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Ruahnna
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Chapter 10: The End of the Line and the Beginning of an Argument
Kermit still had the pillow under one arm and he had two slices of Derby pie on a Styrofoam plate and wrapped with green plastic wrap. Two plastic green forks lay between the slices of rich, fudgy walnut pie. Just looking at the slices of pie made Kermit want to drool, but he shook his head at his own lack of willpower. Nope—he would wait and share his pie with Piggy—provided he could find her. While he was at it, he thought he’d better check on Robin as well.
He headed for the Frog Scout tent, being stopped about every eight feet or so by someone congratulating him for such a nice fair, or expressing their gratitude for the conservation cause, or oohing and ahhing about the cute little Frog Scouts. Kermit took it all in happily. This was like Hollywood schmoozing, except nobody kissed you or patted you on the bum or tried to stab you in the back—much for friendly-like.
When the parade had ended, the crowd and the fair booth workers had all been dumped at the far end of the site and had disbursed like dandelion fluff. Kermit wondered if they had a head count of people here, which immediately made him think of Count von Count. He made a note to himself to look up The Count—or his friend Ed—and see if they had some numbers for him. This thought was almost put out of his head by the press of bodies as he neared a veritable logjam of people all craning their necks toward something he could not see. Still, he was almost to the Frog Scout booth, and he wedged himself determinedly through a couple of young men and almost staggered to the counter.
A very excited, very buttery group of Frog Scouts greeted his arrival with an onslaught of words. Kermit nodded and smiled a lot and finally gleaned from the cacophony around him that Scooter had just been by. He had told them that, of those booths that had already reported in, the Frog Scout popcorn booth had outstripped all of the other money-makers at the fair. This was good news, thought Kermit, and wondered again how much money they were talking about.
He finally divested himself of small frogs and sidled over to talk with Scoutmaster Rana.
“Sounds like you guys had a profitable day,” he said, rebalancing the pie and the pillow so he could shake the older frog’s hand.
“We did indeed,” said Scoutmaster Rana. He leaned forward and when he whispered it was just barely loud enough for Kermit’s aural organs. “Although I don’t reckon we’re gonna beat your little lady. Still, the boys made a good run for it. Nothing wrong with second place.”
Kermit was trying to make sense out of his words. “You mean Piggy?” Kermit asked at last. “You think Piggy’s going to outsell the Frog Scouts?”
Rana’s eyes were twinkling. “I do,” he said. “She’s given her…um, her most to the cause.” He grinned at Kermit and jerked his head toward the press of people just beyond the booth. “And I had to say you’re being an awfully good sport about it.”
Again, Kermit had that feeling that there was a “kick-me” sign on his back or something smelly on his flipper—some vague feeling that everyone knew something, something about him that he ought to know but didn’t.
“Um, where is Piggy now?” he said as casually as he could. “I haven’t, you know, seen her all day because she’s been, um, working.”
Again, Scoutmaster Rana nodded toward where the crowd had yet to thin.
“I imagine she’s still at her booth, trying to make the most of the time left before they count the money.” He looked at the pie and the pillow. “That’s nice,” he said approvingly. “You brought presents.”
Kermit blushed a little and nodded, feeling all school-boyish and shy. “Yeah,” he said. “I haven’t been very available today. Thought I’d make up for it.”
A fleeting expression of…something—surprise? Amusement?—flitted over the older frog’s face and he tilted his head toward the crowd.
“Sounds like a plan,” the Scoutleader said. “But you better get in line before she closes.”
Before Kermit could ask him anything else, Rana was swarmed by small frogs, all hopping excitedly and talking at once. No hope of recapturing the older frog’s attention now. Kermit set his face toward the crowd—still wondering what on earth the line was for—and pushed on, looking for one lush pink figure in the midst of the crowd.
It didn’t take him long to find her.
He had pushed against the line that, curiously, seemed to be comprised only of men until the line had pushed back.
“Hey—no shoving,” one guy complained. “I been waitin’ most of an hour and I’m not giving up my place in line!”
“Yeah—and the line is closing in two minutes. If you aren’t in line then—“
“—not half as long as the lines this morning,” another young man was saying. “I’d have come back sooner but it knocked me for a loop and I just got my feet back under me so—“
“—said it was the best five bucks he ever spent outside of—“
“—wished I could have thought of something to say, but she was real nice about—“
“—counting the money now. The only booth made more’n her is the Frog Scout kids selling popcorn. That red-headed guy is still adding—“
“—see that old guy? He had to take a heart pill after—“
The line gave a sudden abrupt heave and the corner of Piggy’s booth—and Piggy herself—came suddenly into Kermit’s line of sight. Scooter sat at the corner of her booth, out of the way, counting out bills methodically. Kermit paid him no mind—he only had eyes for Piggy.
