Part 35
“Uh, hey, boss? I think Alice Cooper’s here,” Scooter said, tapping Kermit’s shoulder. Kermit swung around to see an attic’s-worth of bats fluttering into the ballroom. Sure enough, right after them strode a thin, darkhaired man with a well-lined face. When he saw Kermit, he broke into a wide grin and headed right for him.
“Hey! Kermit! Man, I am so jazzed to be here. This is going to be a fabulous night,” he said. Kermit recognized the voice, and laughed awkwardly, shaking the man’s hand.
“Uh…Alice! I almost didn’t recognize you without your makeup!”
“Oh...yeah. These are just my street clothes. Don’t worry, I’ll do the face paint for the song; the fans expect it, I know. Hey, where’s Dr Teeth and the band? I need to talk to them about the number we’re doing.”
“Uh…they’re getting ready in the dressing room right now,” Kermit replied. The hotel had allowed them to commandeer one of the larger public bathrooms to use as a dressing area, and Scooter had divided it into a men’s and a women’s section. “Scooter can show you the way.”
“Oh, great, great, thanks! And, uh…my friends are cool, right?”
They both looked up at the bats now circling one of the crystal-dripping chandeliers. “Uh…sure,” Kermit said. “If the Count shows up, they’ll be in good company.”
Happy, Cooper went off with Scooter. Kermit shook his head, wondering which of the notoriously loud musician’s songs the band would be performing. And that was the opening act! Maybe he should warn everyone in his opening address tonight… And Julie Andrews had been caught in midtown traffic and was running late, and the Chef had somehow turned the ice sculpture of a swan into a turkey instead, and they’d had to take Gonzo’s cannon away from Crazy Harry, and the hotel manager had already complained about Rizzo and Pepe making passes at female hotel guests in the elevators…it was shaping up to be a long night. Sighing, he looked around the ballroom. At least, with attendees beginning to arrive, some things were actually going well: a number of well-dressed ladies and gentlemen had taken their seats and were thumbing through the programs or enjoying tiny dishes of delectables from the buffet. Steve Martin was on time, and dressed in a tux and metallic rainbow bowtie, and currently strolling with his banjo along the edge of the room, chatting with guests. Gorgon Heap and Sweetums had been put on guard duty in the hallway behind the ballroom where the auction items remained beneath their threatening glares until it was time to display them. Paul Williams, Paul Simon, and a number of the Muppets were gathered in one corner, talking happily. Kermit couldn’t hear the discussion from where he stood near the entrance, but everyone looked pleased that he could see. Piggy hadn’t arrived yet, insisting she needed more time for her makeup; he was certain she was only waiting for everyone else to get there so she could make a grand entrance at the last possible minute before the doors closed and the evening formally began. Ernie, Bert and Grover had come to represent the Sesame Street folks, and right now…Kermit looked around, then relaxed as he saw them leading Robin through the buffet line. Ernie pasted some pâté on Bert’s nose, cackling – as did Robin, on Ernie’s shoulder.
“Aha,” a dry voice said. Kermit looked up to see a graying, bone-thin man in a dark gray suit and darker shades frowning at him. “Just the guy I wanted to see. Hey, Kermit. I got a bone to pick with you over that Muppet playing me in that ‘Law and Order: Special Letters Unit’ skit.”
“Oh…uh…hi, Mr Belzer. Well, I’m sorry you didn’t care for it; I suggest you talk to the Sesame Street delegation over there,” Kermit said, gulping. Belzer raised his shades briefly, checking the room, then with a nod and a scowl strolled on in. Kermit looked from him to another man, solidly built and balding, who crouched to shake his hand.
“Well, we thought it was funny, didn’t we, Dante?” the man said, grinning; the young boy with him looked awed to be meeting the famous Kermit the Frog.
“Oh, good! Nice to see you, Mr Meloni…and you, Ms Hargitay,” Kermit greeted them, relaxing a little to see smiles. The television detectives were formally dressed and had brought their families, he saw, and felt that was a good sign. “That’s a lovely dress, Ms Hargitay!” Though all black, the tea-length gown was covered with sparkling beads like a flapper’s dearest party dress.
“Oh, please tell me I didn’t wear what Piggy’s wearing,” Mariska said, wincing.
“Uh, I honestly don’t know,” Kermit gulped. “She’s running a little late.”
“Hey, did you know there was some paparazzo out on the sidewalk snapping pictures?” she asked him.
“Uh…no. Was he bothering you?”
“Nah. The other network’s guys pulled up right behind us. I think they’re dealing with him now,” Mariska said, flashing the smile she usually used when her character was about to put some horrible perp in prison.
“Other network?” Kermit wondered as she continued in. He took a step back, happily surprised at the people who walked in as a group next. “Oh, wow! Hey, it’s the cast of ‘CSI: New York’! Did all of you come tonight?”
A curly-haired woman smiled at him. “Yep. We’re all huge fans, Kermit!” She nodded back toward the hotel lobby. “Gary’s takin’ care of some obnoxious little reporter out front. He’ll be in in a sec.”
The cast shook hands quickly, moving into the ballroom, the group disintegrating into individuals as fans in the audience approached to say hello, and Carmine and Anna engaged in a race to the buffet line: “Hey! They have those little roast beef sandwiches!”
Robert Joy was already giving the Swedish Chef a dubious look. “Uh, do you want help carving that? I do actually have some experience…”
A clean-cut man with deep eyes strode up, brushing dust from his tux jacket. Kermit nodded at him. “Gary! Good to see you guys! Did that photographer give you any trouble?”
