Chapter 102: Kaleidoscope
Piggy wanted several things, and she wanted them all now. She wanted a hot bath, she wanted something hot to eat, she wanted to go home and, well…. The first three were a possibility, once she got back to the hotel, but the last one—well, she wasn’t going to think about it. The rest of the afternoon had been…busy. Although they had gotten off to a (loud and) rocky start, Rory proved a quick study, and he gave her something substantive to play off of. Although they hadn’t run any of their more important scenes together in front of the whole cast, they had found themselves a quiet-ish corner backstage and worked on their back-and-forth. Piggy was sure they could work together, but not yet sure about whether or not they would end up friends. Fine. She had friends—back home.
The ensemble pieces had gone well, although there was that awful feeling of being the only one who didn’t get the memo, but Rory proved helpful there as well, steering her subtly until she knew precisely where her marks were among the swirl of dancers. Her other solo (with back-up from the Pink Ladies) had been well-received, but while the looks were admiring and the other actresses generous with the stage, there had been none of the casual horsing around she was used to. When the music stopped or the scene ended, it was as though a switch had been thrown and Piggy found herself back in her bubble, on the outside looking in.
She didn’t know what to think about it, and she was thinking about what to say about it to Kermit when she called him. She wanted to hear his voice, and wished he had been here to offer tips and suggestions. The irony of it made her smile—she, who had never admitted to wanting Kermit’s direction, would now have given anything for his knowing, bulbous eye on the day’s rehearsal. He would have known what to say to make everything better.
Piggy made a face as she gathered up her things. Drat! She had meant to call her friend’s colleague last night to make some arrangements about an apartment, or at least get that ball rolling, and she did not want to call Kermit and admit that she had not done it yet. In spite of her fatigue and the headache that was forming between her temples, Piggy smiled. Dear Kermit. He was far, far away, but he could still bully her into doing what she ought to do. She pulled out her phone and looked for the number she’d been given by her friend, realizing after several moments of fruitless searching that she had not put it into her phone yet. That meant it was still in her purse, or laying on the nightstand at the hotel. Drat. She’d have to do it when she got back, which meant that she could not call Kermit until she got back until the hotel. Piggy wrapped her coat more firmly about her, slung her duffle over her shoulder and walked out the theatre door.
It was funny. At night, with the lights blazing, the sidewalk full of excited audience members and histrionic scalpers and street vendors and paparazzi, Broadway had a certain cache, a certain flair. In the cold, grey daytime, it looked a little dingy and unwelcoming. Piggy clutched her coat tighter around her. In California, it was still warm and sunny, but New York in February was bitterly cold. She might have to buy one of those cute little knitted caps—maybe several in different colors—and at least one in her signature purple…. She wondered if there was anywhere here she could buy one “off-the-rack” which would have the appropriate, um, fit. So few haberdasheries stocked the shelves with samples with earholes…. Piggy started to hail a cab, but decided that a quick look in the shop on the corner wouldn’t do any harm…. She turned abruptly toward the corner and felt a chill crawl up her spine. Someone was watching her.
Since she had been blind-sided in the causeway between theaters in Las Vegas, and even more since Fleet’s surprise “drop-in” visit at the photo shoot, Piggy had tried to be more aware of her surroundings. She was calm. She was not an alarmist. But she had definitely seen someone duck back into the alley up ahead. For a moment, Piggy hesitated, patting her pockets as though checking for something while her brain raced, deciding what to do next. But Piggy’s brain didn’t actually make the decision—her gut did. She put her hand in her coat pocket and let her body reflect the relief of a person who has found what they are looking for—and she kept on walking toward the corner.
Kermit would hate this, she knew. He would wave his arms about his head and ask her what the heck she thought she was doing. Marty would hate this. He would lecture her on protecting her assets and not doing anything rash. Jimmy’s disapproving face joined Kermit’s and Marty’s in her head, but Piggy pressed her lips together and kept moving. There was nothing about her body language that would show she was nervous or upset—nothing that would clue in her would-be stalker that she had seen him, but her entire body was focused on that fleeting image…that…fleeting image…that fleeting image of a gray, shaggy head, the flash of a trench coat, that fleeting image of…Fleet.