Kermit did not notice how carefully matched her ensemble was, nor how very dedicated she had obviously been to the cause. Kermit did not approve of her carefully worded signs or the fact that she had been hard, hard at work all day long while he flitted from one project to the other. In fact, Kermit looked decidedly unhappy with the fact that she was running neck and neck with the Frog Scout booth for first place in money-raising ventures for the day. The pots of money so prominently displayed conjured up images of Piggy giving more to the cause than he could sanction.
Heedless of the other men, Kermit stepped angrily out of line and marched up the counter. He glared at the short, middle-aged man Piggy was bussing with aplomb but if Piggy was even aware of him, she gave no sign. When at last she released her patron he tried a couple of times to speak and failed.
“Are you married?” he asked faintly, his voice hoarse.
Piggy laughed and motioned him away. “No,” she said, and then her blue eyes saw Kermit—and hardened. “Not yet,” she said firmly, and crossed her arms across her chest.
“A kissing booth!” Kermit said. “A kissing booth! Piggy—this is the most ridiculous idea I have ever heard of!”
Piggy smirked at him. “Good thing the citizens of Hensonville don’t share your views.”
“My views?” Kermit huffed. “It’s not my views that are in question. This is supposed to be a family event.”
Piggy looked at him levelly. “Single men often become family men,” she said silkily, then put her hands on her ample hips and looked him up and down. “At least, some of them manage. Why just today, I had fourteen proposals—“
“I’ll just bet you did!” Kermit muttered, but not quite loud enough for Piggy to call him on it.
“And I raised tons of money for the town conservation project!” Piggy shot back, infuriated.
“And plenty of eyebrows!”
Piggy gave him a look of pure venom. “What other people do with their eyebrows is none of my business!” she snapped.
Kermit couldn’t think of anything snappy to say to that, so he changed tactics. “And look at all this money!” he accused.
“We’re supposed to be making money,” Piggy said. Her voice was level but her blood pressure was not. “This was a fundraiser, and Scooter says I might win first--”
“Yeah, but—“ Kermit blustered brilliantly.
“Perhaps vous have forgotten that art can be commercially successful,” she said primly.
“Art? I don’t think this qualifies as—“
“Well, if the crowds are applauding….” She trailed off and looked at him sweetly. “You do remember that feeling, don’t you? The one when people actually clap after the performance?”
Oooh! Direct hit on the frog’s ego. Kermit drew himself up to his full height, ready to say the first scathing thing that popped into his head. He opened his mouth--
Piggy kissed him. In the time it had taken him to puff himself up with irritation, she had reached out, snagged the green beads draped around his neck and pulled him within target range. Some small part of him argued that she was bound to be good at this seeing how she had just practiced so very much but it was impossible for him to remember anything of the sort once her lips met his. There was apology in her kiss, and tenderness and insecurity and a million other things that could not fail to move him if he was not immovable. He found he was not, and he also found his arms around her waist, feeling the solid wealth of her curves and glad to find them so obligingly pressed against him.
By the time they pulled apart, it was safe to say that Kermit had thoroughly sampled the wares so cunningly displayed at Piggy’s booth, and had little to say in disapproval—very little to say indeed.
Piggy looked at him, her eyes contrite, but there was a hint of mischief in them.
“Five dollars, please,” she said sweetly.
Kermit drew himself up, pulling his dignity around him with difficulty as if suddenly becoming aware of the many eyes watching their little interchange. He slapped a ten dollar bill on the counter, but when her hand reached for it, he grabbed her wrist, pulled her firmly into his arms and dipped her almost to the ground.
“I didn’t ask for change,” he muttered, and kissed her again.
Nobody reminded Kermit this was a family event. Nobody so much as said “awwwed” or made “kissy-kissy” noises. After an appallingly indecent interval, Piggy was set back onto her very high heels in front of a crowd determinedly looking at something else entirely. She put one hand to her hair and the other rose to her flushed lips while she looked at Kermit without saying anything. After a moment, one satin-gloved hand closed over the bill, and Kermit was surprised to find the other gripping his wrist. She walked swiftly, drawing him after her, and there was a loud wail of disappointment as she abandoned her post. Too powerless to pull free and too proud to protest, Kermit had no choice but to follow. Piggy walked his ten dollar bill over to the Frog Scouts table. She put it on the table and looked at Robin brightly.
“Ten dollars for some of your Frog Scout popcorn,” she said quietly, trying to ignore the little stir her arrival had created among the pre-adolescent frog scouts. Only Robin seemed impervious to the fact that a real, live, in the pink movie star had just visited their booth, and he took her money and sold her a box of chocolate-covered popcorn.
