Kermie's Girl (ushy-gushy fanfic)

[The Count]

Are you mortal foolish like all the rest?
And dare open this fearsome demon's chest?
Then read as I present this review.
Of the 13 boasts of Chapter 132.
Written by Auntie Ru!

1. A ghost of frogdom past.
One of the things I like is how she weaves threads together. For example how Kermit wanted the wedding to be real and have Piggy too, to the point he wanted so to run and throw himself down and beg for Piggy's hand (and the rest of her).
That makes me chuckle, remembering an old skit from Whose Line is it Anyway? where one of the guys asked for just a father's daughter's hand in marriage. He didn't want her or her body, just the hand.
And then there's the reference to an old Sesame sketch, I think it's called They Live In Different Places Now about a birdie's divorced parents living in opposing trees.
But best of all is how transparent the frog and pig are to the extreme that they can't even lie or keep secrets from each other when in close proximity. This rully speaks to the depth of their relationship.
And before I forget, I give you points on incorporating a twinge of feeling from the newest movie when Kermit wonders would she have come back from Paris, if something had torn that couldn't be repaired.
*Listening to Pictures In My Head on MCR.

2. The red-eyed monster of rage in a pig's eye.
What I took away from this is the air of indignity Thoreau automatically lapsed into after the insinuations from that article.
Howard: If you can call it an article…."
This segment shows how you're handling those two er, men who have come to Piggy's aid in the big rotten apple. And I very much like how you're writing them together.

3. The teasing of a love spell cast by a beguiling bewitching beauty.
No, I don't read mags. I just check up on the headlines constantly being refreshed at FilmForce's site and if there's something that interests me then I go and read their articles there to stay up-to-date on what's coming next.
One of the benefits of a mental calculator combined with or making up for lack of sight is no real need for owning a calendar, even though there have been some nicer calendars made with the Muppets in the 80's and 90's, not so much nowadays from the threads in the Muppet Merchandise section. But I wouldn't say "nooo" to one of my own girl.
Posted by Catherine the Great:
"Wouldn't that be nice," Autumn said. "Four more months of your favorite femme fatale." Ed reached across the table and took her hand. He did his own best imitation of winning, pollywog eyes. "No, Sweetheart," he said gently. "You're my favorite femme fatale."
And don't you forget it! Although I do have several other crushes, but that's normal. Right?

Hmm, from the window shopping going on, I'd say my girl spotted that sleaze Seymour slinking about the sidewalk in much the same fashion he spotted us as mentioned later on in the chapter.
*Laughs at the whole clothings charade going on at the men's shop. *Imagines doing a passable Bruce Wayne impersonation for that whole scene with the sales consultant.
You know, I'm half tempted to change that shirt to indigo as it's both my Ranger color and the color of Moondust House. But I'll leave it as lavender, it suits me just fine as well.
Mmm, spanakopita with shrooms. And enough fizzy to wash it down.
*Chuckles at the mention of the jewelry store and diamond. Yes, touché, well played madame.

4. The creeping snatcher, with his false ideals of possession and jealousy.
As vehemently as you seem to want something bad happen to the good Dr. van Neuter in Kris's story, that's how much you've perfected the equal feelings in us against Mr. Strathers. Thank you for allowing us to give him the slip. But why do I feel like that song by Debbie Harrie will come to awful fruition some point in this fic? With bad results for the starring pig?

5. A devil's advocate who would proudly wear Prada.
So Chad's mom is involved in the judicial employment system. Wonder if she's a public notary or an office assistant/paralegal assessor.
One less motion, one less court date, one less day wasted in getting the suit scheduled for another time when the court's calendar's cleared.
Methinks that last bit of dialogue refered to her meeting Piggy. Saturday night at the show if she's lucky, Sunday morning for sure for the brunch Chad already penciled with the diva a few chapters ago.

6. The unspeaking ferry allowing you to collect your thoughts across the quiet murmurs.
Nice to see how Thoreau and Howard differ in internal opinion as to how they'll "enjoy" themselves in Piggy's company out on the town during the cab ride to the theater to catch the show.
And Moishe probably wins Quote of the Week honors with "These artsy types, not a lick of common sense among them."