Piggy stopped in her tracks, and her heart began to race. If a squad of street thugs had materialized ten feet in front of her, she could not have been more frightened. What did he want? He had said he wanted her to remember who she was, but what did that mean? Piggy’s mind raced frantically, searching for some sort of answer that made sense. When they had known each other, before, she had been young—young and naïve. Rory thought she still looked young, but Piggy was no longer naïve, was no longer helplessly hoping for her future to come to her. In a way, she supposed she had been dependent on him—needing his encouragement and praise. She was more experienced now, more sure of herself. Did Fleet want her to go back to her old, insecure self?
Piggy thought about that, now trying to decide whether to walk toward the corner or return to the theater. She thought about arriving back inside the theater doors, breathless and agitated in front of the rest of the cast-members, and immediately rejected that idea. The only way out was to go forward, to walk past that alley, to face the past if it came out to confront her. Piggy shoved her satin-gloved hands down into her coat pockets and kept walking. She was almost past the alley when she turned suddenly and looked into the dark alleyway.
“I know you’re there,” Piggy called, “but Moi is not afraid of you!” I’m afraid of me, she realized, even as her eyes adjusted to the dimness. There was no one in the alley. She was well and truly alone.
Cliffhanger Active Member
If you still want me, I’m coming to see you! Things are slow here. The Queen is gone, the King is up to his little green gills in work. Pepper and his lady are taking a stay-cation and Rowlf doing great on the road. I got a gig hosting a beauty pageant next month on the Food Network—Miss Cupcake—but I got nothing till then. Say the word and I’m yours.
Hot Tamolé New Member
Of course I still want you! Get your purple tattooed butt down here and catch me up on all the news. LMK if you need someone to pick you up from the airport, or are you driving?
Cliffhanger Active Member
I’m flying. A pick-up would be nice. Uh…how’d you know about the, uh….
Hot Tamolé New Member
I got my sources. Send me your flight details by secure channels, ‘kay? See you soon!
“So that’s 24 soft tacos, 15—make that 16—taquitos, a quart of hot sauce and a jar of marshmallow crème. That about it?”
“Don’t forget the root beer,” Gonzo insisted. “I don’t have anything in the house to mix my chocolate milk with.”
“Root beer for chocolate milk—right,” Rizzo said, making a mark on his notepad. “Anything else? Anything I’m forgetting?”
“Womens,” said Pepe sourly. “We are lacking in the womens department.”
“I didn’t forget them,” Rizzo snapped back. “They’re forgetting me. And I’m not digging up a date for you anyway.”
Pepe sighed and trudge off, muttering something in Spanish. When he had gone, Rizzo looked at Gonzo.
“Camilla’s not coming either?”
“I didn’t ask her,” Gonzo admitted, sighing. “She’d just say ‘no’ and then I’d feel bad, and then she’d feel bad for making me feel bad, and then I’d feel bad for making her feel bad for making—“
“Whoa there, buddy—got it. Sorry. Just asking.”
“Speaking of asking—what happened with you and Gloria Jean?”
Rizzo shrugged and grinned. “What happens in Vegas apparently does stay in Vegas.”
“Sorry, chum.”
“No, no—it’s okay. She’s a sweet kid. Nice gal. No hard feelings. Just…just…nothing. She’s working a show at one of those singing restaurants now—and I think Laura May might end up there, too.”
“They hiring?” Gonzo asked, sounding interested.
Rizzo gave him a look. “Sorry, buddy—you don’t have the legs for it.”
Gonzo looked down at his blue, furry, knobby-kneed legs. “What’s wrong with my legs?” he demanded.
“Going for tacos!” Rizzo called, and made his escape.