“Not after I stuffed him in a trash can and set him out back,” Sinese replied, smiling. “Wow, some crowd! You know, I’m really sorry to hear about the theatre. I wish there was more we could do, but we figured all of us turning up might help, and anyway it looks like it’ll be fun.”
“Well thank you, thank you!” Kermit said, relieved. They had a decent turnout of local celebs, at the very least. Maybe tonight would actually raise enough to at least start renovations…maybe a miracle could happen…maybe…
CRASH!
“Uh…Sam? Could you stand here and greet the guests a minute?” Kermit asked, hurriedly pushing the eagle next to the front doors of the ballroom and dashing toward the back hall. Then again…never mind, he thought, resigned.
Fozzie and Rowlf were on the lookout for Gina, and as soon as they spotted her entering the lobby they rushed over and offered their arms. Laughing, Gina accepted both, and with slow steps they escorted her into the ballroom. “Isn’t…isn’t Newsie coming?” Fozzie asked uncertainly, looking around.
“He’ll be late. He has his first newscast tonight, back at the TV station,” Gina explained. “I hope you guys saved me a good seat where I can see all the famous stars!”
“I hope you brought your autograph book,” Rowlf said, smiling.
They seated her at a table where Gonzo and Camilla already were. “Sweetie, I think maybe you ought to slow down,” Gonzo was telling Camilla as the chicken upended a second champagne flute. He looked apologetically at Gina. “She gets really nervous at formal events.”
Gina noted the blue whatever had dressed up for the occasion. “Snazzy threads,” she told him.
“Oh thanks, you think?” Pleased, Gonzo turned his sleeves this way and that for her. His tuxedo jacket was of traditional cut, but white, and covered almost completely in chickenfeathers. “The David L’azour look. I heard it was stylish to match what your lady’s wearing,” he confided.
Gina nodded sagely. Rowlf brought her a glass of the champagne and a small plate of hors d’oeuvres. “Don’t worry…the hotel kitchen prepared them,” he assured her. They all looked back at the carving table, where the Chef was singing as he tossed a knife sharpener into the air.
“Thank you,” Gina said. She scanned the crowd, waving briefly at Scott, who sat in a niche near the front doors, behind a small portable lighting board rigged for the concert portions of the night. He grinned broadly, waved back, and held up a bottle of his favorite ginger beer, which the hotel actually carried. Happy at least one of her Sosilly friends had pitched in, Gina relaxed, nibbling at the prawn crackers with manchego and some sort of tropical-fruit tart as she continued to look around the room. Her eyes widened. “Ohmygosh, is that Brooke Shields? And that’s Kathy Griffith…and that’s…” She frowned, puzzled. “Rudy Giuliani?”
Rowlf nodded. “We do have a few friends in high places. Oh, wow! Woof, woof!” he called, startling Gina until she realized he was talking to a couple of elderly Dalmatians walking a few tables away. “That’s Pondo and Priam! They were child stars, and then went into the fire department here,” he told Gina.
“Oh no! Richard Belzer is here!” Fozzie groaned, hiding behind his hat. He’d put on a white collar and black tie over his fur coat, at least.
“What’s wrong with Belzer? He used to do stand-up too, you know,” Gina said.
“I know! And now he’s all famous on dat crime show!” Fozzie leaned in to murmur to her, “I don’t actually watch his show. Da bad guys on it are really mean and scary.”
“Hey! Fozzie Bear!” The Belz came to their table, smiling, and took off his shades. “You know, I’ve always wanted to tell you I love your shtick! Reminds me of Buddy Ibsen. Are you working tonight?”
“Ahhhh…wuh…sure?” Fozzie said, looking helplessly at the others.
“You want his act, you got it,” Rowlf assured the actor. Belzer grinned at them, clapped Fozzie on the back, put his shades back on, and strolled off.
“So, what jokes are you doing?” Gonzo asked.
Fozzie crumpled. Rowlf patted his arm sympathetically. “Uh, guess you better go tell Kermit you’re going on tonight!”
Gina winced as the bear rolled out of his chair and went wailing after the frog, who was conferring with Whoopi Goldberg at the stage. “Keerrrmmiiiiiiiiit!”
The others sighed. Gonzo turned to Gina. “So, how’s the Newsman doing? Isn’t tonight his first newscast back on the air?”
“Yes. He’s a little anxious, I think, but I’m sure he’ll do fine.”
“Well, great!” Gonzo smiled at her. Gina smiled in return, but quietly worried. She had no way of knowing what might happen to him tonight. She hoped he didn’t have any stories to deliver involving wars or muggings or cows. Sighing, trying to simply trust that he’d be all right, and be here soon, she focused on the stage. The room lights dimmed a little, a brighter light came up on the podium atop the center platform, and the Electric Mayhem settled into place on their risers, instruments in hand.
Miss Piggy swept into the room, to Kermit’s visible relief. She wore a trailing dress of blue-green sateen, with a beaded bodice and a bolero stole covered in peacock tailfeathers. Sapphires dangled from her ears and down into her décolletage, and an emerald graced a ring on her right hand. “Helloooo, everyone! Thank you! Thank you!” It was hard to tell whether she was thanking the assemblage for attending or for looking at her fabulous peacock-themed dress.
