Kermie's Girl (ushy-gushy fanfic)

[Ruahnna]

Chapter 107: Mad Men

Rory looked doubtfully out the window of the cab at the somewhat disreputable corner lot. In a section of town that was not at all good, this was one of the less desirable spots. The young Broadway actor hoped that they were not here to do something illegal or dangerous, and was a little alarmed when Piggy got out of the cab. She walked up to the cabbie’s window and smiled a 1000-watt smile that might have felled him where he sat if he hadn’t been driving a New York cab for the past 23 years. “I’ll pay if you’ll wait,” she said, and fluttered her eyelashes at him.
It took him a moment to recover, but he finally managed to answer. “This ain’t exactly a great neighborhood,” he said uneasily, glancing around at the vacant and hopefully vacant buildings nearby. A huge hulking building next door completely dwarfed the building on the corner lot. “I don’t know….”
Piggy made her blue eyes wide. “But vous are so big and strong, and Moi knows you have a phone, right? And you were so clever, losing anyone who might have been tailing us.” She beamed at him and fluttered her eyelashes again.
“Oy vey,” the man groaned. “Fine, fine. I’m an idiot, but I’ll wait. But I’m running the heater.” He cut his eyes at Rory uncertainly. “He gonna be able to take care of you where you’re going?” he asked gruffly. Piggy laughed her gay little laugh.
“Not to worry,” she said. “Moi will be able to take care of both of us.”

Showered and shaved, Rory had followed Piggy into a cab with no clue as to where he was going or what he was doing. But Piggy had asked for his help and he was here. He got out of the car and trotted after her as she made her way toward a scarred metal door with a big dent in it, as though something inside had been trying to get out.
“Mad Man Mooney’s Car Heaven?” Rory said, looking up at the grimy sign above the doorway. “Piggy, um, Piggy, what are we…is this place even open?” The lot was deserted, and there was no sign of any cars outside. The outside of the building was covered in graffiti. Piggy pushed a button beside the door, and an intercom-filtered voice said, “Yeah—what is it?”
“It is Moi,” Piggy said simply, and Rory’s imagination went into overdrive. Who in the name of Sam the Eagle was Piggy meeting and what sort of trouble was she—
There was a buzz, a click, and the heavy, dented door swung inward. “Mad Man Mooney says so,” said Piggy airily and pushed through the door. Rory might not have followed but she had a death grip on his wrist and was dragging him. As they entered the lobby, a dim bell clanked somewhere deep inside. Helplessly, Rory followed closely and looking nervously over his shoulder. If that cabby was still there when they re-emerged, he’d eat his, um, shorts.
“Is he, um, trustworthy?” Rory asked, omitting the obvious question, which was “What’s a ‘Mad Man Mooney’?” Even if Piggy hadn’t had a firm clasp on his arm, Rory had abandoned all plans of letting her out of his sight. He might have grown up in The Big Apple but he was in way over his head.
“Usually,” Piggy murmured, and then a tall, rangy, craggy-faced individual was coming toward them. He enfolded Piggy’s relatively petite form in a crushing bear hug that lifted her off her feet. It almost knocked the ten-gallon hat off his head, but he seemed not to mind in the least.
“As I live and breathe,” he said, putting her back down on her heels and gazing at her. “I thought I might make it to Midtown to see you grace the stage but I never dreamed you’d come all the way out here to see me.”
“Moi has a favor to ask,” Piggy said, and fluttered her long dark eyelashes. Rory tried to get his jaw off the floor. In the space of about three minutes, she’d unleashed more devastating charm on these two guys than she’d ever dared show backstage. It was a little overwhelming to watch.
“Honey, you had me at ‘It is Moi.’ How’s Kermit, the old wheeler-dealer? What’s up with the gang?”
But Piggy darted a quick look at Rory—he saw it but pretended not to—and evaded the question neatly. “Everyone is doing lovely. Can we sit down after like old friends?” She ran her satin-covered fingers up under the sleeve of his jacket—a surprisingly intimate liberty—and she glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid we are on a bit of a tight schedule today.”
“That’s right—you said so. So you don’t want the full treatment?” He sounded disappointed, and Rory gulped, wondering what “the full treatment” was.
Piggy seemed to remember he was there for the first time. She reached back without looking and grabbed his muscular forearm, pulling him around beside her.
“Mondell—this is Moi’s friend Rory. He is starring opposite Moi in Grease!”
Rory felt himself blush. She was introducing him as a friend. He hoped it was true.
“And Rory, this is Moi’s very dear friend Mondell Mooney.”
Rory felt instantly disappointed. Friend. He wondered what it would be like to be Piggy’s very dear friend. Mondell reached out and gripped his hand in a fist the approximate size of a breadbox, and shook his arm enthusiastically.
“Any friend of the The Frogs is a friend of mine. Gosh—we’ve known Kermit and Miss Piggy for a long time. They’ve done a lot a business with my Uncle.” He smiled at Rory, showing lots of square, white teeth. “So, son—you ever driven a race car before?”
Dumbfounded, Rory just stood there with no idea whatsoever what to say.