7. A hecuba woman of a wharg marking her territory, defending her pack.
This segment, me likes it because of the reappearance of Rowlf and Jolalene in the story.
Like any protective dog, Rowlf's got his ears up should he need to be warned if anything happens to Piggy and Kermit, and he's right to be worried for the news he hasn't heard. Yet.
*Is just as anxiously awaiting for the Academy Awards as everybody else.
BTW: I'll contact you to get a good descript for Jolalene as I've got a spot for her in the ol' hauntlist.

8. The sirens' song calling out to troubled heartstrings.
And here's another segment I like because it brings us back to the Indy Vittles, and Tricia in particular.
Oh Trish, can you rully be sure that Cliff's not interested in you the same way you're interested in him?

9. A silver screams hostess who'd just as soon steal your soul as keep you glued to your seats.
Again, it's nice to have a fic-self I can aspire to better my own self. I've probably been spoiled due to years of conversating reactionarywise with whatever TV show I'm watching and all those episodes of MST3K to the point that I try not to go to the movies unless there's one that I reeeeeally want to go and watch.
And yes, there are times when I'm with my friend or brother and I ask them what exactly is going on at that moment during the movie.
*Notices a bit of devil-may-care turn in Autumn, will have to remember that when the holidays come around.

10. The master mage manipulating all cosmic spheres set to spin upon his miniscule whims.
Given that Scooter's taken on a starring turn in WebMistressGina's Pool Hall fic series, it's refreshing to read a part with him and Sara here, even more so when you write him in a rare introspective jaunt. The point gets driven farther in when he realizes he now has what his boss frog and hog have, to speculate on what it would be like to have loved and lost versus never having loved anyone at all.

11. The specter of doubt who rears its hooded head, sinking its fangs to spread serpentine dread.
What happened to that beeline straight for the bedroom Kermit?
: Beeline!
: Bedroom!
*Both: Excellent B-words.
This just continues the subtly mentioned theme from that first segment back at the top of Ch 132 Part 1, where Kermit keeps feeling his green's maybe gray today.
Also, props to you for the terminology of in "the sooner today's over, the sooner it'll be tomorrow"mode of thinking that hopefully helps the weary trudge on with their lives.

12. The tik-tik-tok of the doomsday clock as it ticks its way down to your end.
Another interesting cross-section of this novel is how you've taken Fleet Scribbler, made him a source of antagonism throughout the story's sequence, and then added a backstory and a present story that soften off those coarse edges, changing him into a likeable character. At least, that's how it comes, sometimes. This right here where he's tired from a full day of his rather questionable work and comparing his conditions between LA and NYC, calling Harve to check on Gladys, it goes to show that the little muckraker can be cleaned up into someone who's not all too bad.

13. The frightful feature of future fibbing come face to face, the fear that goes beyond all fears.
Loved that Scooter and Kermit got a chance to patch things between them, allowing the frog to get that breath of relief he sought when dialing his gofer earlier in the chapter. Though I don't think the conversation ended the way he really wanted.
"This is not going to end well," Scooter said. Famous last words.

And with that we conclude the review.
Of this colossal chapter posted by Aunt Ru.

 

[Ruahnna]

Awwww. You worked really hard on that and I'm so touched!
Rizzo: Yeah--you said it, not me!
Ru: Hey! I resemble that remark!
Rizzo: Watch it, lady--that's my line!
Ru: What was that? The last show to ask you to guest star?
Rizzo: Ooh! Ooh! Below the belt! Below the belt!
Ru: There hasn't been a belt that fit you in--
Piggy: Um, pardonez-Moi, but I must interrupt this little spat in order to bring Ru an important announcement.
Ru: Yes?
Rizzo: I'm listening?
Piggy: There is no food on the table at home.
Ru: What? Oh! Oh, um, I've been sort of busy writing.
Piggy: AND--
Ru: And?
Piggy: And there are NO cookies in the cookie jar, either!
Rizzo: I'll be there's no pie in the fridge, either, huh?
Piggy: It's true.
Ru: But, but...I made a cheesecake.
Piggy: That was yesterday.
Ru: Yes, but...I was, um...
Rizzo: (putting an arm around Piggy and giving Ru a mean look) Poor thing. How does she expect you to get on without pie?
Ru: (grousing) Okay, okay. I'm coming! Sheesh! Try to take a little creative time and look what it gets me.... Apple or blackberry?
Piggy: Um, both, I think.
Ru: BOTH?
Rizzo: Good answer. Hey, okay if I tag along with you? I want to talk to Kermit about that show....

