Part Thirty-Four (I)
Only after threatening to actually talk to the boss was Snookie allowed to hit the showers. He had no idea what time of day it might be outside; the glow-worms in all the hallways seemed to have no internal clock of their own, and radiated cold gloomy illumination all the time, as far as he’d been able to observe. All he knew was that he’d done nearly thirty show tapings and commercial spots today, and he was tired, ragged, and covered in some kind of mushroom sauce. (That fifteen-second spot promoting Flukeman’s Fabulous Fungus Funporium really stank...in every sense.) He’d yelled hoarsely at the blugh-speaking monster trailing after him all day until he was brought a clean towel and shorts and an undershirt which actually still appeared white instead of yellow or grey; realizing this was the most luxury he’d experienced in months gave Snookie no great feeling of satisfaction.
He trudged into the shower room, snarling at Blugh: “I don’t need you in here! Leave me alone for five minutes – unless you want me to tell everyone you have a Muppet fetish!” Abashed, Blugh hastily ducked back outside, and Snookie sat down on one of the cracked wooden benches just outside the actual stalls. Ye frogs, my kingdom for a private shower. Sighing deeply, he curled his knees to his chest, laying his head on them a long moment, eyes closed, just taking in the relative silence of the room. A dripping faucet kept him company, but that was fine. Just a day, one whole day, to sleep...alone...that’s all I ask anymore, he thought.
His mind wandered back to the message he’d been given earlier that day – was it only today? Seemed like a week already, but who knew, down here... My cousin’s coming to rescue me. Yeah. Right. These freaks get one look at him, he’ll be sharing a cell with me, I bet. Or he’ll go straight down Carl’s gullet. What an idiot. He really thinks he can just come find me and all will be well? Not froggy likely. If he only found out about me recently, where’s he been all this time? I was famous, d—it! Well...for a while, I was... Depressed, he turned his thoughts away from the bleak timeline of his rise and sudden fall in show business. History now. Unable to quell the uneasiness the strange message had brought up, he glanced around once, then extracted the small photo from the inside of his trouser-leg hem. The yellow-felted Muppet pictured had deep lines around his squinting eyes, but his smile seemed genuine, and the way he held, and was held by, the nonfelted girl spoke eloquently of the kind of partnership Snookie himself had only halfheartedly considered. He’s free, and he has someone, Snookie thought. Must be awash in bliss twenty-four-seven.
The door to the shower room banged open, startling Snookie, who fumbled in trying to stuff the picture back into the safety of its hiding-place. A blue Whatever covered in yellowish goop and eggshells bounced in, followed closely but with far less energy by a pinkish-furred monster with three tired eyes, similarly coated in what looked like Easter gone horribly wrong. “But that was just a practice run!” Gonzo exclaimed. “Of course I won’t drop the whole carton next time – I just got distracted when you set off the sparklers early! You have to wait until I say, ‘Then the nest is full of marvels!’” Suddenly noticing the game-show host, Gonzo smiled. “Oh – hi! Long day for you too, huh?” He sniffed. “Hey, smells good. What was that, stroganoff?”
Snookie glanced up at the mushroom sauce slowly sliding from his hair down his large rounded nose. He was frozen with the photo still in one hand and his leg absurdly stuck out. Easing into a more natural pose, he tried to pretend he hadn’t been doing anything questionable, eyeing the fluff-headed pink monster with some anxiety. “Uh, heh heh, I guess so. Does it normally smell like month-old gym socks?”
“When it’s done right,” Gonzo said affably. “Uh, did you want to go first?” He gestured at the shower stalls.
“No...you go ahead. You look like you both need it worse,” Snookie said, thinking if they busied themselves with that he’d have a better chance of concealing the photo; he lowered his hand to his lap, covering the small picture with his fingers, and gestured broadly at the daredevil with his other hand, a classic misdirection he’d learned from hosting Three-Yard Monty! about a decade back. “You two look like you’ve been working on your next act for tomorrow, huh?”