Clifford carried his luggage into the little house, the screen door banging behind him. He could just see the top of Mabel’s furry head over the top of the bag of groceries balanced on top, and tried to tread carefully lest he tromp on her heels. She was talking and he leaned forward a little to catch everything she said.
“—don’t mind sleeping on the couch. It’s plenty comfy, even for a big guy like you, but you let me know if you need anything. Here, doll—put the groceries down on the table—oh! Hi, Sweetie—you’re up awful early.”
Clifford put the brown bag down carefully on the kitchen table and started to straighten, but something seemed to be preventing it. It might have been the sudden rush of color to his cheeks. It might have been the sudden attack of speechlessness. But it was probably the fact that he was transfixed by a pair of the prettiest, greenest eyes he had ever seen.
They were housed in a sweet, pixie-ish face with a cute, turned-up nose and a little pink bow of a mouth. She might, he thought, be one of the prettiest muppets he had ever seen.
He straightened with a lurch, and tried to catch the potatoes that spilled out of the grocery bag and rolled, catawampus across the little table. “Sorry,” he stammered. “Sorry about that.” The young lady giggled and helped him while he stammered out an apology
“Don’t worry about it,” she insisted. “Mom’s probably just going to mash them anyway.”
Clifford looked from her pert face to Mabel, who was gazing at him with an expression of smug satisfaction.
“Your…mom? Mabel is your mom?”
“Yeah,” she said, and wrinkled up her nose in a way that reminded Clifford forcefully of Mabel. She held out a slim white hand. “I’m Tricia,” she said. “Mabel’s daughter.”

Transportation was proving to be a bit an issue since Piggy left. Kermit felt silly using a studio car by himself, and he didn’t want to impose on Scooter by asking for a ride. California had no genuinely practical public transportation from the suburbs, so Kermit had been driving himself. As a polite and unaggressive driver, Kermit often felt a little overwhelmed on the highways, but lately he’d been doing it almost automatically while his mind wandered over the day’s activities. They’d gotten an enormous amount of stuff done today, and Scooter had finally given him permission to leave.
In the quiet of the little roadster, Kermit grinned. Scooter had not been kidding about owning his schedule. He’d been pushing them like a muppet driven, and Kermit had more than once found himself remembering Scooter as he had come to them so many seasons ago, tentative and more than a little uncertain about his place in the mix. Uncertain was not a word that Kermit would have used to describe Scooter now. Pushy, he thought in the privacy of his own car. Exacting. Dictatorial. If he and Piggy had had a child of their own, they could hardly have imprinted more firmly on their offspring. Kermit found that he was grinning broadly, enjoying a moment of secret snarkiness. What was it about him that seemed to make people either protective or bossy?
Protective and bossy made Kermit think of Piggy and he was suddenly, achingly lonely for her. Not sad, not miserable but terribly aware of a Piggy deficit in his life. He drove in silence for a moment, thinking of her, the day they had met, the first time they had worked together, the day she had tackled him and kissed him during the Glee Club act, saving him the trouble of watching and wondering what it would be like to have those two soft lips pressed to his.
The thought of those lips pressed to his made him feel better and worse at the same time and Kermit wondered what Piggy was doing right that minute. Rehearsal would be over, and she was probably heading back to her new apartment, getting ready for a quiet evening at home. He would go home, rustle up a grub or two and then call her and let her tell him about her day.
A driver behind him laid down on the horn and Kermit started back to life, surprised to see that he’d been doing a sedate 55 mph while things whizzed around him like he was standing still.
“Sheesh,” he gulped, and put his flipper to the floor.

“Sweetie—is everything okay? You’re looking a little…um….”
“Crazed?” Scooter supplied. He looked up from his computer screen and realized he’d been sitting all hunched over. He tried to stretch, feeling brittle.
“I was going to say wired,” Sara said diplomatically. She stepped behind his stool and put her hands on his shoulders, then made a little “oh” of concern. “Scooter, honey, you’re neck feels like concrete.”
“Hmmm,” Scooter said, not disagreeing with her, but he sighed with pleasure when her strong slender hands began to knead the stiff muscles gently. “Stop this minute,” Scooter deadpanned. “No, really—I can only take about three hours of this.”
Sara laughed and turned the stool around so she could lean down and kiss him, still kneading the sore muscles of his neck and shoulders. Scooter groaned, and his hands reached out and clasped her around the waist. Sara did not protest when he pulled her closer but when he tried to pull her into his lap, she disengaged her lips and gave him a look.
“I don’t think this stool is built for two,” she said pragmatically, and Scooter pouted so comically that she laughed and ruffed his hair. “Don’t pout,” she said. “I’m pretty sure the recliner will hold both of us.” She put on a look of concern and put one finger in her mouth. “But we’ll probably have to sit really close. You don’t mind, do you, dear?”
Scooter surged to his feet, lifted her in his arms and staggered, chuckling toward the recliner. Sara laughed but did not protest, even when he dropped her rather unceremoniously into the depths of the chair and followed her in. With a great deal of giggling and gasping, they managed to wedge themselves into the chair, but only by intertwining their limbs and mashing their forms together in a rather friendly manner.
“Comfy?” asked Sara, wriggling a little tighter.
“Oh, yeah,” said Scooter, and smiled. They were so close it was no trouble to kiss. It went well, so they did it again. And one more time, this time with more energy.
“Mmmm,” said Scooter. “This is nice.”
Sara ran her left hand through his hair, admiring the way the engagement ring looked on her finger in the lamplight. “So tell me what you were making yourself into a pretzel for?”
Scooter was quiet for a moment, biting his lip. “I—Piggy’s Broadway debut is this Friday,” he said, and Sara waited, not sure what he would say.
“Right. She’s still in rehearsals this week, but Friday’s the day.”
“Yes. And Kermit’s here, and she’s there.” He paused.
“I know, honey. If things weren’t so backed up—“
“We’re ahead now,” Scooter blurted, then looked around as though afraid he’d been overheard.
“Ahead? Ahead of what?” Sara’s eyes widened in joy and surprise. “Ahead of schedule? Oh—Sweetie! You did it—didn’t you? You cleared enough time for Kermit to go to see her?”
Scooter just nodded, eyes shining.
Sara kissed him. She was good at it, and she practiced often but this one ranked right up there in the top five for sure. It took Scooter a few to come back to earth and hear what she was saying.
“—wonderful man, you! No wonder you’ve been so cranky lately—all that extra work! Oh, Sweetheart—you are the best, most dedicated personal assistant on the planet.”
Scooter blushed but his face belied his pleasure. “Really?” he asked, wanting her to say it all again.
Sara said it with kisses, drowning her fiancé with affection until he laughed and held her still so he could prolong the pressure of their mouths. They pulled away smiling and Sara touched his face.
“You are so terrific,” she murmured. “What did he say?”
But Scooter shook his head. “I didn’t tell him today,” he said. “I dropped the film off on the way home today and I didn’t want to jinx anything. I’m going to tell him tomorrow morning, when I hand him the plane ticket.”
Sara shook her head, loving this mischievous side of him. A thought occurred to her and she opened her eyes wide. “Does Kermit being gone all weekend mean that I’m going to have you all to myself all weekend?”
If smugness were an Olympic sport, Scooter would have taken the gold. “Yep,” he said, and laughed as Sara got an early start on the weekend.