“Oh, cool! Camilla, it’s starting!” Gonzo exclaimed. His chickie clucked excitedly, and they scooted their chairs closer together to hold hand and wing in anticipation. Gina wished Newsie was here already, wondering suddenly why he’d said he had to start tonight, when he knew this was the date of the auction? Surely, in all those contract negotiations, he could’ve specified tomorrow as his start date, or even next week? Frowning, she dug out her phone and texted him, but no response came; he must already be in the news studio. Kermit stepped up to the podium to a loud round of applause. People returned to their seats at the numerous tables, where candles in votive holders illuminated the eager faces and whispers were shushed.
“Welcome, everybody! I’m Kermit the Frog, and on behalf of all the Muppets, we’re very happy so many of you have come here tonight!” Kermit began, the podium mic carrying his words throughout the room. Whoopi stood next to him in a fitted tux with sparkly dust in her hair, beaming. Annoyed at the lack of a reply to her text, Gina put the phone away, trying to give the event her full attention, but she wondered what her Muppet journalist was up to.
She hoped, whatever it was, he wouldn’t get hurt.
The Newsman checked his appearance one last time in his dressing-room mirror. He had to share the room with another field reporter, but at least it was an actual room, with its own bathroom and a large mirror and even a desk behind a partition, next to a glazed window, where he might work on stories if he wished. Honeydew and Beaker had promised to help him shop for his own laptop this coming weekend, as he knew almost nothing about current technology beyond how to use a word processing program and search the Internet, and the station had provided a printer. He could work on his own reports here. He repeated all this to himself, trying to convince himself everything was going to be swell.
A knock sounded on the door. “Enter,” he called, and Rhonda peeked in, then threw the door open and stomped inside, a clipboard in one hand and a headset covering one ear.
“Aren’t you pretty enough yet?” She growled, tapping one foot. “Come on! We’re two minutes to air!”
“I’m ready,” he said, taking a deep breath. With quick, purposeful strides he left the dressing-room and went along the hall to the studio. Rhonda hurried alongside him.
“So did you finalize the story lineup? I’m thinking the Koozebanian condemnation of the Libyan government ought to come before the thing with Marvin Suggs’ trial for Endangered Species Act violations…and Kazagger’s ready with the Muppet college baseball scores, whenever you get pummeled by something.”
Newsie shot her a glare. “I’m not going to get pummeled! I wrote the stories!”
“Uh huh,” Rhonda said. “Whatever. You wanna coffee, the stuff’s over there.” She pointed to a table against one wall holding a coffee urn and paper cups, but Newsie thought he was keyed up enough already without caffeine. “Here’s your chair, there’s the director, I gotta go make sure your title graphic got put into the rotation right.” Rhonda vanished, although a second later he heard her squeaking indignantly at someone who almost stepped on her. He looked in surprise at the dark canvas chair sitting next to the regular anchor’s, a few feet away from the set. The chair was scaled to his height, and had Muppet Newsman stenciled on the back so no one would mistake his chair for theirs. His chair! Newsie touched the back of it in wonder. He’d never had his own chair before.
Murray nodded at him, absently watching the anchor and other news team members settling in behind the large curved desk in front of the cameras. Nodding back, feeling both excited and horribly anxious, Newsie sat down and glanced at his notes. The news director came over. Newsie hadn’t worked with this man before, and looked up nervously at him. “You know the lineup? Good. Where’s your mic? You aren’t miked? Hey, Larry, get a mic on this guy! Okay we good? Great! Thirty seconds!” he called, returning to a spot between the two cameras and glaring at the reporters and the anchorman as they all turned on bright smiles. Newsie, flustered, tried to keep still as a techie clipped a tiny mic to his tie, where it was almost invisible, and told him, “Say something, but quietly.”
“Uh…what should I say?”
“That’s fine. We’ve got you,” the techie said, and disappeared. The Newsman had almost forgotten how chaotic live news felt outside of the Muppet Theatre. This wasn’t helping his anxiety in the least.
“And live in three…” The director gestured at the news desk. Theme music sounded, the lights on the set brightened, and the anchor smiled into the first camera.
“Good evening! I’m Bart Fargo. Welcome to Big Apple News on KRAK. Tonight: more protests across the middle east! We’ll have a report from special correspondent Jack Elán in Tunisia, where refugees are beginning to stream in from neighboring Libya.”
“And I’m Susan Popatopolis. Rain, rain, and more rain on the way! Looks like it’s going to be a wet spring across much of the nation, and especially here! We’ll take a look at what that could mean for the resident reservoir catfish population.”
“Baseball spring training is finishing up! Who could break from the pack this year? Who will be traded to whom? And what performance-enhancing jellybeans will be banned by the majors this Easter? I’m Lewis Kazagger filling in for Rog ‘the stodge’ Franklin with all your sports news!” Newsie hoped Kazagger had forgiven him for the accident at the restaurant. He hadn’t had the chance yet to explain anything.
“Later in the program, the return of Special Muppet Correspondent the Newsman; Wall Street news; and a roller-skating gerbil. Stay tuned right here on KRAK!” The anchor smiled, setting aside his intro notes as the cameras cut to the sponsor ads. Newsie fidgeted with his string bracelet. Although it was only a bracelet now, he refused to take it off, tucking it farther up his wrist so it wouldn’t show below his shirtsleeve. If there was such a thing as luck, he needed all he could get, and having a little of Gina with him had to be a good thing, he believed. Something tapped his knee, and he jumped, jerking his head down.
Rhonda shook her head, glaring. “You are. Such. An idiot.”
“What is it?” he hissed at her; the program would be back live in only a moment.
“I just figured it out. You wanted to do your first report tonight. The night of the auction.”