There was a rustle of movement, then Scooter burst through the crowd.
“Was that a ten?” he asked.
Several heads nodded, and Scooter looked down at his clipboard.
“It’s official then,” he said. “The Frog Scouts win for most money earned at the fair.”
“We win!’ Robin shouted exultantly! “We win! We win! We made the most money today!”
The crowd erupted into cheers and yells. Frog scouts bounced with abandon and there was a great deal of back-thumping and head-rubbing congratulations.
Kermit found himself surrounded by people, but Piggy’s hold on his hand had not loosened and the crowd swept around them. He returned the pressure of her hand and looked at Piggy, his eyes softening in response. “I guess we all win,” he said softly.
Piggy nodded earnestly. “I…I wanted to do something for the cause. This seemed like a natural.” She had the good grace to blush under his scrutiny—she who had not blushed once on the job!—but Kermit’s sigh was benevolent.
“It certainly seems to have been a smash hit,” he admitted. He gave her a lop-sided smile. “Five dollars a kiss!” he teased. “I had no idea I was so deeply in debt.”
Piggy sniffed and disengaged herself. She put her lovely snout into the air and sailed past him. “Don’t worry,” she said airily. “I’m willing to let you work it off.”
There was a moment’s stunned silence, then Kermit smiled broadly. He would have started after her, but at just that moment a small webbed hand slipped into his.
“Hi Uncle Kermit,” said Robin, beaming at him. “We did good, huh?”
Kermit smiled, taking in Robin’s slightly less-than immaculate uniform and twinkling eyes. “You did great.”
“Um, is there anything to eat?” asked Robin. “I’m hungry.”
Kermit thought of the old joke about the parents who simply weighed their little boy as they exited the grocery store and paid for the weight difference at the going rate for grapes. He imagined that Robin had consumed his weight twice over in popcorn, and there was nothing—nothing at all—leftover from the sack lunch he’d packed the night before.
“Sure,” Kermit said, his arm around Robin’s shoulder. “Lets go back toward the entry and see what they’ve got to eat.” He glanced once over his shoulder and saw Piggy in earnest conversation with Scoutmaster Rana, then smiled and let it go. He’d catch up with Piggy in a bit—she wasn’t going anywhere.
Kermit still had the pillow under one arm and he had two slices of Derby pie on a Styrofoam plate and wrapped with green plastic wrap. Two plastic green forks lay between the slices of rich, fudgy walnut pie. Just looking at the slices of pie made Kermit want to drool, but he shook his head at his own lack of willpower. Nope—he would wait and share his pie with Piggy—provided he could find her. While he was at it, he thought he’d better check on Robin as well.
He headed for the Frog Scout tent, being stopped about every eight feet or so by someone congratulating him for such a nice fair, or expressing their gratitude for the conservation cause, or oohing and ahhing about the cute little Frog Scouts. Kermit took it all in happily. This was like Hollywood schmoozing, except nobody kissed you or patted you on the bum or tried to stab you in the back—much for friendly-like.
When the parade had ended, the crowd and the fair booth workers had all been dumped at the far end of the site and had disbursed like dandelion fluff. Kermit wondered if they had a head count of people here, which immediately made him think of Count von Count. He made a note to himself to look up The Count—or his friend Ed—and see if they had some numbers for him. This thought was almost put out of his head by the press of bodies as he neared a veritable logjam of people all craning their necks toward something he could not see. Still, he was almost to the Frog Scout booth, and he wedged himself determinedly through a couple of young men and almost staggered to the counter.
A very excited, very buttery group of Frog Scouts greeted his arrival with an onslaught of words. Kermit nodded and smiled a lot and finally gleaned from the cacophony around him that Scooter had just been by. He had told them that, of those booths that had already reported in, the Frog Scout popcorn booth had outstripped all of the other money-makers at the fair. This was good news, thought Kermit, and wondered again how much money they were talking about.
He finally divested himself of small frogs and sidled over to talk with Scoutmaster Rana.
“Sounds like you guys had a profitable day,” he said, rebalancing the pie and the pillow so he could shake the older frog’s hand.
“We did indeed,” said Scoutmaster Rana. He leaned forward and when he whispered it was just barely loud enough for Kermit’s aural organs. “Although I don’t reckon we’re gonna beat your little lady. Still, the boys made a good run for it. Nothing wrong with second place.”
Kermit was trying to make sense out of his words. “You mean Piggy?” Kermit asked at last. “You think Piggy’s going to outsell the Frog Scouts?”