“Oh! AhhhH! Eeeeeyow! Watch out for that corner!” Rory yelled. He’d long since moved past screaming like a girl and was now babbling in something like mortal terror! “Eeeesh! Watch OUT, will you, Piggy! I’ve got a mother who loves me---ahhhHH!”
Piggy shot the little car around the last hairpin curve and barreled down the chute to the entrance, decelerating skillfully so that Rory’s stomach joined them before the car came to a stop.
“There,” she said, taking off her fashionable goggles and smiling at Rory. “How was that?”
Rory was in the process of melting into a puddle in the passenger side of the car.
“Oh, sweet mercy, Piggy—are you absolutely insane?” This had been the most hair-raising ten minutes of his life.
But Piggy was getting out of the car and coming around. She opened the door and looked down at him as he gazed weakly up at her.
“Come on—haul butt, buster. We’ve only got another half hour and then I’ve got to get you back to the studio or Larry will have my hide.”
Rory tried to stand and found his shaking legs would not support him. Piggy reached down and hauled him out of the car, then put a supportive arm around his waist and walked him around to the driver’s side. She opened the door and shoved him in.
It took a moment for everything to register, and then Rory looked down at the steering wheel sitting almost in his lap.
“What? What am I supposed to—oh! Oh no! Piggy—I have never driven a car before in my life!”
Piggy looked at him, hands on hips.
“Okay—once!” he admitted. “But I was drunk.”
“You told me you had a learner’s permit.”
“I do,” he insisted. “It was just a lark—we were just going to see if we could—“
Piggy shut the door and walked around, effectively cutting off what he was saying. She climbed back in the car—on the passenger side this time—and fastened her seat belt.
“Buckle up, bucko,” she said. “It’s your turn to take me for a spin.”
“But, but, but—“
“That’s a lovely impression of a motorboat, but we don’t have time for it now. Pop the clutch, put the car in gear and drive.”
Rory opened his mouth to say something but one look at her lovely and imperious face told him would be fruitless—and possible painful.
“Yes ma’am,” he whined, and did as he was told.

“—just a quiet evening at home,” Piggy said. She crossed her fingers, fairly certain that lightning couldn’t strike her inside the apartment.
“I wish we were having a quiet evening at home,” Kermit said, ruefully remembering all the times that Piggy had said the same thing to him. “Scooter finally let me come home.”
“Then you must have been good. Are you eating some microwave atrocity?” Piggy asked. Her voice was soft, half-chiding, half-affectionate.
“Um, I stopped at Flyburgers,” Kermit admitted. “What about you? You subsisting on chocolates and muffins?” Piggy had sworn the muffin basket was as big as a house.
“Moi ordered veggie lasagna from a place around the corner.” She did not tell Kermit that she had almost been mugged on the way from. It had been no big deal, and she had not even needed to put down her purse to dispatch the two thuggish hopefuls. Now that she was here, back in the city, her city smarts were coming back. She thought with embarrassment of how easily she’d been caught off guard during their Christmas show’s run. Just let somebody try to mess with her now!
“Sounds good,” he said. “Anything exciting happen at rehearsal today?”
“At rehearsal?” Piggy paused thoughtfully. “No—nothing very exciting at rehearsal today.”
She and Rory had had quite enough excitement afterward.
“That was—that was amazing!” Rory said. His eyes were bright and dilated, and his face was flushed from excitement. “I’ve never done anything like that in my life!”
Piggy smiled at him. “You had city boy written all over you. I figured you’d never been behind the wheel of a car.”
“I’ve never been behind anything like that,” Rory enthused. “I didn’t even know they made indoor speed tracks. That was the most incredible—the most…the most…absolutely thrilling thing I’ve ever done.” He had barely topped 80 mph—way slower than Piggy—but it had been a total rush.
Piggy reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down so he was looking into her eyes.
“Now,” she said. “Do you get why Kenickie’s so excited about the car?”
Rory stopped gushing, and his mouth dropped open. He shook his head. “I thought it was just about getting some—“
Piggy shot him a look.
“Um, girls. I thought it was just because it was a chick magnet.”
Thinking of Camilla, Piggy almost smiled. It took way more than a fast car to impress her friend.
“Nothing wrong with attracting girls,” she said. “But—girl or no girl—a car is still a car.”
Rory’s face was full of dawning wonder. “So that’s what the big whup is That’s why they’re all hot to get the car souped up?”
“That’s what the big whup is,” Piggy agreed. “So tomorrow when I climb on your lap in our after-party scene and proceed to kiss your face off, I don’t want you to think about the kissing.
It was entirely probably that Rory blushed, although it was hard to tell since his face was already flushed. “Okay,” he mumbled. “No thinking about the kissing.”
Piggy giggled. “Okay—a little thinking about the kissing,” she said. “But I want you to think about today, and about driving that car like a maniac, with your hand on the clutch and the steering wheel in your lap and--”
“And the roar of the wheels in my head,” Rory murmured.
“Exactly. Think you can do that?”
“Yes ma’am,” Rory said, grinning. Piggy swatted him.
“Moi may be older than you and smarter than you but if you keep calling me ma’am I’m going to hurt you—do you understand?”
The desire to say “Yes, ma’am” and tempt fate was strong, but Rory resisted. Instead, he smiled, lifted her gloved hand to his lips, and kissed it.
“As you wish, Piggy.”