 

[The Count]

Hmm, wonder if I should send over some of our joint's 4 and 20 Blackbury Pie.
It has that many fruitlings?
Yeah. But you shouldn't eat it all in one go or your mind will be swimming in a dizzying vortex of Poeish nightmares.

 

[newsmanfan]

Hmm, wonder if I should send over some of our joint's 4 and 20 Blackbury Pie.
It has that many fruitlings?
Yeah. But you shouldn't eat it all in one go or your mind will be swimming in a dizzying vortex of Poeish nightmares.

"Recipe Found in a Bottle"?
--------------

 

[The Count]

Nah, it was something Little Ghoul cooked up one time we stayed over at hillhearse House.

 

[newsmanfan]

-----------
Is it true that demons are a ghoul's best friend?

*tossing pumpkin cranberry muffins*

-------------

 

[The Count]

Well, I've heard that a bite off the hand may be quite detrimental.
And a boo might be grand, but it won't help sway the mentals.

*Puts up clawed hand to snag one of the pumpcranberry muffins.

 

[Ruahnna]

Knock knock.
Whose there?
Police.
Police who?
POLICE stop these terrible puns!

Knock knock.
Whose there?
Pun police.
Pun police who?
What?
I said, Pun police who?
Ma'am--I don't know what you're talking about, but this is the Pun Police, and we understand that your thread is harboring a couple of persons of interest....
Ru: Um....

 

[The Count]

*Fixing a couple of cups of hot chocolate.
Monsters go cold.
As ghouls groan old.
With all types of ills and decease.
But hunchbacks or haunched knees.
You scare straight at... Vampiffany's.
Cause demons are a ghoul's best friend.

 

[Ruahnna]