Rana’s eyes were twinkling. “I do,” he said. “She’s given her…um, her most to the cause.” He grinned at Kermit and jerked his head toward the press of people just beyond the booth. “And I had to say you’re being an awfully good sport about it.”
Again, Kermit had that feeling that there was a “kick-me” sign on his back or something smelly on his flipper—some vague feeling that everyone knew something, something about him that he ought to know but didn’t.
“Um, where is Piggy now?” he said as casually as he could. “I haven’t, you know, seen her all day because she’s been, um, working.”
Again, Scoutmaster Rana nodded toward where the crowd had yet to thin.
“I imagine she’s still at her booth, trying to make the most of the time left before they count the money.” He looked at the pie and the pillow. “That’s nice,” he said approvingly. “You brought presents.”
Kermit blushed a little and nodded, feeling all school-boyish and shy. “Yeah,” he said. “I haven’t been very available today. Thought I’d make up for it.”
A fleeting expression of…something—surprise? Amusement?—flitted over the older frog’s face and he tilted his head toward the crowd.
“Sounds like a plan,” the Scoutleader said. “But you better get in line before she closes.”
Before Kermit could ask him anything else, Rana was swarmed by small frogs, all hopping excitedly and talking at once. No hope of recapturing the older frog’s attention now. Kermit set his face toward the crowd—still wondering what on earth the line was for—and pushed on, looking for one lush pink figure in the midst of the crowd.
It didn’t take him long to find her.
He had pushed against the line that, curiously, seemed to be comprised only of men until the line had pushed back.
“Hey—no shoving,” one guy complained. “I been waitin’ most of an hour and I’m not giving up my place in line!”
“Yeah—and the line is closing in two minutes. If you aren’t in line then—“
“—not half as long as the lines this morning,” another young man was saying. “I’d have come back sooner but it knocked me for a loop and I just got my feet back under me so—“
“—said it was the best five bucks he ever spent outside of—“
“—wished I could have thought of something to say, but she was real nice about—“
“—counting the money now. The only booth made more’n her is the Frog Scout kids selling popcorn. That red-headed guy is still adding—“
“—see that old guy? He had to take a heart pill after—“
The line gave a sudden abrupt heave and the corner of Piggy’s booth—and Piggy herself—came suddenly into Kermit’s line of sight. Scooter sat at the corner of her booth, out of the way, counting out bills methodically. Kermit paid him no mind—he only had eyes for Piggy.
Kermit did not notice how carefully matched her ensemble was, nor how very dedicated she had obviously been to the cause. Kermit did not approve of her carefully worded signs or the fact that she had been hard, hard at work all day long while he flitted from one project to the other. In fact, Kermit looked decidedly unhappy with the fact that she was running neck and neck with the Frog Scout booth for first place in money-raising ventures for the day. The pots of money so prominently displayed conjured up images of Piggy giving more to the cause than he could sanction.
Heedless of the other men, Kermit stepped angrily out of line and marched up the counter. He glared at the short, middle-aged man Piggy was bussing with aplomb but if Piggy was even aware of him, she gave no sign. When at last she released her patron he tried a couple of times to speak and failed.
“Are you married?” he asked faintly, his voice hoarse.
Piggy laughed and motioned him away. “No,” she said, and then her blue eyes saw Kermit—and hardened. “Not yet,” she said firmly, and crossed her arms across her chest.
“A kissing booth!” Kermit said. “A kissing booth! Piggy—this is the most ridiculous idea I have ever heard of!”
Piggy smirked at him. “Good thing the citizens of Hensonville don’t share your views.”
“My views?” Kermit huffed. “It’s not my views that are in question. This is supposed to be a family event.”
Piggy looked at him levelly. “Single men often become family men,” she said silkily, then put her hands on her ample hips and looked him up and down. “At least, some of them manage. Why just today, I had fourteen proposals—“
“I’ll just bet you did!” Kermit muttered, but not quite loud enough for Piggy to call him on it.
“And I raised tons of money for the town conservation project!” Piggy shot back, infuriated.
“And plenty of eyebrows!”
Piggy gave him a look of pure venom. “What other people do with their eyebrows is none of my business!” she snapped.
Kermit couldn’t think of anything snappy to say to that, so he changed tactics. “And look at all this money!” he accused.
“We’re supposed to be making money,” Piggy said. Her voice was level but her blood pressure was not. “This was a fundraiser, and Scooter says I might win first--”
“Yeah, but—“ Kermit blustered brilliantly.
“Perhaps vous have forgotten that art can be commercially successful,” she said primly.
