“Moi cannot believe vous would do this!” Piggy snapped irritably. She turned around and presented her back to Kermit, which wasn’t—quite—as hostile as it sounded. Kermit leaned over to zip her up, and the sequined dress, which had been hanging in lush folds across her waist and shoulder blades suddenly took on impressive dimensions. It was the same exact shade as her eyes, and Kermit knew Thoreau had sent two previous incarnations of this…creation back to the ladies who had hand-sewn the sequins because it wasn’t exactly the right color. For a moment, lost in imagining, Kermit completely forgot that some response was called for.
“Kermit! What on earth made you do this tonight—of all nights?”
“Hmmm?” murmured Kermit. “Say what?”
Piggy swung around and glared at him and he snapped into the moment hastily.
“Oh, the, um, party,” he said apologetically. “Yeah. It—I didn’t mean to scuttle our plans for a little at-home time, but….”
“A party!” Piggy almost spat, then she turned tragic eyes on Kermit. Sheesh, thought Kermit. A guy could get lost in there. “A party,” she practically wailed.
“Yes, but Honey… C’mon, a little dinner, some dancing. How bad could it be?”
“Moi will have to stand around all evening making small talk and eating processed cheese and listening to all sorts of awful little men talk about their ‘screenplays.’” She turned reproachful eyes on Kermit that made him want to sink through the floor. “How could you?”
“Sorry,” he gulped, in what he hoped was a suitably convincing manner.
If she’d just yelled at him—the reaction he’d expected—Kermit would have felt on more solid footing. Piggy sat down at the makeup table and began to make a number of small, almost imperceptibly changes to her face with little dabs of color and tint. The result took her from gorgeous to mind-blowing. She puckered her lips in the mirror to apply lipstick and Kermit thought he might just go white-eyed right there in her dressing room.
Piggy paused, catching sight of him in the mirror over her shoulder, and she turned and looked at him, lips still puckered attractively.
“And just think,” she said softly. “You and I could have spent a boring old evening at home—just the two of us….”
Kermit felt like wailing now, but he gritted his, um, teeth determinedly.
“Sometimes, Piggy,” he said stiffly, “you just have make sacrifices to get what you really want.”
Piggy sniffed. “Yes,” she murmured ruefully. “Moi is making sacrifices so you can get what you want.”
Kermit tried again to look suitably repentant, but found it was really difficult to look as repentant as Piggy thought he ought to look.
“Well,” Kermit said with what he hoped was the right touch of wistfulness. “I certainly hope so.”
She was quiet on the ride over, and Kermit didn’t push his luck. Because of that, probably, Piggy eventually became less rigid and relaxed next to him in the back of the big, black limo. Kermit reached for her silver-satin-gloved hand and twined his fingers with hers with a small hmmm of satisfaction. Here silver faux fur stole poufed around her shoulders, setting off the creamy pink tone of her skin.
“Thank, Piggy, for coming. I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t--
“—think it was important. I know, I know. Moi understands.”
Kermit smiled at her, that wonderfully lop-sided smile that she loved, and stretched to plant a sweet little kiss on her cheek.
“Thanks, Honey,” Kermit said. “You always come through for me.”
“Mmmm,” said Piggy. She looked up at him, and her blue eyes were full of longing. “Do we have to stay long?” she asked.
Kermit swallowed with effort. “Only as long as you want,” he managed. “You say the word, we’re out of there.”
Piggy looked at him again, somewhat mollified, and managed without actually snuggling against him to imply that she might, just possibly, under certain circumstances.
The limo began the circular approach that would deposit them neatly in front of the big glass doors, and Piggy looked out her tinted window with interest.
“You didn’t tell me it was here,” she said, sounded more interested. She turned and looked at him, and her expression was mischievous. “I remember this place….”
Kermit laughed. “I would hope so!” he said with mock grumpiness. “We spent our first anniversary here—in the honeymoon suite.”
Piggy nodded slowly, and this time she did actually let her shoulder brush his. “It was very nice.” She sighed wistfully. “Too bad….”
“Oh good,” said Kermit. “We’re here.” In short order, they were standing under the long awning leading up to the big double doors. Kermit offered his arm, and Piggy slipped her fingers underneath the crook of his elbow.
“Mr. The Frog!” said the doorman. “How very nice to see you!” He bowed politely, gravely, to Piggy. “Mrs. The Frog,” he intoned formally. “We are so honored.”
Piggy favored him with a smile—a smile that would have knocked his socks off if he hadn’t been wearing the uniform boots—as she breezed past him and walked toward the elevators.
Kermit stepped forward and pressed the button. Piggy looked, more out of boredome than interest, but couldn’t see which one. Oh well, she thought. What do I care?
Still, when the elevator stopped, Piggy turned and regarded Kermit with a puzzled look.
“Kermie,” she said softly. “Where is this party?”
“Oh,” said Kermit dismissively. “A private suite. I have the number.” Piggy followed, a little more optimistic. If this was in a private suite, the party was bound to be more intimate. She probably wouldn’t have to talk to anyone she didn’t want. She walked along gracefully, the sequined hem of her robe making a little swish-swish of sound on the deep pile carpet. At last, Kermit stopped, but instead of knocking, Kermit produced a room key and opened the door.
Piggy stared. She had not seen him get a key downstairs, but her musings were cut short as the door swung open.
It was the same suite they had shared so many anniversaries ago, and there was a little table set up in the corner with a white tablecloth and a bottle of champagne. Deeply suspicious now, Piggy turned on Kermit, but he took her gently into his arms and kissed her.
It was a nice kiss, full of fond remembering and future hopes. When it was over, Piggy just looked at him, shaking her head a little.
“There isn’t a party, is there?” she accused.
Kermit just smiled, and kept his arms tight around her. “Sure there is,” he said smugly. “The The Frogs, party of two.”
“Oh Kermie….” Her eyes said she would forgive him, but he might have to work a little.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Sweetheart.”
“Vous, too, Mon Capitan,” said Piggy. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”