Chapter 133: Staying in Character

There is always something special about having family in the audience. Piggy was flushed with triumph when she took her last bow with Rory and left the stage lights. The crowd had roared its approval of almost everything they had done tonight, reacting with gasps and groans to both their make-out scene in Kenickie’s car and their heart-wrenching, coolly-played break-up. Mr. Lowry, usually very hands-off during performances, could be seen backstage, smiling broadly at the audience’s obvious enjoyment. In the same way that Piggy had always been tuned to Kermit-the-director, part of her was very aware of his presence backstage, and she made sure that her performances were as generous as they were grand. She and Kristen both went for the jugular in their little good girl/bad girl spat, and when Piggy gave Harrison a physique-raking once-over with her sultry baby blues, she would have sworn he blushed underneath his slicked-back do. His brush-off was all-the-more brusque, but Piggy’s knowing smirk behind his back was true Rizzo. The audience ate it up and begged for more. But they were respectful of the other lovers onstage, rooting for Sandy and Danny to clue in and kiss and make up. Emotions and tensions were running high backstage, and when the curtain came down at last, the ebullient feeling backstage was as exuberant as the hysteria in the audience.
They made curtain call after curtain call, only giving way when Mr. Lowry gave them an “Okay, let’s wrap this up” look from the wings. The audience was herded expertly out into the lobby to buy tee-shirts and programs and glossies and keychains, and finally expelled into the cold night air to wait wistfully for a glimpse or the impossible hope of an autograph. Piggy started down the hallway toward her dressing room, intending to grab her Pink’s jacket—at least—to fend off the cold, but when she rounded the corner a figure darted swiftly down the hall and banged out the backstage door. Piggy startled, looking behind her for another witness, but there was noone in sight. Since the…the incident, Piggy’s street smarts had surged back to the surface and she had prided herself of knowing who and what were near her at all times. She had not felt the need to be vigilant backstage, but the furtive way the figure had moved had caught her eye and she looked around nervously.
She did not want to go to the ladies dressing room alone, and she turned back and started back toward her gathered castmates backstage. Just before she reached the stage, a figure moved in the shadows from the main curtain and Piggy almost shrieked and hurried nervously to join her friends. Once in the crowd of performers, her nerves seemed silly, however, and she looked back the way she had come sheepishly. There was no one in the hallway, and the figure in the shadows turned out to be Mr. Lowry, talking to one of the union fellows. Piggy felt silly and embarrassed, but tried unsuccessfully to shake off her discomfiture.
She needed to stop being so melodramatic, she chided herself. "It wasn’t melodrama that tried to pignap you," her brain prompted, but Piggy pushed it away. She felt silly for being worried, but equally silly for not worrying…. She made a sound of frustration and reached a sudden decision. Piggy grabbed Harrison’s wrist and Rory’s, and scooped her arm around Darcy as she passed, moving them all toward the waiting crowds outside.
“Beat feet—Moi must go and visit her public, but I am not going out there without some backup.” Cordell, Kristen and William, who played the hapless Eugene to klutzy perfection were all swept along by the force of Piggy’s will. She did not change her costume tonight, but she did shed her dark wig, letting her shining blond locks shake free. Her hair was past her shoulders now, rapidly growing out from her shorter do, and she had experimented with the best way to put her hair up under the wig so that she could take it down to meet the audience. Piggy was smart enough to know that they wanted Rizzo on stage, but Miss Piggy out front to sign autographs and pose for pictures. She fluffed her loose curls, shaking them out into a more natural shape.
“Wish I could do the same,” Kirsten muttered darkly. Her own tresses were pixie-short and white-blond, but the audience expected Sandy’s bouncy curls when she went out front. They were almost at the door when Bobo interposed his furry bulk in front of Piggy.
“Now, hey there, Missy—“ he began, but Piggy merely let go of Harrison’s wrist and grabbed Bobo’s tie, hauling him along. "Where the heck had he been when someone had been lurking backstage?" Piggy thought irritably, then waved the thought away. No one had been lurking backstage. She was simply letting her nerves run wild—that was all. Someone had tried to bother her, but that had failed, end of story. She needed to stop being such a ninny, and a dose of fannish adoration would surely snap her out of her funk, and then she could go out and spend a lovely evening being coddled and petted and adored by Howard and Thoreau. They crashed out the front door of the theater to thunderous applause, and several taxis stopped with screeching brakes so that their passenger—initially thrilled to have caught a rare, waiting cab—could join the mob on the street all clamoring for a chance to gush or gape at the glamorous Mrs. The Frog.
Piggy signed autographs, posed for pictures and twirled her hair around one gloved finger prettily while scores of fans surged to get closer to her. If those who managed had to go through a veritable gauntlet of fierce protectors to get to her, no complaints were heard. Rory and Kristen and Harrison had their own share of admirers, and more than once, Piggy reached out and put her cool, satin-gloved hand through the arm of one of her co-stars, mugging shamelessly for the cameras and phones all battling to get a clear shot at her. She felt Rory’s grim amusement and dared a look up at his face, but he merely grinned cheekily and then ignored her, signing autographs and fending off a bevy of young ladies all vying for a chance to have their picture taken with him. At last, Mr. Lowry and Bobo succeeded in herding the talent back inside the theater, much to the chagrin and teeth-gnashing of the insatiable crowd. There, an even more appreciative audience awaited Piggy and Rory.
Chad’s mother kissed Rory’s flushed cheek and embraced him, but Piggy was met with tut-tuts and scolds by her admirers as Howard and Thoreau fussed over her. She gave Rory a mock-cranky look.
“How come you get hugs and Moi gets fussed at?” she demanded, but it was really just a charming prelude to being introduced to Rory’s company. Rory did the honors politely, proud to show off his well-turned-out mother-in-law to his greatly-celebrated co-star, then Piggy turned and made her own set of polite introductions. If Ms. Mansfield had not already been well-known backstage—Kristen greeted her with a hug and a press of her alabaster cheek—and if Piggy had not already introduced Howard and Thoreau around, things would have taken on a positively circus air when Harry arrived, solemnly escorting Piggy’s Las Vegas champions. When she had gone outside to make merry with the fans, she had sent Harry to wait for the charming couple and bring them backstage, and he had taken his charge seriously. Ed and Autumn were, in turn, introduced all around, and swept along with the crowd of performers as they made their way backstage.
Scolds and tut-tuts notwithstanding, Thoreau was having a field day. Autumn could not have been more exquisitely attired if he had dressed her himself, and Ms. Mansfield's broad-collared off-the-shoulder silver-grey shantung was imminently well-suited to her trim figure. Kristen and Darcy he had already assessed—had even done a couple of sketches from his earlier meetings--but more than once Howard caught him looking speculatively at Ms. Mansfield. Howard had looked a question at him, amused, but Thoreau had frowned charmingly and shaken his head the merest of shakes, puzzling something out.