“I’m going to be saving three dozen eggs of various sizes and densities from certain extermination-by-garden-tool, while reciting a paraphrased version of Billy Collins’ ‘Picnic, Lightning’,” Gonzo explained. He indicated his monster assistant. “Rosie’s throwing the eggs.”
“Ebba,” Rosie muttered, seeming far less enthused than Gonzo. He began to slouch toward the nearest shower stall, but paused when Gonzo stepped toward Snookie and grabbed the photo before Snookie could completely hide it.
“Hey, cool! Did Newsie send you that?” Gonzo asked.
“It’s a token of appreciation from a fa—who?” Snookie gulped, his glib explanation cut short in confusion. He stared at the friendly Whatever. “You...what did you call him?”
“Oh, uh, sorry; I know he used to get a little huffy about his nickname. The Muppet Newsman. I work with him. Well, you know, not with him, technically; I did offer to let him hold the target up for my motorcycle jump once, but he said he was busy all week,” Gonzo said, but the look on Snookie’s face made him pause. “Oh, er...you don’t actually know him?”
Snookie darted a furtive glance at Rosie, unsure how much to say. “Uh...he...he’s my cousin. You work with him? And he’s in the news?” Snookie frowned. “What is he, your publicist?”
Gonzo laughed, and grinned at Rosie. “As if any of those philistines would support a genuine artiste! No, no...he works at the Muppet Theatre.”
“It’s still running?” Snookie wondered, amazed. He could recall hearing of the place as a young man; he hadn’t thought a venue devoted to silly things like singing and dancing and corny jokes would ever last long...certainly, not long enough for any of the performers to make a living at it.
“Well, yeah!” Gonzo chuckled. “Geez...how long have you been down here, anyway?”
Snookie’s expression darkened at once. “Heh, heh... A long time.”
Gonzo handed the photo back, feeling sheepish. “Oh, uh...sorry. I didn’t realize. Um. Well, yeah, the theatre’s still going...and we shot a movie recently in Hollywood...and they’re gearing up for a spooky one to start shooting soon. Hey, would you like to come aboard? I mean, we already have an emcee, of course; but, uh, you know, maybe you could do a game-show sketch? Kermit and I go way back, and I’d be happy to put in a good word for you...”
“No thank you,” Snookie said, shuddering at the thought of ever doing another game show again. If he were out there again, free again, he’d never be caught in front of a microphone or a fake audience! Not ever! Not even working with other Muppets... Overcome by a wellspring of unusual thoughts, he paused, then asked softly, “What...what is this Newsman like? What’s it like...working with Muppets?”
“Oh, well, uh...it’s great, although Kermit won’t let me do all the stuff I really want to. That’s why I’m here.” Taken aback by the odd questions, and by how desperate the cynical host suddenly seemed, Gonzo took a seat next to him on the bench. Rosie hovered nearby a moment, impatient to wash the egg off his face, then shrugged and chose a stall. He flung his towel over the swinging door; a moment later, the sound of running water was accompanied by scrubbing, humming sounds, and then a cleanly-rinsed coat of short pink fur landed over the stall door to drip-dry. Snookie stared at that a second, decided he didn’t want to even think about a naked monster using the soap-on-a-rope, and returned his attention to Gonzo. “Well, umm...Newsie’s a good guy. Y’know, a little, uh, conventional...not the artistic type at all. He used to be really uptight, but that lady of his has definitely changed him for the better! I’ve actually seen him smile a couple of times this past year...”
“But he...he works with you, you said?”
“Oh. I should’ve explained that better. I mean he works at the theatre, but he also has a regular news gig. He’s an anchor or something now, I think,” Gonzo said. “That’s so cool that he’s your cousin and he sent you fan mail! Hey – maybe we could get him to cover me in the winner’s circle at the last show!” He grinned. “Or did that sound overconfident? Ahh, dream big, win big! Hey, would it be prejudicial for you to tell me who you think my strongest competition will be?”
Snookie tried to digest all this. “Has he...said anything to you about visiting down here?”