“Hello Kermie! Kissy kissy!” Piggy said. She made herself sound enthusiastic.
“Oh—hi, Piggy! How was your first day at rehearsals?”
“I bought a new hat, mon chere,” Piggy said. “One of those cute little knit things. It is adorable on Moi,” she said.
“I’ll bet,” said Kermit. “I can’t wait to see it when I come up there. What was it like at the theater—was everybody nice?”
“It is a beautiful theater,” Piggy gushed. “The dressing rooms are very nice.” It was not what Kermit had asked, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“What about Mr. Lowry? Did you sit down with him today?” Kermit had been Piggy’s boss for a long time, and now she was working for someone else. He wondered how this was going to go. He knew how it had gone with them, with her finagling what she wanted with a few judicious bats of those big blue eyes and a mean left hook, but he reminded himself firmly that Piggy was professional and would never do something like that…with anyone else.
“But of course, Mon Capitan,” Piggy said. “He was very professional.” Piggy knew what Kermit wanted to hear. “He is charming, but not as charming as vous.”
“Piggy,” Kermit said, embarrassed at being so transparent, but he sounded pleased. “Well, Marty said he’s a real wizard on Broadway. I’m sure you’re in good, er, hands.” That had not come out right, and Kermit frowned into the phone. “What about your cast mates? Did you get to meet everyone?”
“The actor who is playing Kenickie is a very good dancer. We practiced our sets today. Oh—and I got to do my solo for everyone.”
“Well, I bet that sure wowed them!” Kermit said, and Piggy could feel him trying to be enthusiastic.
“They were speechless,” Piggy said. They barely spoke to me at all.
“I’ll bet. Have you had any luck—?”
“Moi is waiting for a callback from the real estate agent,” Piggy said. Her gloved fingers were crossed and she felt a twinge of guilt. She was going to call the agent as soon as she got done talking with Kermit, so that counted, didn’t it?
“Oh, good. Glad to hear you got that going. Is the hotel nice?”
“Very nice, Kermie. I’m going to order room service in a moment or two and look over my notes from today. Will you call me before you go to bed?”
“You got it, Piggy. I’ll give you a call before I go to bed—how’s that?”
“Perfect,” Piggy said, but they both knew that was a lie. Perfect was him being here to slide beneath the sheets with her, or take her to the theater tomorrow. But they were both actors, and good at pretending.
“Love you, Sweetie!” Piggy cried. “Kissy, kissy!”
“Bye, Piggy—talk to you tonight!”
Piggy hung up and stared at the phone, relieved at the success of her duplicity. She could not know it, but on the other coast, Kermit sat staring at his own phone, wondering about the false gaiety in her voice. He hoped she wasn't worrying about him. He was missing something, he was sure. He was missing something besides Piggy.
“Oh, look Beakie! It’s a postcard from Shantilla!” Beaker peered over his colleague’s shoulder and looked at the elegant writing. “Hmmm. She says the semester is going well.”
“Mee me meep?” Beaker asked.
“Well, you know my email’s been down for a few days since the, um, unfortunate incident with my prototype for an instant hole.”
Beaker shrank back, nodding. He remembered.
“But that was very sweet of her to write.”
Beaker nudged him in the ribs. “Mee mee meep me?” he asked, and Bunsen suddenly became busy with his glasses.
“No, of course not, Beakie. We’re just friends. Oh—look at the time! It’s time for “Name that Solvent!” on MNN!”
Beaker meeped enthusiastically.
“Right,” said Honeydew. “You find the remote—I’ll get the cheese doodles!”
“Thank you. Thank you very much. I’m Rowlf—Rowlf the dog over here on keyboard and piano. Back there on bass we got Slinker, lead guitar is Malachi the Second, Dizzy on the drums and vocals and banjo by the delectable Jolalene.”
The crowd clapped politely and there were a couple of wolf whistles from a couple of wolves at the back table. Jolalene bared her teeth in what was presumably a smile and put a hand on her hip.