“So?” Newsie drew himself up, trying to appear nonchalant and confident.
She sighed. “Fine. Look, whatever you’re planning, don’t damage the mic. It comes out of the special reports budget, and that’s my salary as well as yours.” Giving him a stern look, she hurried off again.
The Newsman exhaled slowly. Had he been that obvious? Disappointed, he looked around at the news crew, all of whom were focused on the set, where Bart Fargo was introducing a clip sent in by their overseas reporter. No one was looking at Newsie. Still tense, he tried to sit still, waiting for his turn to go on-camera after the weather. It was about time his jinx worked in the Muppets’ favor.
Kermit got out of Fozzie’s way as the bear danced sideways off the platform to a flourish of his theme from the band and scattered applause. “That was fine, Fozzie. Nice jokes,” Kermit said, trying to bolster the bear’s obviously tattered ego.
“Oh, Kermit, I can’t look! Is he laughing?”
“Who?”
“Richard Belzer! Ohhhh, I hope he thought I was funny!”
Kermit peered into the crowd, eventually seeing the actor clapping at a table with his “SVU” co-stars. “He seems happy, Fozzie.”
“Oh, good,” Fozzie sighed, and perked up somewhat. “Hey, I wonder if I could be on his show? I could be da funny comedian who provides da clue to solve da case!”
“Uh, Fozzie, do you know what kind of cases those detectives cover?” Kermit asked, but Fozzie was already happily trotting off to the bottled-water cooler. Kermit shook his head, watching in mixed anxiety and appreciation as Whoopi thanked the audience for applauding, and introduced Paul Simon. The event so far was going better than Kermit had hoped.
The first number had surprised Kermit; instead of some hard-rock song, Alice Cooper had led vocals with the Mayhem for “Can You Picture That?”, which the crowd had loved. Whoopi had proved a competent auctioneer, and the first lot of celebrity-donated items had sold quickly: a gorgeous necklace of dark crystals and rare carved jet which Liza Minelli’s agent had brought them that afternoon; an acoustic guitar belonging to Paul Simon, who also autographed it; and Paul Williams had received applause when Whoopi had informed the gathering that the composer would personally craft a song for the winning bidder on the subject of their choice. Kermit hadn’t consulted Scooter yet on what the total intake was thus far; maybe, he decided, it would be better to just wait until the auction was ended and tally it all then. Wonderful though their friends had been tonight, and generous as the bids had been thus far, they honestly didn’t have a lot of items, and he was dubious about Whoopi’s and Scooter’s decision to save the Muppet-specific items for the last lot. Surely, a necklace from Liza was going to tally up higher bids than, say, boomerang-fish-throwing lessons…
The opening chords of “Loves Me Like a Rock” began, and Kermit put his worry aside for a while, trying to simply enjoy the song as Paul Simon strummed, the band joined in (he didn’t think he’d ever seen Animal playing tambourine before), and a light came up on the backup singers. “When I was just a boy…”
Robin, Beauregard, Beaker, and the Swedish Chef echoed, “When I was just a boy…” “Mee meeee meep me mee…” “Guuurn de fol der boo…”
“Oh, boy,” Kermit sighed.
“And the Devil would call my name…I’d say now who do…”
“Oooooo…” “Meeeeee…” “Woooo…”
“Who do you think you’re foolin’?”
The audience loved it, laughing and clapping along. Paul had a hard time recalling the words for the next line every time the chorus of Muppets joined in, but clearly he was having a blast. By the end of the song, many people in the crowd were singing along, and Paul was enjoying a tradeoff with Beaker: “Loooves me like a rock!”
“Mee mee mee mee mee meeeeeee!”
Over at one of the Muppet tables, Gina was laughing so hard her ribs hurt. Brushing off Gonzo’s concern, she tried to get herself under control, and accepted another glass of champagne from Rowlf. “I love him way more than his mother ever did,” Gina told Camilla, who clucked and nodded. The two of them had already mistaken each other’s glass for their own at some point, but neither cared. Gina thought she might be beginning to understand the chicken quite well, as another woman who saw wonderful things in a social misfit.
“Paul Simon, ladies and gentlemen, with the Electric Mayhem and our own Muppet backup singers!” More applause. The laughter subsided as Whoopi took over the podium once more. “Okay, let’s get back to the auction! Next up we have a very curious souvenir, sent to us by express today from Sir Elton John: it is a diamond-studded, personally autographed…stuffed crocodile!”
The Newsman stood just to one side of the anchor on a small platform the crew had set there for him, as this desk was higher than his own back at the Muppet Theatre. He held tight to his notes, gulping dryly, waiting as Fargo took the lead back from Ms Popatopolis. Rhonda was perched on someone else’s chair just behind the cameras, watching anxiously. “Thanks, Susan. And now, we at KRAK are proud to present a familiar face we’re happy to have back with us. Here, with a special report on Muppet happenings around town and the globe, is the Newsman.” The second camera was already swung around and aiming at Newsie; the director pointed his finger right at him, and Newsie cleared his throat and began his report.
“Ahem. Thank you, Bart. Here is a breaking Muppet News bulletin: at this moment, a charity auction featuring stars of the performing arts is taking place at the Sedgewick Hotel! The auction, which showcases a number of unique and collectible items from the Muppets themselves as well as noted celebrities, is being held to raise enough funds to reconstruct the historic Muppet Theatre. As some of you know from my special report last night, the theatre was badly damaged when a torrent of psychokinetic energy was unleashed within its walls!” He glanced up, but so far nothing was bearing down on him. Rhonda was gesturing wildly at him. Ignoring her, he kept his face turned to the camera, swallowed dryly, checked his notes again, and continued. “Although the Muppets hope to raise enough funds to at least begin the daunting task of rebuilding the theatre, troupe leader Kermit the Frog is quoted as saying, ‘It would take a million-dollar miracle to get this place running again!’”