“No...but I haven’t seen him in weeks,” Gonzo reminded the host. “They keep us contestants kinda secluded. I guess they don’t want us stealing ideas from the mainstream entertainment media. Hey, why don’t you invite him to the next show? He doesn’t normally do showbiz news, but I’m sure since you’re his cousin he’d do you a favor. He’s a nice guy...just a little dry, that’s all.”
“Uh...sure. I’ll do that,” Snookie muttered. He tucked the photo away. “Speaking of dry, you should go wash those yolks off. Otherwise you’ll be scratching yellow dander for days.”
“Good point,” Gonzo agreed. “Nice talking with you. See you tomorrow night! It’s gonna be fantastic!” Beaming, he snatched up his own towel and went dashing into the free stall. “Hey Rosie, toss me some of that lava shampoo!”
Snookie was too caught up in his own thoughts to notice the splash-fight over the three-quarter stall walls which ensued behind him. My cousin goes by ‘Newsie’? How quaint. And he’s a no-nonsense reporter type...great. No way can he have any idea what’s going on down here. He’ll be walking right into the monster’s den. Poor schmuck is doomed already. He shook his head. Man, I wish I COULD send him a note – I’d tell him to run the other way! Save himself! Coming after me isn’t wonderful, it’s suicide! Depressed again, he slumped on the bench, the mushroom gravy plopping off his nose barely a nuisance next to the black shade of his train of thought. But what if he does come down here? What then? What can I do? He scowled. Nothing! Nothing I CAN do! That idiot’s on his own! I can’t be responsible for anyone trying to rescue...me... He gulped, abruptly feeling guilty. It was not a sensation he was accustomed to, and he struggled with it. I didn’t ask him to come find me! I didn’t want anyone to...to... Bullcrap. Yes I did. I just didn’t think anyone would REMEMBER me, much less want to get me out of here... He wiped away an unexpected tear. Man, that lava shampoo is pungent. Hope they finish soon so I can wash up.
He repeatedly steered his mind away from any further thought of his cousin’s misplaced heroism, waiting until the water stopped and two laughing, soaked creatures emerged with towels around their waists. As they dried themselves, chatting about shovels, rakes, and ellipsoidal weight distribution midair, Snookie slipped the photo into his clean underwear and folded it with the undershirt on a shelf high inside one of the shower stalls, where the water splashing would be minimal and he could keep an eye on it. He heard the snap of a wet towel and a monsterish yelp, followed by Gonzo’s laughter cut short: “Oh! Uh...sorry... Rosie, put your fur on, for crying out loud...”
“I see machismo runs rampant even down here,” griped a strident voice. Startled, Snookie looked over to see the pink-spattered blue Whatnot girl standing just inside the room, glaring at everyone. A sheepish Rosie finished shrugging into his fur, hastily smacking closed the Velcro tabs up his belly. Gonzo wrapped an egg-print robe over himself without removing his towel, and nodded apologetically at the girl. “Look, if the bathroom has to be co-ed, can you jokers at least give me some privacy?” Stinkbomb complained; Gonzo and Rosie hurriedly left. She turned to Snookie, eyes narrowing as she recognized him. “Nice. Not only co-ed, but co-monster-and-Muppet. So much for respecting our felted rights.”
“You’re lucky they even let you get a shower,” Snookie retorted. “What’d you do, gripe until they couldn’t take it anymore?”
“Yeah...and then some big ugly shark-mouthed groundhog ate me. Again,” the girl snarled. “What kinda crazy joint is this place, anyway? I’ve never seen so many monsters disrespectful of basic Muppet rights! What makes them think they can just –“
“Because they can,” Snookie interrupted. “You just don’t get it, do you, kid? They run this place. They own us – you and me and every sucker who gets tricked down here.” He gave her a sour look. “Lemme guess: they hooked you with the promise of a soapbox to stand on.”