“And we are very happy to be here tonight,” she said in a sultry growl. “Anybody got a birthday tonight? How about an anniversary?”
One whole table of what looked to be college kids began to point at a tall, gangly fellow in their midst. “Birthday! It’s his birthday!” they chanted while he blushed and tried to hush them. A middle-aged couple in the back—a warthog and a plump little hippo—giggled and raised their hands.
Rowlf grinned, watching Jolalene work. She was great working a crowd, drawing them in with her whiskey-tenor and her stunning good looks, and the band members were good guys. Even Dizzy, who had to be watched for a wool fetish and a few other marginally unsociable habits, was a good musician and a decent card player. Rowlf was enjoying this little road trip. Pay was decent, food was diners and dives—no complaints there!—and not a poser among the band.
He did feel better after he’d talked to Kermit last night. He’d touched base with Scooter—just to get the lay of the landscape after Piggy had gone—and then called Kermit to catch him up and be caught up on the happenings at home. Like everyone else in America (and several provinces and most continents), Rowlf had seen the footage of Jimmy and Annie Sue playing with the paparazzi at the airport, although it had only taken Rowlf one look at Annie Sue’s cute little knees to know that it wasn’t Piggy. Rowlf was a great appreciator of women, and he’d known at once that those were not Piggy’s dimpled gams. Not that they weren’t worth watching, mind you, but he had worked with Piggy—and Kermit—long enough to know Piggy’s awe-inspiring figure at a glance. Kermit had been adamant that he was fine and Piggy was doing fantastic, and Rowlf heard with the long, floppy ears of friendship. Kermit was hanging in there during the first rough days, and Piggy was settling in just fine in New York.
Rowlf and the band were nowhere near New York. They were currently in the heart of Alabama—wait, maybe that was yesterday…. Rowlf thought about it a moment. They were in Georgia now, and for the next few days. The weather wasn’t all that hospitable, but it was warm here in the bar—or maybe that was just Jolalene. Rowlf grinned. All dogs were descended from wolves, but Jolalene might not be descended quite as far as he was. He was doing just fine admiring her from afar, if that could be applied to his stool at the keyboard.
The couple had been coaxed onto the stage, and the little hippo was smiling and singing into the microphone with Jolalene on the chorus of “Mama, He’s Crazy” while her husband looked on fondly. Rowlf let his paws roam the keys. Yep, yep, yep. Good to be back on the road.
Piggy had carried the room service menu all over the room with her and had yet to order anything. In her other hand, she had a notepad with the phone number her real estate friend had given her on it, but she hadn’t called that either. She stopped where she was and put the number into her phone, intending to call, but her room phone rang before she could. Piggy looked at the phone warily, wondering who had this number, and who could have gotten this number. Eventually, she walked over and picked up the phone.
“Yes?” she said simply, and did not identify herself.
“I—hello. This is Margo at the front desk. Is this Mrs. The, um, I mean, Mrs. Lee?”
So much for privacy. Scooter had had enough sense to not register her under her own name, but if the hotel couldn’t keep it straight, then word would probably leak out sooner rather than later. And that meant she needed to be gone sooner rather than later.
“This is Mrs. Lee,” she said wearily.
“Yes ma’am. I have a package here for you.”
“A delivery?” Oh, great—it was already starting. Someone had found her. If she didn’t get gone, her room would soon be so crowded with gifts and flowers and homemade love letters that she wouldn’t be able to see the furniture.
“No, ma’am. A package from the Post Office.”
Piggy stared at the phone. Who did she know who would mail her something? And know to mail it here?
“Would you like to come get it, or would you like us to send it up?”
“I’ll come get it,” Piggy said.