Rhonda put her paws over her eyes. “Oh, no. That idiot…”
The Newsman heard gasps from the crew a split second before the weight pounded him to the floor.
A commotion caught Kermit’s attention at the front doors. They were supposed to remain closed throughout the auction, with Sam ensuring only celebrities or other ticket-holders would be allowed in during any breaks. However, now they were flung wide, and a very aghast eagle ran in behind a woman with a wildly poufed tutu and multicolored hair, who led a delegation of similarly-informal ladies of varying ages. “Miss! Miss, you cannot come in without a ticket! I must protest!”
“’Ey, lay off, Baldy, or I’ll pluck ya’ wings for a new hat!” the woman in the lead cackled at him. She made her way straight to the stage. Whoopi shaded her eyes from the podium light, peering at the women taking over a table in the center of the room.
“Cyndi? That you, girl?” Whoopi asked.
“You betcher a— it is, sweetheart!” the pop star yelled. “Hi, Kermit! Hi everyone!”
Kermit hurried over, waving the outraged eagle off. “It’s okay, Sam. I’ve got it. Uh…Ms Lauper? We didn’t know you were coming!”
“Heck, I didn’t know I was comin’! I was ridin’ around with my goils, ya know, goils’ night out…”
“Goils,” Kermit repeated, looking at the bevy of oddly-dressed women calling for champagne and nibbles. “Uh...gotcha.” Piggy joined him, glaring daggers at the singer, who’d managed to make an even more impressive entrance than she had.
“Anyways, we had da TV on in da limo, and who comes on but dat cute little yella guy dat did news for you back in da day? And he says, get yer butts over to da Sedgewick for da auction! And you know me, I just love charity events! So here we are!” Cyndi saw Piggy. “Oh, Miss Piggy! Oh, this is so cool! Ya know, I’ve always wanted to do a song with ya! Come on up here!”
“With moi? Well, that is very–“ Before Piggy could recover any poise, Cyndi grabbed her by the hand and dragged her onto the risers. Scooter immediately brought both of them microphones.
“You know what I wanna sing!” Cyndi told the Electric Mayhem, who all laughed, nodding, and instantly struck up “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” The audience cheered, and Kermit sighed, relieved. Well, if they had to have gate-crashers, at least it was a gate-crasher who could work a crowd.
Cyndi yelled the first verse to loud cheering and whistling around the room, then gave Piggy a friendly shove. “Take it, Piggy!”
“Er…Somebody takes a beautiful girl and hides her away from the rest of the woooolrd,” Piggy sang, recovering enough to give it her best energy. “Moi wants to be the one to walk in the sun!”
They sang together, “Oh girls, just want to have fun…oh girls just want to have fuuuun!”
“Wo-man! Wo-man!” Animal agreed enthusiastically as he beat the drums.
When the song finally wound down, Cyndi yelled into her mic, “Now I wanna see some high biddin’ goin’ on here! Let’s get the Muppets back inta show biz!”
Kermit kissed Piggy as she came panting offstage. “That was great, Piggy!”
“How the heck does she do it?” Piggy muttered, accepting a hand towel to mop her neck and a bottle of cool water from her frog. “She’s older than I am!”
The other celebrity items had already been sold. One was another guitar, this one a Fender donated by Alice Cooper, in the shape of a bat, which the Count von Count won after a fierce bidding war (and which he announced would be a gift for a friend whose eyes weren’t good, but ears were fine enough to learn many chords; he was escorted to the back hallway to claim his item before he could finish counting all the many wonderful chords his friend could learn on such a batty instrument). The second, an actual lasso used by Lynda Carter during her tenure as Wonder Woman, had escalated all the way to three thousand dollars when it was sold to Joss Whedon. Kermit wondered what the total was now; in a few minutes they’d be moving into the blocks of Muppet-donated items and services, and he wasn’t sure people would be as forthcoming with their cash. Had Cyndi said the Newsman had made an announcement about the auction? That was good, but he doubted it would draw in anyone else before the night ended; such a report really should have been done earlier in the day, before the auction began.
Scooter ran up. “Piggy! You’re on next!”
“Oh, no,” Piggy groaned. “I look terrible!” She patted her hair, tugged her dress down to expose a bit more of her generous bosom, and bounced back up the steps to the makeshift stage.
“You look wonderful,” Kermit said, smiling at her. Hearing him, Piggy gave him a grateful smile, then composed herself. She took a deep breath, turned slowly to face the audience, and tossed back her blonde waves of hair as Zoot and Lips launched into the jazzy classic she’d picked as being perfect for the occasion, with Rowlf, Animal, Floyd and Janice joining in.
“You had a-plenty money, nineteen-twenty-two; you let other women make a fool of you…Why don’t you dooo right, like some other men do?” Piggy sang, striking a pose with one hand on her hip. “Get out of here, and get me some money toooo!”
The crowd cheered, applauding. Piggy paused only a second to bat her eyes at them before the next verse. “You’re sitting ‘round wondering what it’s all about; if you have no money they will – put you out!” She did a bump and grind, to the audience’s very vocal approval. “Why don’t you doooo right, like some other men do? Get out of here, and get me some money toooo!”