Mr. Lowry was—again—ever-present, but he was urbane and charming to old and new alike. “Always a pleasure,” the director intoned, bending over Ms. Mansfield’s slim, well-manicured hand. Chad’s mother laughed her throaty laugh and put a hand to her slim throat.
“You say that now, but later on …," she teased, and they both laughed, sharing some private joke. He started to make a retort, but when Piggy passed with her friends in tow, he straightened and stepped forward to intercept them. Piggy’s steps seemed to slow somewhat reluctantly, but when she turned to smile at her director there was no sign of annoyance on her lovely face.
“The play was simply marvelous, and it’s so very nice of you to invite us backstage,” Autumn was gushing, envious of Ed’s apparent self-control. She could not know how close he was to falling to his knees and grasping Piggy’s beguiling ankles in abject subjugation, but at the moment he was faking calm better than she was.
“I’m glad you enjoyed the show,” the director said, interposing himself between them and Piggy’s dressing room. He took Autumn’s hand gravely and kissed it as he had Ms. Mansfield’s, and his handshake to Ed was firm and dry.
“You know Miss Piggy from Las Vegas, is that right?” he asked, his grey eyes flicking from one to the other. Before either could answer, Piggy slipped her hand solicitously through the crook of her director’s elbow, taking hold of the situation by the simple act of taking hold of his arm.
“Yes,” she said simply. “These are friends of Moi’s from Las Vegas.” She smiled a brilliant smile at Ed and Autumn, and Autumn adjusted her own surprise to answer appropriately.
“How wonderful to see you again, Piggy dear,” she said, leaning forward to both proffer and receive an “air kiss”. Piggy’s free hand found Autumn’s shoulder as their cheeks touched, clasping it a little convulsively.
She’s nervous, Autumn realized, surprised by the revelation. She wondered and worried how to telegraph this to Ed, but he seemed to have picked up the cue at least as fast as she had.
“Piggy,” he said warmly, daring her first name. He put one hand out toward her, and she disengaged from her director to step neatly into his embrace. Their cheeks touched briefly, and he sighed as her perfume filled his head….
“Edward, dearheart, how positively sweet of vous and Autumn to come to the show tonight and see Moi! And thank vous for waiting for Moi to meet her adoring public! I would have been sooo disappointed if we had not had a chance to catch up.”
Mr. Lowry’s eyes flicked quickly from Piggy’s profile to the couple in front of him and, for a split second, Autumn saw…something in his eyes. Concern? Suspicion?
“Not at all,” Ed murmured, still pleasantly befuddled. He reached for Autumn’s hand and clasped it tightly, wanting to be sure he was well-grounded for whatever came next. “We wouldn’t have missed the show for anything. You were, as usual, a delight for the entire audience.”
“Oooh!” Piggy cooed, blushing prettily. Ed would later swear he could feel the heat coming off her skin. “You are both kind and correct to notice!”
Everyone laughed at this shameless lobbying for praise, but it was impossible—really—to deny her when she was determined to be charming. And Piggy seemed very determined to be charming.
“Are we having a gnosh, then?” she asked, implying they had already made plans. “Or must you go back to your hotel right away?”
Autumn might never have been on the stage in her life, but she was excellent at reading people. She felt Piggy’s desperation without understanding the cause, but reached out immediately to a fellow creature in distress.
“A gnosh would be lovely,” she said.
Ed smiled broadly, on cloud nine. “I could eat,” he intoned. He turned toward Howard and Thoreau. They had no real idea what was going on in Piggy’s fervid imagination, but they had nevertheless closed ranks expertly, united in their support of her. “But I see you have other company. Perhaps we can have a drink?”
“We must have champagne, at least,” Howard insisted, and deftly turned their little party of five toward the door. He did not know why, but Piggy seemed suddenly anxious to leave. Mr. Lowry made as if to stop their departure, obviously on the verge of saying something, but he was only Piggy’s boss. He was no match at all for Howard, who was her choreographer. Howard had the instincts of a purebred cattle dog, and he could herd anyone he wanted anywhere he wanted, Piggy thought smugly. She allowed herself to be pulled along with her buffer of friends, stopping only when Chad—who had arrived in the midst of the chaos backstage—reached out and clasped her satin-covered elbow, halting forward progress.
“Not so fast!” he cried. “We haven’t decided about breakfast!”
“Ooh!” Piggy said, contrite at letting the heebie-jeebies push the assignation out of her mind. “We are supposed to go to breakfast tomorrow so Moi can visit with Rory’s very charming Mother-in-Law,” she demurred, giving Rory a sly smile around Chad’s curly head.
“"Rory’s Mother-in-Law" will kill me if I forget to remind you of our breakfast date,” Chad said, flashing reproachful eyes at both Piggy and his mother. Ms. Mansfield smiled at him fondly, grinning back at Piggy. Chad was obviously feeling the pressure of so many people who had his number—both figuratively and literally—and he wasn’t above pouting. The ladies had only managed to exchange well-bred greetings earlier because of the general mayhem backstage, but they were sharing a friendly smile now, enjoying teasing Chad.
“Brunch, dear,” Piggy corrected, (bravely, thought Rory). “But early brunch, because of the matinee. Moi is at your disposal after nine. Do you want Moi to meet you?”
Here, Rory stepped in. “Could you and Finkel pick us up?” Rory asked. He very wisely did not say, "So we won’t have to wait for you to finish getting ready," but Piggy knew he was thinking it. She gave him a look.
“But of course,” she said, then smiled and batted her eyelashes at Ms. Mansfield prettily. “It was lovely to meet you. I look forward to having time for a real chat tomorrow!”
“A distinct pleasure,” said Ms. Mansfield, her smile broad and friendly. “We’ll dish over coffee tomorrow!”
Piggy giggled, then made a point of turning and surrendering herself once again to her friends, who surrounded her and carried her forward. They waited for Piggy to make a quick change from Pink Lady to glamorous socialite, exquisite in a form-fitting cobalt blue evening gown with an ice-blue faux-fur jacket. The stunning bauble from Kermit glittered on her wrist, accentuating the shimmering pearls she always wore around her throat.
“Oh—oh my, Miss Piggy,” Autumn said softly. “You look beautiful.”
Piggy might have made a modest reply—might have—but it would have been drowned out in the chorus of praise and adulation being heaped on her by the present company. Later, Piggy would feel sheepishly proud of how they had all made over her, affirming her divahood in the most obvious way possible, but it did take a lot to make up for Kermit’s everyday, run-of-the-mill adoration and she felt entitled.
They bustled out the back door happily, ready for an evening on the town. Most of the others had gone by now, but Ed was aware of someone’s eyes on their backs as they made their way out, that eerie feeling you get when you are being watched. His arm tightened protectively around Autumn’s trim waist, and she turned and smiled at him, using the opportunity to glance surreptitiously behind them. Mr. Lowry and Bobo were planted in the hallway, watching them leave. Bobo’s expression was satisfied, but Mr. Lowry’s was…not. Autumn could not place the expression on his face, but it was not satisfied. She filed it away for later, and followed Piggy and her friends into the night.