“Yes ma’am.” Politely, Margo waited for her to hang up. Thoughtfully, Piggy replaced the phone. Kermit had had things delivered here or, rather, he had had Scooter have things delivered. And if there was ever anyone who knew how to do things through channels or around them, it was Scooter. So it wasn’t Scooter. Ditto Marty. For a moment, she wondered if Scribbler could have….but this was pointless. She would have to go and see for herself. Piggy had come home wanting a hot shower and food and rest, but now she was too keyed up to do anything until she knew about that package. And then she was going to call that agent, and find someplace else to live. She caught up a scarf to wrap around her curls and provide a little coverage in the lobby, wondering and worrying if she should have had them send the package up instead. Ah. Too late now. Her fate was sealed.
“Look—all I’m saying is that I want to stay and help. Why won’t you let me help?” Jimmy said. He had been quietly insisting while Kermit had been quietly resisting for about 30 minutes now. Two of the most amiable, good-natured frogs on the planet were slightly less amiable and good-natured as they stared at each other.
“Because I don’t need help. I got along just fine by myself for a long time. I know you think I can’t catch my own food anymore—“
“Hey! I was joking, for goodness sake. Can’t you just lighten up?”
“Lighten up? Sure. I can lighten up,” Kermit snapped. “Can’t you just butt out?”
Jimmy snorted. “Sure—now that I’ve kissed all the girls, you’re ready to send me home!” He was trying to make his voice light, teasing, but there was an edge to it that he was certain Kermit could hear.
“What’s the matter?” Kermit said. “Did you miss one? I’m sure there’s a least one woman I’ve worked with that you haven’t been snogging lately!”
“There is,” Jimmy almost shouted. “She’s in New York. Why do you have to be such a pain, I wonder?”
Kermit put his hands on his hips. “It must run in the family.”
Huffily, they glared at each other, then Jimmy broke into a grin and put a hand on Kermit’s arm. “Hey—look at us. We’re beginning to sound like Maggie.”
“Perish the thought,” Kermit muttered, but he finally broke down and grinned.
“Look, Kermit, big bro—I don’t mind to go back home to the swamp. If you kick me out I’ll be out of these city clothes and into so good ol’ swamp water soon as you say lickety-split. But I’m afraid if I go you’re just going to wander around this big house like a ghost and work yourself to the bone. I know I’m not Piggy, but surely I’m better than nothing…?”
The plea in his voice hung there in the air for a moment, then Kermit made a scrunchy face and reached out and embraced his brother.
“You’re a lot better than nothing. Thanks for coming, Jimmy. We appreciated it. I appreciated it. You made parts of it possible and parts of it bearable. I know that you want to stay—I know Piggy probably asked you to stay—but this isn’t going to be a quick fix. The sooner I get used to being on my own for a while, the easier it will be.”
Jimmy pulled back and gave him a doubtful look. “You think?” he asked.
Kermit shrugged. “Heck—I don’t know. This is all new to me. I don’t know anything right now except I need to work my patootie off to meet these new deadlines, and I can’t get…settled until I’m actually settled. You know what I mean?”
“Sort of,” Jimmy said. “I…I just wish there was something I could do.”
“Tell Mom to send cookies,” Kermit joked, then hoped that Jimmy would take him seriously.
“I will.”
“And tell Robin I’ll send for him again soon, okay? I don’t want him to think….”
“I’ll explain it. He’s a smart kid. When you’re ready for some uncle time, call—I’ll bring him back.”
“And tell Mom not to worry, okay? And tell Dad….” Kermit stopped, thinking. “Tell Dad it’s my turn to wait on her.”
Jimmy looked at him, obviously curious, but Kermit clamped his froggy lips shut and would not say more.
“Okay, bro. Then I’m going.”
“You think you’ll be able to fly stand-by?” Kermit asked. One single frog, no luggage—it was a good bet.
But Jimmy just grinned at him. “Don’t have to,” Jimmy said. “Scooter bought my ticket this afternoon.”
They looked at each other, bulbous eye to bulbous eye. “Of course he did,” Kermit sighed. He looked at Jimmy with affection, glad to be so well known. “Safe journeys.”