The sashaying, flirtatious moves she showed off at the end of the song brought down the house, and she stood, flushed, in the spotlight for some time, curtseying and tossing out merci’s. When Rowlf tried to take her arm as he exited the platform, she gave him a fierce look. “Watch it, buster!” However, realizing the auction couldn’t continue until she left the stage, she blew kisses at the crowd and stepped down. “I’ll be right back. I gotta get outta these heels,” she muttered at Kermit, hurrying past.
Whoopi turned over the podium to Steve Martin. “Hey! All riiight! It’s great to be here at the Fourth Annual Orthodontic Surgeon’s…what? This isn’t the Orthodontic Surgeon’s annual convention?” Looking frustrated, Steve blew out his cheeks. “Oh, that’s just great! Just great! So much for all the jokes I had about gum disease!” Sighing deeply, he shook his head. “Well, fine. I guess we’ll just have to…auction off some Muppet stuff instead!”
The sweeping shouts and applause from the crowd at that were more than Kermit had expected; he looked around from his seat with growing pleasure. Several tables back, Gonzo, Fozzie, and Rowlf were standing and applauding, and Gina, though seated, was holding Camilla over her head and whooping. Camilla seemed to be having fun as well, waving her wings and bawking loudly.
“All right! First up we have something special from my favorite comedian, Fozzie Bear! Fozzie has donated for us…his first…rubber…chicken! Wokka-wokka-wokka!”
“Hey Steve, dat’s my line!” Fozzie called.
“Shall we start the bidding at…one hundred dollars! What? No? Okay…two hundred dollars! …Still no, huh? All right, all right…one! Who’ll give me one dollar for this fabulous, uh…mildewy…ewww…badly painted rubber chicken!” Steve called out, dangling the rubber chicken tenuously by his thumb and forefinger.
“Five hundred!” someone yelled.
Steve peered into the audience. “Seriously, Belz? I mean…it really is pretty gross…”
Laughter all around. “Five hundred dollars,” Belzer repeated in a loud, firm voice.
“Okay then! Anyone else?” More giggles. “Going once…going twice…” He banged the podium with a croquet mallet. “Sold to that idiot in the fr—uh, to my good friend Richard Belzer! Thank you! Moving along…”
Something cold numbed the pulsing pain in his skull. Something touched his leg. “Gina…?” Newsie muttered, slowly reaching up to feel the cold compress atop his head.
“You better be glad she’s not here,” Rhonda sniffed. She let go of the compress as Newsie’s searching fingers took hold of it. She was standing on his chair arm as he sprawled in it just off the set. “She is soooo gonna hurt you when she finds out what you did!”
In a great deal of pain, but beginning to feel rather pleased with himself, Newsie smiled. “Gina never hurts me.”
“Maybe she ought to,” Rhonda grumbled.
He tried to peer around. When he attempted to adjust his glasses, they snapped in half across the bridge. He let them drop to the floor. “Urgh…did it work?”
Rhonda sighed. “You shoulda specified large bills. It woulda hurt less.”
The Newsman leaned forward, keeping the compress on his head, holding to the arm of his chair with the other hand, to see an enormous brown sack at his feet. He studied it quizzically, then looked at Rhonda. “That’s a million dollars?”
“No. That is approximately a hundred thousand…in gold coins. It fell on you first.”
The Newsman stared around, his blurry vision making out several more full sacks piled like a fortress wall around his chair. He looked at Rhonda. She shook her head at him, exasperated. “How many times do I have to repeat this, anyway? You. Are. An idiot!”
Newsie started to chuckle, then as the joy of what he’d pulled off sank in, he burst into loud guffaws. Eventually Rhonda gave in, giggling. Newsie held tight to his chair, shaking and laughing. “Whaa ha ha ha ha haha!…ow.”
Rhonda shook her head again. “So how were you planning on getting this there, genius?”
Newsie pressed the compress against his pounding (and pounded) head, and gave a tiny shrug. “You’re…you’re my assistant, right? You figure it out,” he whispered, noise and movement suddenly seeming like really bad ideas.
“I am your news editor, not your assistant!” the rat snapped. She looked around the studio; everyone else had gone home an hour ago, leaving them with only the security guards and a janitor. A janitor! Whipping out her cell, Rhonda dialed the Sedgewick. “Hello? Yes, I need to reach someone at the Muppet Theatre charity event. Beauregard. Okay, if you could please tell him to bring the truck and an extra body – no, wait. Just tell him to drive the truck over with a couple of the stagepigs to the KRAK studios on sixth. Great. Thank you!” She hung up, and glared disgustedly at the Newsman. “Well, you did it. You realize I have to disavow all prior knowledge of this mess to Gina.”
Newsie slumped in the chair, both hands now holding the compress to his head, eyes shut tight. “Could you…please…not squeak so loud,” he whispered.
The selloff of Muppet items had been a mixed bag: Kermit’s tap shoes, which he’d worn for the “Happy Feet” number years ago, engendered a decent bidding war for nearly ten minutes. On the other hand, very few people offered anything for the Chef’s personal recipe book (written completely in Mock Swedish, of course), and Pepe stormed off in a huff when absolutely no one bid on a date with him. A traveling circus ringmaster bought the cannon. Several local actors had gone back and forth to win acting lessons from Uncle Deadly, but the prize ultimately had gone to a young woman in Goth dress, and after one look, the phantom dragon had suggested they begin working on “the method” immediately with a study of romantic scenarios. No one had seen either of them since.