To Kermit, Piggy said, “Another day of the same ol’ same ol’ tomorrow, but then opening night the next day.”
They were both quiet for a moment, then spoke at the same time.
“I’m sorry you can’t come,” Piggy said. She had decided to tell him, so he would know how much she missed him.
“I’m sorry I can’t come,” Kermit said. He wanted her to know how much he wanted to be there.
“It’s okay,” Piggy said. “I understand.”
“Just—just break a leg, okay? Not literally. I mean, I know it’s just an expression and not really…um, okay? Do good. I’m proud of you.”
“I’m proud of you for doing the right thing, Kermie. For being responsible.”
Considering all of the bad things Kermit had thought recently about being responsible, it was nice to hear something positive.
“Love you, Piggy.”
“Love you, too, Mon Capitan.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Call me tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.” Kermit closed the little phone.
If this were a movie, Kermit thought resignedly, a fairy bog-mother would arrive about now, tap her magic wand and send this lonely frog on a trip to see his best girl. But no bog-mother arrived, and Kermit refused to go out on the back patio to see if she had gotten lost and come to the back door instead. He was a sensible frog, with mostly sensible dreams, so he put himself to bed and hoped for a good tomorrow.

Posts: 849, Looks: 42,391 December 10, 2011 7:20

 

[The Count]

Yay! <333 the new chapter.
*Cheers for being fervent enough to take over the wish-granting duties of that fairy bogmother Kermit was thinking of.
And it looks like got a wish of his own granted too in that he'll get a full weekend with his own girl.

At first it was a question of following the phone conversation between pig and frog, what with the practice run—yes, I went there, and so did Piggy, so it's fair to call it that—but it was fun to read about how Rory got some added motivational drive for his character role.

Mondell Mooney... *Awards Ru a gold star for that.
We'll take that car, the one with the price tag we can afford.
Plus our trade-in rate, that means you owe us 5¢.

*Looking forward to Tricia's inclusion in the story. Go get 'er Cliff.

Thank you for posting, it always makes me when there's a new chapter of one of my fave fics.

 

[bouncingbabyfig]

oooh! Love!!! Rory driving, Scooter and Sara! sooo many things to heart in this chapter! Oh! And Clifford and Tricia! Dang this makes me feel inspired!

 

[newsmanfan]

----------------------
As usual, your unique turns of phrase had me grinning ear to ear.

Best bits:
"a scarred metal door with a big dent in it" -- a Sweetums-sized dent perchace?
"she ran her satin-covered fingers up under the sleeve of his jacket" -- WHOA pig! Granted, I know, how tres diva of her...but I hope Kermit never hears about it!
"potatoes that spilled...and rolled, catawampus" -- now THAT is on Old South word if ever there was'un! Love it!
"pushy...exacting...dictatorial" -- hilarious! I love that Kermit appreciates the changes in his young gofer, all growed up!
and "rustle up a grub or two" is just freakin' funny.
"but this one ranked up there in the top five for sure" -- the Ten Best Kisses in History List must now be updated!
"he...was now babbling in mortal terror" -- LOL. Poor boy!

I love how you brought in a Mooney reference in order for Piggy to force Rory to do some research on a phenomenon he didn't understand regarding his character -- and how absolutely insightful of her to KNOW that's what's been "off" about Rory's performance! Brava! And good to know Kermit is about to make a surprise landing on Piggy -- er. I mean. Um. YOU know what I mean!

Mas! Mas!
--------------------------

 

[Ruahnna]

Chapter 108: Hugger-Mugger*

Sara smoothed down Scooter’s collar and playfully unbuttoned one more button on his polo shirt.
“Sara!” Scooter said, blushing and re-buttoning the button.
Sara giggled and kissed him on the jaw. “You’re so cute when you’re blushing,” she teased. “Call me after you’ve given him the news, okay? I want to hear about his reaction.”
“I will,” said Scooter, grinning, all thoughts of embarrassment fading. “I’m going to get a couple of things started so I can get a little bit of work done tomorrow, but I’m going to tell him when we go for our usual morning break.” Starbucks had become a morning routine—the only thing that kept the caffeine head-aches from overwhelming them.
“Well, better get everything you want before you tell him, because he’s going to be pretty useless after you do.”
“Don’t I know it,” Scooter said. He reached out and put his arms around her waist. “And tomorrow, after I get a few things taken care of, then I’m all yours, Mrs.-Soon-to-be-Grosse.”
“I’m counting the hours,” said Sara. “Our first Valentine’s Day. I want it to be memorable.”
Be careful what you wish for….

