can Cry For Me’ tomorrow,” Tricia breathed.
“Speaking of tomorrow....” Clifford said, and heard her stifle a snort.
“Yes, I know. Tomorrow morning will come very soon.” She leaned up on one elbow and looked at him, her eyes soft. “I wish the tour wasn’t...I almost wish—”
“No ma’am. Don‘t you say it. Don’t you even think it. Bless the furry monster who offered you this opportunity. Take it by the tail and make it your, um...uh, pet,” Clifford finished, modifying what he’d been about to say. It was not exactly Sesame-Street friendly but it was closer.
“Was it really a monster who signed us?” she asked, interested.
“I don’t know,” Clifford said. “Could be—there's a lot of them in the business.” He was quiet for a moment. “I’m gonna go to the couch,” he said reluctantly. “If I don’t go now—” He stood up, reaching for his shirt.
“You’re afraid I’ll jump you again,” Tricia teased, smiling up at him in the dark.
“I’m not afraid—” Clifford began, turning back to face her, then stopped. The light through the window bathed her in blue starlight, catching the planes of her face, the almost blue-black of her hair, the curves that had nestled up to him. Clifford swallowed. “I’m not afraid,” he said with certainty. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Scooter hit a button on his phone and held it up to his ear.
“Yeah,” said the voice on the other end of the phone. “Of course I’m still up.”
Scooter looked at the phone. Marty was downright spooky sometimes, saying out loud what you were about to say.
“It’s me, Scooter. Look, I hate to bother you again, but I need to run something by you.”
“Everybody okay?” Marty asked. Scooter heard his feet hit the floor, and the squeak of the old leather chair.
“Oh yeah,” Scooter said. “I should have led with that. Kermit’s in New York. He’s probably with Piggy right now.”
“I heard,” said Marty.
Scooter stared at the phone again. “How did you hear?” he asked, then backpedaled madly. “I mean, how did you hear?” Scooter corrected, worried he’d offended the grizzled agent, but Marty just laughed.
“Lew and I are friends,” he said. “He called to tell me they got there.”
Scooter traded looks with Sara. Marty knew everything, it seemed. That cheered Scooter up.
“So what’s the problem?” Marty asked. “I know you wouldn’t be calling me if everything was hunky-dory. Spit it out and we’ll see where we stand.”
“There’s--we found something weird in our contract with the finance people,” Scooter began. He pulled the laptop closer and read the offending passage out verbatim.
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.
“Are you alone?” Marty asked.
Scooter’s eyes went wide. “Am I...? Um, Sara’s here. I’m calling from home.” He turned and found the same startled expression on her face that he felt on his own. “Is anything—?”
“Have her look at your back, kid,” Marty said heavily. “See if there’s a target painted on it.”
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one time. And this just occured to me, this could be a spot to bring in Joe the Legal Weasel to argue on Rainbow Productions' behalf against the validity of such a hidden clause.