To break up the bidding a little and keep aloft a festive mood, the band had adopted a Dixieland style, with Steve Martin leading on banjo, and Scooter taking over the singing duties for a peppy song called “Got My Own Thing Now,” which he’d told Kermit was by some band called the Squirrel Nut Zippers. Kermit thought about asking Steve back to the show to perform the number again, tapping his flippers in time to the upbeat tune, before he remembered he had no idea whether there would ever be another show at the theatre. At least, he thought, looking around, everyone was enjoying themselves. He felt Piggy’s touch on his hand, and tried to smile for her. She could tell he was still worried, and stroked his webby fingers gently. “I am sure it’ll all work out, Kermie,” she said softly.
“I’m sure you’re right, Piggy,” he replied, and tried not to let his hopes grow too high as Steve set aside his banjo, poured a glass of water over his head to cool off, and resumed the auction.
“O-kay! That was sure fun!” Panting, he waved out Sweetums with the next item, a disabled raygun from “Pigs in Space.” “And what am I bid for this…uh…this fabulous, gorgeous…uh, what the heck is that, anyway?”
The raygun sold decently enough, and some sympathetic fan bought Beau’s favorite mop, and then restored it to him for the price of his autograph on a photo. Right after, Kermit saw Beau grabbing a couple of the pigs and heading out the back; he assumed someone had left a mess in the bathroom. Probably Rizzo. The rat’s own contribution, a Vermont white cheddar encased in uncracked wax from 1976, was only bid upon by rats, but at least it sold. Lew Zealand’s boomerang-fish throwing lessons were awarded to a tall, well-worn gent; to Kermit’s surprise, Scooter informed him that was Christopher Walken. The house-party jam session offered up by the Electric Mayhem proved a popular item, and the brothers of Delta House (Kermit never heard at which university they were enrolled) whooped and danced when they ultimately won the bidding. A cadre of Wall Street banker types warred fiercely over Scooter’s PA services-for-a-week; Kermit shuddered when he saw the winning man in an expensive suit paying for his win out of a briefcase labeled Bitterman Banking and Loans. “Uh…Scooter? Be careful,” Kermit warned.
“Don’t worry, boss. I heard her little brother is running the place now, and he’s a decent guy; Mr MacNeil over there told me,” Scooter said as he passed by Kermit’s table, indicating the respected journalist sitting across the room.
“Oh. Okay,” Kermit said, relieved. He’d worked with that half of the MacNeil-Lehrer team, and knew no bad information would ever come from them.
“Oh Kermit, I’m so sorry I’m late!” The lovely lady sliding into a seat at his table cheered Kermit immediately. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then the same for Piggy. “How’s it all going so far?”
“Hi, Julie! It’s going all right, I guess. I’m really glad to see you,” Kermit responded. At least they’d have a good closing number…which might be the last closing number, ever. Kermit tried not to think about that.
The last item made Steve pop his eyes wide. “Wow! Okay! So…we’re down to the last item here, guys! Aaaaaand it is…her!” Martin pointed down at Piggy. As a surprised murmur swept the crowd, Piggy stood; Scott obligingly swung one of the band’s mini spotlights down to frame her in its glow. Her jewelry sparkled; her dress gleamed. Piggy smiled and waved her fingers. “That’s right, all you pork fanciers! The last item to bid on tonight is a date with Miss Piggy! Wow! Hey Kermit, can I bid on this one?”
“No,” Piggy growled to her frog. Kermit laughed, shaking his head.
“So hey, what say we start this off at one hund—“
“Five,” Piggy snapped loudly.
“Hey, who’s doing this? I mean, if you think you can chew the fat up here better than me,” Martin said, “If you believe you have a wider experience at this than I do, you go right ahead and—“
“Watch it, jerk,” Piggy yelled up at him.
“Geez, okay, okay! Five hundred dollars! Who’ll give me five hundred?”
Kermit was pleased when the date finally went to Whoopi, who joked to the catcalling crowd, “What? I dig torch singers!” Piggy seemed relieved as well, and Kermit knew his love would be safe in their friend’s hands for a night. Knowing the two of them, they’d probably get into more trouble out on the town together than any young playboy might’ve. As Steve turned over the podium to Whoopi one last time, Kermit noticed the Newsman staggering from table to table, apologizing to everyone he inadvertently bumped along the way. Apparently he’d had no better luck with his new job than at the old one, Kermit thought, but didn’t have time to dwell on it, hopping onto the platform with Julie Andrews for the last song. He gulped down a lump in his throat, telling himself if this was the last number, to do it as a pro.
Newsie reached Gina and nearly fell when he tried to sit down next to her; the chair she’d left empty for him seemed to be moving quite a bit. “Hi,” he said, finding her hand and clinging to it with both of his.
“There he is! There’s my cutie!” Gina kissed him, and he winced.
“Gina…could you…go gently…please…”
She stared at him, leaning in, looking as blurry as he felt. “You broke another pair of glasses?”
“Sorry,” he muttered. “What did I miss?”
Gonzo laughed. “Well, pretty much the whole thing! This is the closing number!”
“Oh…sorry,” Newsie said, squinting up at the stage. The audience quieted as the band began playing softly.
Gina stared hard at him; he suddenly understood he wasn’t the only one weaving in place. “So where’ve you been? We missed you,” she said, and plunked a half-full champagne glass in front of him. “Here…I saved you some.”
Newsie put his nose right in front of hers to see her clearly; she giggled, and kissed it. “Gina? Are you…are you, er, a little tipsy?”