Kermit looked at the phone in his hand and debated dialing Piggy. They had texted after the matinee earlier, but they had not managed to talk again. He could call her now. He could call her now and—like Scooter suggested, "tell her everything!" In the mood he was in, he could say any true thing to Piggy that came to mind.
He would tell her how much he missed her—again—and how proud he was of her. He could tell her that the editing was proceeding at a heroic rate and that he couldn’t wait until they would see each other in person. He would tell her about Thoreau’s froghandling of his tuxedo for tomorrow’s awards show—no, nix that—he wanted to stun her with his suave fashion sense when she saw him tomorrow. Well, Thoreau’s fashion sense. He couldn’t wait to see her in her costume, but he was a little nervous. Everyone had mentioned how spectacular and tarty and spectacularly tarty Piggy looked in her stage clothes, and he had been steeling himself not to erupt into a jealous snit or fall, groaning, to his knees at the sight of her on live television. It was a precarious balance, at best.
Balance made him think of the freezer, and thinking of the freezer made him think of danger, and danger made him think of Bobo and Marty and what he might not know about what was really going on with her and the studio and…. Kermit sighed, sliding the little phone closed. He couldn’t call her now, because if he did he would certainly beg her to come home, and he couldn’t do that. He stared at the phone for a moment longer, then started a text message.
“Love you. Miss you. Have fun with the boys and call me tomorrow.” Miss me. Love me. Call me tonight anyway, he managed not to add. He hit “Send” and put the phone away.