What on earth could she possibly want with a deserted car lot? Seymour wondered. When the cab she’d gotten into with that guy—the guy playing opposite her in the show—had ditched him the other day, he’d resigned himself to disappointment. Nothing was going the way he had hoped. Nothing. Why—he hadn’t even had a chance to talk to her! And efforts to trace her back to her new apartment had been fruitless. She seemed aware that she might be tailed—Strathers had actually seen a few of the faces in the crowd too often for it to be coincidental—and she was most certainly right. And, he thought confusedly, she was right to try to stay out of the clutches of those other people. Those other people weren’t like him—they didn’t understand her, didn’t know what she really needed. But he got her—he truly got her—and once he had a chance to explain everything, she’d undoubtedly see it too, see how he adored her and would give her anything she wanted if only she would give him what he wanted.
Finding that cabbie had taken a bit of work, and no small amount of cash but he had done it. Working his way through the entire internet listing for New York cab companies had cost him plenty in temp hours, but they had eventually located the driver who had taken them. Armed with the company and the name, Seymour had driven to the last known of the taxi and caught up with the driver, who was currently leaning against his vehicle and reading the sports section.
“Mr. Finkel?”
The cabbie looked up from his paper, surprised to hear his name. The face that met his wasn’t familiar, but the wad of cash in his hands was.
“I’m Mr. Finkel,” he said, interested but cautious. You never knew what sort of nut jobs you’d meet driving cabs. “You need a ride?”
“Not right now,” said the man, who flashed a big, wide, nervous smile. “I really need some information instead.”
Cabbie Finkel gave the stranger an assessing once-over. Not a cop. Not a reporter. Not important, but trying to be. “What sort of information?”
“You picked up a young pig and her boyfriend (he sneered the word) yesterday on Broadway in early afternoon.”
“Says who?” Finkel said belligerently, crossing his arms across his chest. Whoever this man was, he didn’t like him. Too soft. Too slick. Too…something. And he wasn’t about to spill anything about Miss Piggy. Not only had she paid him without a grumble, but she had tipped him fifty dollars and, when he’d gotten home, he’d discovered two signed theater tickets wrapped inside the bill. “For all your help,” Piggy had written. ‘Kissy, kissy!” He was gonna be a hero at home and take the old lady out to a sold-out Broadway play. No way was he gonna give out any particulars on Piggy. She had been a real class act. He could not believe—did not believe—that she would cheat on that nice frog of hers. And he hadn’t seen anything out of line at all between her and that young kid she’d been with—not the first sign of anything.
The question caught Seymour by surprise. “Your dispatcher,” he said. “I assumed he was telling me the truth…?” He invited the driver to contradict him again, but the veteran taxi man just sighed. Apparently this bozo was a journalist.
“Whatdya want?” he asked. “What magazine you working for?”
Seymour felt adrenaline pour into his veins. “I’m not a reporter,” he said, trying to stay calm. This was him! He had found the right cab! “I’m actually Miss Piggy’s agent.” That lie would have registered on the Richter scale.
“Her agent, huh? Then how come you don’t know her business?”
“Well, I found you, didn’t I?”
Finkel grunted.
“And I’m only interested in ascertaining if you had any trouble while you were driving them yesterday. No paparazzi? No one threatening your car while you were parked and waiting for them?”
Finkel hesitated, uncertain now. “What’s this about?”
“Well,” said Seymour, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m sure you’ve been keeping up with all the news about Miss Piggy in the newspapers.”
Finkel spat. “If you can even call them that,” he snapped.
But Seymour went on as though he hadn’t even heard.
“And you know there have been some unfounded rumors of…well…infidelity,” he said.
Cash or no cash, Finkel didn’t like this guy.
“They weren’t doing nothing,” he said. “I dropped them off. I picked them up. End of story.”
“Glad to hear it. Anybody bother you while you were parked?
That was the second time he had mentioned parking. Finkel squinted at him.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, did anyone try to approach your cab while you were waiting for them where they…um, went in.”
“Nobody’s hassled me. ‘Cept you.”
“Good,” said Seymour hastily, too hastily. “I’m glad. And no paparazzi hanging around? I wouldn’t want anyone to get picture of them coming out of—“
“Look—what kind of trouble could they get into in a car lot?” said Finkel hotly. “Everything I saw yesterday was two kids out on an errand—that’s all. That’s it.”
“Well, of course,” said Seymour, secretly gleeful. A car lot—can’t be too many of those to look through….
“And I think whoever’s saying she’s stepping out on the frog is wrong,” the indignant cab driver snapped. “Mr. the Frog—he’s a nice guy and all, but he reads too much into stuff, you know? Everybody knows he’s a jealous guy, right?”
“Oh, absolutely,” said Seymour Strathers, ready to burst with excitement. “I’ve told Piggy many times that he’s completely unreasonable—“
“Now, I don’t know about that,” said Finkel, cautious again. “A gorgeous dame like that—you want to keep an eye on the young bucks, right? And the old bucks, you know what I’m saying? She’s a pretty, pretty pig and I’d be jealous, too. I’m just saying I’d be sure I let her know I knew she was a class act, you know? And I wouldn’t worry about this guy—her co-star. He followed her like a puppy, but there wasn’t nothing in it on her side.”
“Well, let me compensate you for your time,” said Seymour, and—surprisingly—Finkel bristled at taking the money.
“I don’t need your money. I didn’t tell you anything you didn’t know.”
Oh, but you did….
“Well, yes, of course, but surely I could at least….”
“And if she was my client, I’d stop those ruddy newspapers form printing that trash,” Finkel insisted. “So maybe you ought to look after your own self some.”
Satisfied that he’d exceeded the demands of chivalry, the gruff cab-driver fell silent. A lady came out of the bank behind them and held up one finger. He snapped to and opened the door for her.
“Where to?” he asked her, shining Strathers on to beat the band. The lady gave him an address and he peeled out, tires squealing, without a backward glance.
Seymour smiled. Even here, she attracted protectors. But they wouldn’t stop him. He could not be dissuaded, and he was not about to be thwarted. Sooner or later, he would find her, and then everything would be right with the world.