Rowlf chuckled. Gonzo sighed. Camilla clucked in mirth, flopped upon the table with one of Gonzo’s arms around her protectively.
On stage, Julie and Kermit swayed a little in time to the music. “When I heard what had happened to the Muppet Theatre, and to my dear friend Kermit, I just had to come,” Julie told the audience. “Because when my friends are in trouble, I feel what they feel, and I just want to make it all better right away.” Smiling down at the frog, she began singing, “When you’re down…and troubled…and you need a helping hand; when nothing, nothing is going right…close your eyes and think of me, and soon I will be there, to brighten up even your darkest night…”
Kermit joined her. “You just call out my name, and you know wherever I am, I’ll come running, to see you again… Winter, spring, summer, or fall; all you have to do is call…and I’ll be there… You’ve got a friend.”
Gina pulled Newsie onto her lap, wrapping her arms around his waist. Dizzy, he braced his hands against the table, but didn’t object. By the second chorus, he was even able to join in, though he’d never regarded himself as much of a singer. This one he at least knew the words to, and besides, Gina’s voice in his ear soothed his heart, if not his still-pounding brain. All around the room, people were softly singing along: “You’ve got a friend, oh yeah…you’ve got a friend.”
The applause went on a long time. Scott brought the room lights back up, and the band continued to play. “We’re all your friends, Kermit; everyone! And we all hope the Muppet Theatre will be up and running again soon, and bringing us all the wonderful acts we’ve loved through the years,” Julie said, to the general approval of the crowd. Kermit felt his eyes tearing up; looking down at Piggy, he held out his hand to her, and she quickly joined him on the platform, as did Whoopi, and his nephew Robin, and the Sesame Street gang, and Steve stood behind them as well, everyone hugging.
Beauregard tapped Scooter’s shoulder. “Hey, where do you want the bags?”
“What bags? Beau, can’t you see this is kind of a moment?” Scooter asked.
“Oh. Okay. Sorry. Uh, I guess we’ll put them with the other money in the hallway,” Beau said, and called out to the pigs lugging heavy sacks through the room, “Hey! Don’t drag all that money through here! We need to take it to the hallway where the monsters can guard it, okay?”
Kermit stared at him. “Beauregard? What are you talking about?” People nearest the grunting, weighed-down stagepigs were exclaiming at the sacks. A ripple of excitement spread through the room.
Confused, Beau turned. “Oh, there you are, Kermit! Don’t worry! I won’t interrupt! We’ll just take all this money around and put it with the other donations!”
More pigs, and now a couple of Whatnots and one of the larger monsters, entered with more sacks, but Beau ran to stop them. Kermit yelled at him, “Beauregard, what money? What is all that?”
“Oh,” Beau said, frowning as he tried to remember what the little blonde rat had told him. “Uh…this is from A Nonny Mouse. It’s a donation to help fix the theatre.”
“A Nonny…” Kermit sighed. “Well, great! How much is there?”
“Uhhhh…a million dollars.” Beau waved. “You go back to your moment. We’ll take care of this! Come on, guys, this way…”
Kermit staggered back; Piggy’s jaw dropped; Steve caught them both. Whoopi gaped, then whooped. Julie gave a happy little shriek and caught Kermit up in a hug before giving him back to Piggy. The audience gasped, then applauded.
“Wow!” Gonzo said. Rowlf stared at the departing sacks. Scooter recovered his wits before any of the rest of them and ran to make sure nothing got lost. Gina frowned at all this, then blearily turned Newsie by the shoulders so she could see him. He was smiling, but dropped it from his face when he realized she was looking at him.
“Newsie…?”
He gulped. “Uh. Yes?”
“Did you have anything to do with this?”
“Where would I get a million dollars?” he argued weakly, but wasn’t able to hide his wince of pain when she touched his forehead.
Gina glared at him. “Oh, tell me you didn’t.”
“I swear to you I had no idea what he was up to,” Rhonda squeaked shrilly, hopping onto the table. The other Muppets at the table and neighboring ones were turning to look at him.
“I didn’t,” Newsie said, giving Gina his most serious face. The blush he could feel creeping over his cheeks didn’t help, however. He looked around, eyes almost shut, the lack of glasses and head injury doubly affecting his vision. “Don’t. Don’t say anything. Please. Ow.”
“Now that’s using your head,” Rowlf snickered.
“Please don’t tell anyone…ow. Can we…can we go home now?” Newsie asked gruffly, feeling as though he’d be sick if the room kept swaying like that.
“That sounds a lot better this time,” Gonzo said, smiling. Camilla clucked, snuggling with him happily.
“Wuh…well…I…folks, I guess…I guess we’re back in business!” Kermit said, finally overcoming his astonishment. The audience cheered. Muppets clapped and cried and hugged one another. “We’re gonna rebuild!” A happy clamor filled the room. Probably it was loud enough to get them kicked out of the hotel, but who cared? Laughing, overjoyed, Kermit kissed Piggy, looked out over all the smiling, cheering faces, and saw a large brown dog carefully leading Gina and the Newsman from the room. Newsie stumbled, and Gina caught him, then stumbled herself and had to be righted by Rowlf. Kermit watched them go, a suspicion forming in his head.
Well, I’ll be darned, he thought.
Then the crowd swarmed the stage, congratulating him, and it was a long while before order could be restored.
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stories are also posted over at fanfiction.net, though I'm currently miffed at them cause I can't log in due to their stupid robot Recapcia bug.