“How ‘bout a cup of joe for a working stiff,” drawled a friendly voice, and Mabel startled out of her reverie. She’d been standing, distracted, with the coffee pot in her hand, but looked up now to see Forrest Canderling easing himself onto one of the barstools near her. He put his cowboy hat on the counter next to him and smiled at her.
“Frosty!” she cried. “I hope I can do better than that! How ‘bout a cup of joe and a piece of pie?”
“I’m much obliged,” Forrest said, smiling. Mabel had not tried to call him “Mr. Canderling” in years, and she was always glad to see him roaming the casino at night. He was conscientious and personable, and liked to take a hands-on approach to running things. Mabel beamed at him as she poured him a steaming mug of black coffee and placed a huge wedge of cherry pie in front of him.
“My wife’s going to kill me,” he grumbled, but when she placed a square of hard, sharp cheddar cheese coquettishly on the side of his plate, he gave up complaining and dug in. Mabel checked on her tables, refilling a couple of iced teas and clearing away some plates. She took a dessert order from the party in the booth in the back, but one of the other waitresses took it out of her hands and shooed her away.
“Catch up on the office gossip,” the young woman whispered near Mabel’s soft ear, and the diminutive mole just grinned and went and sat on a stool next to her boss. They caught up on everything—casino stuff, Mr. Canderling’s grandkids, the success of the holiday season and Mabel’s big news about Tricia’s band.
“I’m pleased as punch to hear that,” Forrest said, smiling broadly. “Maybe the Indie Vittles can come and play here when they’re done with their tour. I’ll have to mention it to Seymour when he gets back—if he ever does.”
Mabel chuckled. “Mr. Strathers on the road again?” Mr. Strathers liked to be called “Mr. Strathers”, and—unlike Forrest and Jack Littleton—was unlikely to be seen hobnobbing with the employees. In fact, he preferred to be out and about, unlike his father, who had had the same easy, friendly approach to relieving tourists of their money in a way that made both sides happy with the exchange as Frosty and Jack Littleton had.
“He is indeed,” Forrest rumbled. “He’s in New York this time, trying to catch up with some stage acts.”
“Hey! He ought to see Miss Piggy while he’s there,” Mabel said. “She’s on Broadway, now, starring in the revival of Grease! D’ya know that, Frosty?”
Frosty laughed and polished off his pie. “Everybody knows that,” he said with a grin. “And I’m sure Seymour was right on the cutting edge of the news.” He hesitated, looking uncertain, then went on. “He, um, Seymour had quite a, um, thing for Miss Piggy—I guess you knew that?”
“Everybody knew that,” Mabel said with a smile. “And he ain’t the first to have his hopes dashed. I know her image is kind of flirty, but that’s a one-frog pig if I ever saw one.”
“True, that,” said Frosty. “But maybe she’ll take pity on him and have dinner with him while he’s there.”
“That would be nice,” Mabel said. “So when’s Junior coming back? Sounds like he’s been gone a while.”
Mr. Strathers liked to be called “Mr. Strathers” to his face, but many of the long-time Palace employees remembered him as “Junior,” trailing behind his father during an awkward adolescence.
“Eh, when he gets whatever he went after—or doesn’t,” Forrest said sagely. “He said he wants to score big this time—bring home a real show-stopper.”
Mabel shook her head. “Looks like he’d want to rest on his laurels a little after scoring Kermit and the Missus and their whole troupe. We lit the strip up proper when they were here, didn’t we?”
“We did,” Frosty said with satisfaction. They had already discussed the burgeoning profits from the holiday season in a congratulatory manner. “But you know Seymour—he’s restless. Can’t seem to settle down. Soon as he gets something, it’s not what he wants, and he gets rid of it and moves on to the next thing. You know what I mean?”
“I raised 147 kids. I know what you mean. The question isn’t, "What do you do when you get what you want?"—It’s "What do you do when you don’t." That’s where your real character is, you know?”
Frosty drained his cup. “Well, this character is gonna get back on my rounds. I wanted to watch a little blackjack tonight, see how the room is doing.” He smiled and put his cowboy hat back on his head. “And I wouldn’t worry too much about Junior,” he said to Mabel. “One way or another, he always seems to get what he wants.”