The morning had gone pretty well, considering that today it was Scooter’s mind that was a million miles away. Kermit had begun to give him the fish eye, wondering what was wrong, when Scooter couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Coffee break?” he asked, jumping to his feet. Kermit eyed him nervously.
“I think you’ve had enough caffeine for a while,” he said firmly. “You’re as jumpy as Pepe is on Unending Shrimp Platter Week. What’d Sara do—make you some more of that cocoa?”
Scooter shook his head. “It’s not caffeine. I—I need to talk to you about something.”
Kermit sat very still. If it was something bad, something that had to do with Piggy or the studio, Scooter would have come out with it right away and not wasted the morning fretting. So if it wasn’t bad news, it must be…personal. Kermit relaxed a little, but braced himself nonetheless. Scooter had often turned to him as a surrogate father, and maybe he just needed to talk to someone. Guiltily, Kermit thought how preoccupied he’d been the past few weeks, and turned toward his personal assistant determined to be a good listener.
“I’m listening,” he said. “Tell me what’s up.”
Scooter looked down, refusing to meet Kermit’s eyes. “Um, well, I was on the internet the other day and…and I found something.”
Oh dear. There was a lot of stuff out there on the internet that young minds should not be exposed to. Kermit wondered what Scooter had stumbled across that had so discombobulated him. He reached out and put a hand on Scooter’s shoulder.
“What was it?” he asked.
“I found this.” Scooter reached into the pocket of his chinos and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Mutely, still not looking at Kermit, he handed over the paper.
Kermit took it, disturbed by Scooter’s refusal to meet his eyes. He unfolded the paper carefully, bracing himself for what he might see, and something fell out onto the floor. Kermit picked it up and looked at it. It was a plane ticket. A plane ticket to New York. Totally confused now, he looked down at the paper that had been wrapped around it. It was a flight schedule. His name was on it.
Shaken, Kermit looked up to find Scooter beaming at him.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Boss,” Scooter said. “A day early.”
“But…what—wha? What…do you mean? Is this for me?” A stupid question, since he’d already seen his name on it, but Kermit couldn’t think of any smart questions at the moment. “Is this—are we—can I go?” That laugh came out plaintive enough to make Scooter laugh out loud.
“Yeah,” said Scooter. “You’ve worked your little green butt off since she left, but it’s paid off. With that last stuff I dropped off yesterday, we’re officially on track—if we keep working like crazy. But we’re enough caught up to the new schedule that you can go see Miss Piggy on her Broadway debut.”
“But—but won’t this, you know, cause problems with the—oh, sheesh! What am I saying? Thank you, Scooter. Thank you.”
Kermit was not a demonstrative frog. He could make speeches with the best of them, and he succumbed to hugs willingly enough, but Scooter could count on the fingers of both his hands the times that Kermit had actually been the hugger and not the huggee. Kermit stepped forward and embraced Scooter awkwardly. He patted him on the back, then on the unruly curls on the back of his head. His voice sounded muffled.
“Thanks, Scooter. Thanks so much.”
Scooter returned the embrace and found he was having a little trouble with his voice as well. “You’re welcome, Kermit. You’re welcome, Boss.”
They had not quite pulled away from each other when both had their phones out and up to their ears/aural organs. They laughed, grinning like bandits, and separated to make their phone calls.

“I’ve got some good news,” Scribbler said. “She’s playing it pretty safe, but I saw her leave the theater the other day with one of her co-workers. I think she’s feeling more comfortable now, and I think I’m going to be able to get some pictures—catch her in an unguarded moment or two.” If he was able to catch her in an unguarded moment, he doubted taking pictures would be his first thought. He wanted to talk to her, to talk with her. He wanted to see her look at him with something besides fear and loathing in her eyes.
“Anything would be preferable to the nothing you’ve sent so far,” snapped Scribbler’s boss. “I had to run some stupid tripe about that sham of a wedding.”
“I sent you establishing shots—stuff for background,” Scribbler countered. “You’ve got pictures of her going in the theater, coming out, shopping nearby.”
“Yes, but I can’t use any of that! Kermit knows she’s doing those things. I want him to open the newspaper one day and see her up to something that he has no idea she’s up to—and I’d prefer it be with someone the papers will recognize. When’s Matt Damon back in town, anyway? He sort of had a thing for Piggy before he got married, didn’t he?”
“I’ll check,” Scribbler said wearily. “But I don’t think we’re going to have to manufacture anything. Look—she’s back in her element now. She’s getting her city legs under her. Kermit’s in another galaxy as far as she’s concerned.” Behind his back, Scribbler crossed his fingers in case that was a lie. “All we have to do is let her rediscover her freedom and you’ll have all the proof you need that she’s doing just fine without that frog.”
“As long as it’s in print,” said his boss. “I want the truth to hit him so hard it knocks him right back into the swamp.”
Uncomfortable, Scribbler said nothing. Eventually, he heard a sigh.
“Well, get going anyway. Do whatever it is you’re going to do.”
“On it, Boss,” said Scribbler, and hung up. What he was going to do first was get a trim, and buy a couple of shirts. If he was going to see her, and she was going to see him, he’d better look a little more presentable.

A waffle sat steaming on his plate. His fifth. Clifford closed his eyes and inhaled the steam, then opened them and saw Tricia grinning at him.
“Doesn’t anybody feed you back home?” she laughed.
“It’s a long story. And look who’s talking,” said Clifford. “You ate four!”
“I am watching my girlish figure,” Tricia said, and patted her tummy. Between her skinny jeans and t-shirt, there was a glimpse of lacy camisole, and Clifford, in his efforts to look like he was not looking, knocked his butter knife onto the floor.
Before he could reach for it, Tricia had dived below the table, picked it up and was walking it to the sink where Mabel was washing dishes. She put her arm around her Mom’s ample waist and kissed the top of her head.
“Are you sure I can’t do that, Mom?” she asked, but Mabel just laughed.
“I’m almost done here, Sugar,” she said. “Why don’t you and Clifford run along and play outside.”
Clifford almost choked on a huge bite of waffle. He coughed and sputtered and finally washed the whole thing down with a swig of coffee. Tricia just laughed.
“I think that’s Momspeak for ‘get out from underfoot’—right Mom?”
“That’s right,” said Mabel. “I was up late and got up early. I’m gonna take me a sit down with a cup of tea. Why don’t you all go out do some things before it gets too dad-blamed hot to breathe. I’ll have lunch on the table around one-thirty.”
“Sounds good.” Tricia walked back over to the table and sat down. She put her hands on the table. Clifford noticed her fingernails were short and painted bright green, sort of Kermit-colored. He liked it. She watched him finish his waffle. He liked that, too. When he was done, he walked his plate and folk and mug to the sink, washed them and put them on the draining board. He turned and grinned.
“Okay—I’m all yours. Show me the sights of Las Vegas.”