“Nobody hooked me, they grabbed me!” Stinkbomb argued. “They grabbed me right off the street! Dragged me through the sewers! Pure anti-Muppet kidnapping! When I get out of here, they better –“
“You’re not getting out,” Snookie corrected, stepping closer to glare at her eye-to-eye. Well, almost; she was slightly shorter than him. “Hasn’t the reality of all this sunk into your fuzzy little brain yet? None of us get out! Up there, kid, maybe you were some hotshot young rabble-rouser, but down here, you’re...you’re...a slave.” He paused, swallowing hard as he realized that really was the perfect word for it. “All of us, everyone except the monsters; we’re slaves... Well, maybe them too, under that big scary boss they’re always whispering about. Who knows? Point is...there is no escape. Nobody’s going to find us, nobody’s going to save us, and anyone that tries will...will be gobbled up just the same.” He stopped, waiting for her next outburst, but she was surprisingly silent. She stared at him, round eyes turning moist, and Snookie fought down the urge to sympathize. He’d tried making allies before, and what had come of that? Betrayal...or else the painful loss of a friend. He wondered how poor Geoff was doing...whether he’d become one of them, as he’d seemed to be heading for the last time Snookie had laid eyes on him.
Finally the girl said quietly, “You’ve been down here years, haven’t you.”
Snookie nodded, his throat feeling too thick to talk.
The girl swallowed as well, looking him over, seeming to at last notice the scum in his hair, the bedraggled clothing, the weariness in his face. She asked, “Will you...will you tell me what to do?”
Boggled, Snookie stared at her. She added quickly, “I mean, to get by. To not make them mad. To not get...get...again.” She trembled a little, just once, but Snookie felt a tremor of empathy go through him. He couldn’t say a word. He simply nodded again, and the girl relaxed a notch. “Cool. Great. So...uh...which of these two mold-covered cesspools is the better shower?”
“That one,” Snookie said, indicating the stall he knew had the stronger water pressure. He removed his own clothing from the shelf there, and stood back to allow her to go first. “Uh...do you...did they give you any clothes?”
Stinkbomb looked down at herself; her once-stylish jean jacket was covered in digestive slime. “Uh...no...I thought maybe I could...could wash this in there...”
Snookie held out his clean undershirt to her. She looked askance at it. “It might be a little big for you, but it’s clean,” he said sharply. She looked into his eyes again, and without a word accepted the shirt. She stepped into the stall, and Snookie sank onto the bench again, wondering at himself. How could he possibly help this kid? Sure, he could tell her what subjects to avoid mentioning around certain of the touchier monsters, but there was no way he could stop any of them from gulping her down, or subjecting her to game-show participation, or from tossing her into the Big Monster house with its invasive cameras and attention-hungry roommates....
“You better not be peeking, you perv,” she called over the sound of water.
Snookie, startled, realized the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. It really had been a long time since his frat-boy days... He began to chuckle, and suddenly he was laughing strongly, really laughing. It took him a few minutes to wrest himself under control. The girl, puzzled, asked, “What, you think I’m ugly? You think heck no, you’d never even want to look at someone with two-tone felt? At a girl with a disfigurement, huh? Too ugly for you, with your sleek hair and your cute nose and your – your – manly chest, or something, is that it?”
Snookie blinked. “I...uh...no! No, I...you...” Well, what the heck. “No, you’re actually...very pretty...uh, kid.”
There was a long pause. Only the running water echoed in the moldy-tiled room. Then he heard her say quietly, “I’m not a kid.”
She went back to washing, soft splashing noises oddly comforting to Snookie. He sat there, astounded at himself, not yet reminding himself this girl was destined for bad things as much as he was. Not yet. For just this moment...he was going to think about a young woman of felt, not three feet from him, who would shortly be wearing his long shirt...and possibly nothing else.
For just this moment, he was going to think about that. Not how little sleep or food or sunlight he’d had, not Carl’s obscenely pro-monster show, not the insane schedule he’d be forced back into in probably only a few hours...for now, just that. Just her.
He’d never felt protective over anyone before. It was, he decided, kind of...interesting.
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The blue raggy thing couldn’t bear to look at the still form under the sheet. With lower jaw drawn over googly eyes, it wrapped half its tentacles around its head for good measure, keening. “Aaaaaoooogie! Aaaaoooogieeeee!”