Piggy took the brown-wrapped package gingerly, although it didn’t appear to be ticking, but as soon as she saw the return address, she gave a squeal of delight and hugged the package to her bosom. Mabel had sent her a care package! She pulled at the twine and wrapping eagerly, wanting to see what was inside.
Two men in the lobby honed in on that squeal. One of them would have known that sound anywhere. The other had been waiting for her.
Seymour Strathers was making his way over to the concierge desk as fast as he could through the crowded lobby and still looked dignified. This mustn’t looked to planned—in fact, it was not as planned as he would have liked—but he needed to just nonchalantly bump into her here in the Big Apple, here in the hotel where he had staked her out and the rest would come easy. She would be surprised. He would act astonished. She would be charming. He would be charmed, then ask her out for a bite to eat, maybe a show…. They would talk about the Christmas show—nothing threatening about that—and she would begin to feel comfortable with him. He would ask after Kermit solicitously, but there was no reason anymore for her to pretend to care what the frog wanted. He was still in California, and there was the whole continental United States between them. And, if Seymour had his way, he would be between them soon.
But he was not the only one who had heard her girlish squeal of delight—not the only one who would be glad for a chance encounter. Seymour made his way with difficulty around two elderly dowagers, ready to sweep down on her—and found he was, once again, second in line.
“Miss Piggy! As I live and breathe!” said Tim Curry. “I heard the big news but I had no idea you were staying here!”
Piggy looked up, her blue eyes alight with pleasure. “Timothy! Oh—mon ami! Whatever are you doing here?” Seymour stifled a groan. He would have given a month’s wages for her to greet him that warmly.
“I have just concluded a very successful interview,” Tim said with a big grin, “but I will tell you what I’d like to be doing here. I would like to be taking you out for dinner. Where’s your hubby? Go tell him I’m taking you both out for a bite. We must celebrate your wonderful opportunity on Broadway.”
Piggy’s eyes dimmed and she looked down. “Kermit couldn’t come,” she said.
“Couldn’t come? Couldn’t come? What do you mean, couldn’t come? What on earth could be more important that you—on Broadway?!” Seymour gritted his teeth—he had been going to use that line!
But Piggy smiled. “Moi’s latest movie,” she said simply. “Mon Capitan is indispensable there.”
“Oh! Well, surely then he won’t object to an old pirate buddy absconding with his treasure for the evening. Will he, darling?” Tim was appealingly earnest.
Piggy giggled. Kermit had liked Tim quite a lot when they were filming, although his enthusiasm had dimmed quite a bit when there had been so many, many takes of their big kissing scene. They had quitted the movie as friends, but Kermit had not shown much enthusiasm for social get-togethers after that. Thinking this, Piggy hesitated, but the chance to talk to someone who knew her after being roundly snubbed all day was too tempting.
“I’m not really dressed,” she began, gesturing to her day clothes, but Tim gestured to his own designer jeans and silk sweater.
“You’re overdressed,” Tim said, and it was all Seymour could do not to launch himself across the room and punch him in the nose. But Piggy wasn’t offended. She giggled.
“I could get scruffier,” she teased. “Tell me we’re going someplace the paparazzi won’t follow.”
“They’d follow you to Hades and back, my dear, if they knew you were going. But they don’t. So run put on something less Fifth Avenue and more bourbon street and we’ll go grab a nosh.”
Once again, Piggy hesitated, biting her lower lip. “I—okay,” she said. “Let me go change.”
Bitterly, Seymour watched her go. He thought malicious thoughts about pirates and actors and The Rocky Horror Picture Show. And went home alone.
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Very nice Rue! I love how we get to see different sides of the characters, nice touch. BTW, Mabel reminds me of my own aunt (she's not really an aunt, she's a friend of the family.)who has type 1 diabeties, but she loves sweets! Hehe.
Also, may I call you Aunty Rue? I don't have very many aunts... they don't act like I'm their niece. But I would love to have you be part of my adopted family!