Piggy was sure someone was following her. She had had the taxi drop her off at the corner and had dived into the sundries store so she could peer out the big plate-glass window at the cars coming by. No one she recognized, although there was a car stopping a block away. She bought a paper, some mints, a cute pair of knock-off sunglasses and some lip balm, all with one eye on the street.
The Goth girl behind the counter watched her and tried to look like she wasn’t awed. When the bell over the door rang, the girl’s eyes slid off Piggy and over to the door. A slight gentleman came in the store, his eyes roving here and there. When the cashier turned back to see what Piggy was doing, Piggy was nowhere to be found.
“Huh?” said the girl, and the man spun around, looking guilty.
“What did you say?” the man asked. The cashier jumped when he spoke. This was getting a little creepy.
“I—nothin’,” she said. She looked carefully around, wondering where a pig of Piggy’s impressive dimensions could have hidden in plain sight. She was on the verge of thinking she’d imagined the whole thing when she noticed a six-foot spinning jewelry stand move as though bumped. The man was strolling with apparent casualness down each aisle. He turned the corner near the ice-cream freezer in the back swiftly and looked up and down the row, obviously surprised to find nothing of interest except portable umbrellas and rain slickers. He was sure he’d seen her come in here!
The Goth girl was edging toward the door. When she got close to the end of the aisle, something reached out and grabbed her ankle in a strong grip. It took a supreme act of will to not scream, and the young woman looked down to see Piggy’s large blue eyes pleading with her. The girl nodded. She stepped purposefully toward the door and opened it, then looked up and down the sidewalk in a showy manner. A compact pink shadow eased out the door, hunched low to the ground, and made for the theater down the street.
The man spun around, honing in on the sound. “What was that?” he cried. “Who’s at the door?”
“Just me,” the young lady said in as bored a voice as she could muster. “Let me know when you’re ready to check out. It’s time for my break and I want to close up for a bit.”
Obstructed, frustrated by circumstances that seemed to conspire against him, the man swore an oath and crumpled his hat between his hands.
He might as well have said, “Curses, foiled again.”

Piggy was full of apprehension and adrenaline, so when two strong arms grabbed her from behind as she walked down the hallway toward the stage her reaction was driven by instinct more than reason. She broke the hold, stomped her assailant’s instep, grabbed her attacker’s arm and threw him to the floor. She knelt swiftly, preparing to “Hi-ya!” him into oblivion when the tables turned neatly. Rory grabbed her wrist, flipped her onto her back and immobilized her before she could do any more damage to him.
“Let me up before I—Rory?” Piggy’s anger gave way to confusion, then fury surged back into her blue eyes. “Are you crazy or just stupid!” she almost shouted. “I could have hurt you.”
“You did hurt me,” Rory said, wincing as he flexed his foot. “I just hope you didn’t damage me. Are you calm? Because I’m not going to let you up to wail on me if you’re not calm.”
“Moi can wail on you even when she’s calm,” Piggy gritted. “What were you trying to pull back there?”
“Me? I was trying to hug you, you maniac!” Rory said, but his eyes were full of laughter.
“Hug me?” Piggy said. “Why on earth would you want to hug me?”
Rory just looked at her. She was pinned beneath his bulk, his body lying angled over hers and, as usual, they were both dressed for dancing. It was a somewhat familiar-looking state of affairs and both of them could easily imagine how hugging might be suggested. He raised his eyebrows at her and shook his head.
“Hello? Maybe because I’m grateful?”
“Grateful? Because I almost flattened you or because I didn’t.”
“Neither. Because of…yesterday. Because it helped.”
“Ooh! Rory—tell me! Tell me what happened.” Her demeanor changed entirely, and he decided it might be safe to let her up. He rolled to his feet and offered her a hand. She bounded to her feet and looked up at him, her blue eyes wide, her expression eager. Rory found it hard to concentrate under the force of that deep blue gaze and summoned a split-second of pity for the frog she’d left behind in California.
He looked behind him, wondering if they had been seen, or overheard. A shadow moved at the far end of the hall, and he took Piggy’s arm and drew her further back the way they’d come. Theaters were gossipy places, and he’d already gotten a couple of insinuations because they’d left the theater together.
“The song went great,” he said, a big grinning lighting his face. “Larry even came back after the show to tell me I was really bringing it. He asked if I liked working with you—he thinks…he thinks I’m ramping up my performance because you’re here.”
“Moi does bring out the best in some people,” she said smugly. Thoughts of Kermit hovered near her, but she ignored them as best she could. “What did you say?”
“I said I wanted to be the best Kenickie that Grease! had ever seen, and that I thought you made a great Rizzo.” He grinned at her, and bit his lip shyly, casting another furtive glance up the hallway. “I…I didn’t tell him about the, um, you know.”
“Good boy,” said Piggy approvingly. No need letting anyone know that they’d been working hard at what should look effortless.
“So, thanks. That was…that was unexpectedly decent of you,” Rory said. He had a pretty good set of pollywog eyes on him, Piggy noted.
But Piggy refused to be sentimental. “I suppose,” she sniffed, “with all the tabloid garbage floating around, you expected me to be indecent.”
“Well,” said Rory philosophically as they walked back toward the stage. “That’s true, but I can’t say I was exactly disappointed….”
And that time, Piggy did slug him.