Its pink twin shook its head, sighing as well: “Ooogieeeee...” Mournfully, it tapped the edge of the padded gurney the small body lay upon. “Eth-el...”
“Bad cow got Eth-el,” Blue groaned, but Pink comforted him, five tentacles wrapping around his companion.
“Nooooope. Nope nope nope. No bad cow. Was...” he paused, searching for a word which had no equivalent in their own language. “Ack-see-dent. Ackseedent. Yip. Yip yip yip yip.”
“Aaawww?” Blue asked, puzzled.
“Yip yip,” Pink assured him. “Eth-el fall down... Awww. Fall, mm.”
“Why?” Blue demanded, gesturing wildly at the covered body of the Muppet they’d both adored. “Not right! Not fair! Uh-uh! Uh-uh!”
“Not fair,” Pink agreed, and with another sigh offered the wisdom of his somewhat greater timecycles: “Just way is. Awww. Just way.”
Blue stared widely at him a moment. Abruptly he hauled several tentacles back and thwopped Pink hard enough to send him tumbling jelly-over-eyeballs. “Not funny! Noooope! Nopenopenopenope!”
“Not try funny!” Pink protested. “Way is here!”
Blue turned away, gazing up at the gurney. “Aaaaooooooogie,” he wailed.
Pink rejoined him, staring up as well, but silent. After a few more minutes of Blue’s mournful keening, Pink’s wide jaw slowly raised, tightening into a straight, determined line. He poked Blue, startling the grieving monster. “Ooog?” Blue grunted.
“Big boss go down.” For once, the strange harsh voice was quiet. Pink’s eyes narrowed to catlike slits, though they went horizontal instead of vertical. Blue looked uncertainly at him; he’d never seen his friend in this mood. Pink’s tentacles vibrated, sending a ripple up his wobbly body until his antennae quivered. He glared at Blue. “Big boss go down now.”
“Mm. Down. Down now,” Blue said slowly, beginning to bounce lightly in solidarity with Pink. “Mm. Down. Awwwww yip yip yip. Down! Uh-huh! Uh-huh!”
Each of them, quivering, humming softly and tonelessly, hovered a moment above the still, sheeted form. Gently they brushed their soft tentacle-tips across the covered face of the late Ethel Muppman before wavering in the air and vanishing, and the nurse technician who entered the room a moment later only thought he saw an odd ripple in the air, and shrugged it off as fatigue. The gurney wheels squeaked as he took the body from the room.
At the elevator down the hall, Gina heard the sound of the wheels, and looked back; she saw the gurney slowly being taken away. At least whomever had been honking that ooga-horn had finally stopped; the noise had disturbed them, seeming badly inappropriate for such a sober time. Her Muppet clung to her, his face buried in her coat. She clasped him tighter, hoping he wouldn’t turn around. The elevator softly chimed, the doors opened, and Gina walked her Aloysius inside, sparing him the last sad sight. She saved that for herself, and before the doors shut, thought, Goodbye, Ethel. Thank you for loving my Newsie...he won’t forget you. She stroked Newsie’s hair, and he did his best to hold back a sob, pulling his useless glasses off his face. I’ll be his family for you. She bent over to kiss his forehead. “I love you.”
“Love you,” Newsie replied, his voice hoarse. “We...I need... I need to go to the theatre.”
“Sweetie, no. Kermit won’t insist you work tonight, I promise. Let’s go home...”
“No, not yet,” Newsie said gruffly. He wiped his face with his coatsleeve, and turned hard eyes up to his beloved. “She knew about the monsters. That’s why they tried to kill her. I have to get that report out. Right now. Rhonda just needs me to deliver a voiceover...I need to do that. Now.”
Gina felt both a surge of pride and a deep uneasiness about his determination; she could see it plainly in his gaze, in the set of his jaw, in the tenseness of his whole posture. Reluctantly she nodded. “All right. I’ll go with you.” She kept her arm around his shoulders, and after a moment, he took her hand in his, and held it through the whole cab ride back to the Muppet Theatre.
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