The afternoon progressed. It would be inaccurate to say that Kermit and Scooter actually worked but they kept busy at something, filling the time with useful if not important things. Sara had been correct—Kermit was mostly useless, but there was still a lot of preliminary stuff that they could do on autopilot—preplanning their next section, tweaking the work schedule a little. It was a happy, goofy time, and Kermit was thrilled by the arrival of Fozzie and Bunsen Honeydew and his faithful assistant. They greeted the news of his upcoming trip with enthusiasm, and Scooter succumbed to having his hair rubbed, noogie-style, by an approving Beaker.
“Hey, stop,” said Scooter, laughing. “You’re messing up my hair.”
Beaker made a rude observation and Scooter, who had been studying the little Guinea Pig to English translation, put his hands on his hips and glared.
“Oh yeah? Well look who’s talking!” he shot back, and Beaker just snickered.
Bunsen was treated to a close-up view of Fozzie’s new tie tack, and he peered at the little adornment closely. “How interesting,” he mused. “A magnetic tie-tack.”
“Yeah,” said Fozzie. “They must have known I’m not so good with sharp objects.”
“Oh, yes,” Bunsen said. “I remember that episode with sword juggling….”
Scooter, Kermit, Fozzie and Beaker all shuddered.
“So, anyhow,” said Kermit. “I’m going to finish out the day—“
Scooter snorted and Kermit shot him a comically annoyed look.
“—and then put in a couple of hours tomorrow morning. Then Scooter’s going to take me to the airport and I’m off to see Piggy.”
“Won’t you be seriously jet-lagged when you get there?” Bunsen asked solicitously. “Muppet Labs is working on a jet-lag cure—“
“Oh, um, no thank you, Dr. Honeydew. It will be a long flight but I’m sure Piggy will think of something to do to…revive me.”
There was a spattering of male sniggering—very respectful, of course.
“Of course,” said Bunsen. “How silly of me.”
Before they could get gone, Dr. Teeth arrived, with news of the bands upcoming defection to the tropics.
“That reminds me,” said Scooter to Kermit. “You’d better take your overcoat. It may be warm here, but it’s probably freezing at night in New York.”
“Good point.” Kermit made a note on his phone. The other night, staring at the little phone after Piggy had hung up, he’d discovered the “Notes” function.
“So what did the Divine Swine say when you told her?” Teeth asked, grinning wickedly.
“I, um, haven’t gotten a hold of her yet. She doesn’t usually wear her phone when she’s rehearsing, so we’ve mostly been catching up at night. I’ll try to call her again when she’s out of rehearsal.” He grinned. “I think she’ll be glad I’m coming.”
Teeth smiled his gold-toothed smile.
“That,” he said, “might be the understatement of the day.”

*hug·ger-mug·ger (h g r-m g r)

n.​

1. Disorderly confusion; muddle.​

2. Secrecy; concealment.​

adj.​

1. Disorderly; jumbled.​

2. Secret; clandestine.​

v. hug·ger-mug·gered, hug·ger-mug·ger·ing, hug·ger-mug·gers ​

v.tr.​

To keep secret; conceal.​

v.intr.​

To act in a secretive manner.​

 

[The Count]

UD: How darling, an update.

Mmm, I love waking up and finding a new chapter posted the night before waiting to be unwrapped and read all over.

Hugger-Mugger*
Thanks for the definition... Though I'm sure you know that's also garnered you a point in your favor as far as Muppet references go, right?

"Clifford walked his plate and folk and mug to the sink…"
Hmm, maybe those crumbs became animated as a myriad of microscopic eyes for Brian? Though how he'd manage to contact anyone other than Gonzo, well, it's not unheard of.
*Finishes teasing, knows you meant "fork".

Hopefully there'll be more of Cliff and Tricia. For some reason, I've got this image of her face that's a bit more on par with the later Henson creations than the more traditional ping-pong eyeball look. *Thinks what kind of trouble they can get into—no, c'mon, Kermit was able to shut off that kind of thinking when they headed there as a troop, so surely we can do it too now.

Scribbler and Strathers seem to be working in tandem if anything, in spite of their working on mutual goals individually. Let's see what happens when a monkeywrench (or should that be a froggywrench?) gets thrown into the midst thanks to a resourceful go-fer.

Wonderful as always, hope for more when you can get it up and posted.

 

[Muppetfan44]

What a wonderful, long chapter! So much great stuff in here.

Hooray to Scooter for arranging for Kermit to see Piggy in Grease on opening night! Kermit should totally surprise her!

I wonder who was following Piggy in the store-thank goodness for nice people like the cashier and cabbie who protect Piggy. Rory got his just desserts for trying to surprise an already-wound up porcine princess.

Scribbler and Strathers still give me chills up my spine (ooh brr, there goes another one!)

Cute side-story with Clifford and Mabel's daughter

Thanks for the update Ru! it totally made my morning commute!

 

[Ruahnna]

So glad you enjoyed! The chapters seem to becoming longer and faster now--I tend to blossom creatively when I'm under stress! Thanks so much for hanging in with my epic tale--more twist and turns to come soon!

(Count: In my mind's eye, at least, Tricia has very real looking features--no orange nose or anything like that, and lovely green eyes. She is petite (although taller than Mabel--who isn't?!) and slendar, with expressive hands. Since I can't draw, I don't try! I do all my painting with words!)

 

[The Count]

Thanks for the added info on the molette, I'll contact you if further help's needed.
And yeah, I tend to try to get my creations across through dictation as well as my art skills are caput since the optics dimmed considerably.

*Looking forward to whatever's in store for our brave band of Muppets.

 

[bouncingbabyfig]

Love this! The secrecy, oohhh! Miss Ru how you never fail to surprise us....