“Art? I don’t think this qualifies as—“
“Well, if the crowds are applauding….” She trailed off and looked at him sweetly. “You do remember that feeling, don’t you? The one when people actually clap after the performance?”
Oooh! Direct hit on the frog’s ego. Kermit drew himself up to his full height, ready to say the first scathing thing that popped into his head. He opened his mouth--
Piggy kissed him. In the time it had taken him to puff himself up with irritation, she had reached out, snagged the green beads draped around his neck and pulled him within target range. Some small part of him argued that she was bound to be good at this seeing how she had just practiced so very much but it was impossible for him to remember anything of the sort once her lips met his. There was apology in her kiss, and tenderness and insecurity and a million other things that could not fail to move him if he was not immovable. He found he was not, and he also found his arms around her waist, feeling the solid wealth of her curves and glad to find them so obligingly pressed against him.
By the time they pulled apart, it was safe to say that Kermit had thoroughly sampled the wares so cunningly displayed at Piggy’s booth, and had little to say in disapproval—very little to say indeed.
Piggy looked at him, her eyes contrite, but there was a hint of mischief in them.
“Five dollars, please,” she said sweetly.
Kermit drew himself up, pulling his dignity around him with difficulty as if suddenly becoming aware of the many eyes watching their little interchange. He slapped a ten dollar bill on the counter, but when her hand reached for it, he grabbed her wrist, pulled her firmly into his arms and dipped her almost to the ground.
“I didn’t ask for change,” he muttered, and kissed her again.
Nobody reminded Kermit this was a family event. Nobody so much as said “awwwed” or made “kissy-kissy” noises. After an appallingly indecent interval, Piggy was set back onto her very high heels in front of a crowd determinedly looking at something else entirely. She put one hand to her hair and the other rose to her flushed lips while she looked at Kermit without saying anything. After a moment, one satin-gloved hand closed over the bill, and Kermit was surprised to find the other gripping his wrist. She walked swiftly, drawing him after her, and there was a loud wail of disappointment as she abandoned her post. Too powerless to pull free and too proud to protest, Kermit had no choice but to follow. Piggy walked his ten dollar bill over to the Frog Scouts table. She put it on the table and looked at Robin brightly.
“Ten dollars for some of your Frog Scout popcorn,” she said quietly, trying to ignore the little stir her arrival had created among the pre-adolescent frog scouts. Only Robin seemed impervious to the fact that a real, live, in the pink movie star had just visited their booth, and he took her money and sold her a box of chocolate-covered popcorn.
There was a rustle of movement, then Scooter burst through the crowd.
“Was that a ten?” he asked.
Several heads nodded, and Scooter looked down at his clipboard.
“It’s official then,” he said. “The Frog Scouts win for most money earned at the fair.”
“We win!’ Robin shouted exultantly! “We win! We win! We made the most money today!”
The crowd erupted into cheers and yells. Frog scouts bounced with abandon and there was a great deal of back-thumping and head-rubbing congratulations.
Kermit found himself surrounded by people, but Piggy’s hold on his hand had not loosened and the crowd swept around them. He returned the pressure of her hand and looked at Piggy, his eyes softening in response. “I guess we all win,” he said softly.
Piggy nodded earnestly. “I…I wanted to do something for the cause. This seemed like a natural.” She had the good grace to blush under his scrutiny—she who had not blushed once on the job!—but Kermit’s sigh was benevolent.
“It certainly seems to have been a smash hit,” he admitted. He gave her a lop-sided smile. “Five dollars a kiss!” he teased. “I had no idea I was so deeply in debt.”
Piggy sniffed and disengaged herself. She put her lovely snout into the air and sailed past him. “Don’t worry,” she said airily. “I’m willing to let you work it off.”
There was a moment’s stunned silence, then Kermit smiled broadly. He would have started after her, but at just that moment a small webbed hand slipped into his.
“Hi Uncle Kermit,” said Robin, beaming at him. “We did good, huh?”
Kermit smiled, taking in Robin’s slightly less-than immaculate uniform and twinkling eyes. “You did great.”
“Um, is there anything to eat?” asked Robin. “I’m hungry.”
Kermit thought of the old joke about the parents who simply weighed their little boy as they exited the grocery store and paid for the weight difference at the going rate for grapes. He imagined that Robin had consumed his weight twice over in popcorn, and there was nothing—nothing at all—leftover from the sack lunch he’d packed the night before.
“Sure,” Kermit said, his arm around Robin’s shoulder. “Lets go back toward the entry and see what they’ve got to eat.” He glanced once over his shoulder and saw Piggy in earnest conversation with Scoutmaster Rana, then smiled and let it go. He’d catch up with Piggy in a bit—she wasn’t going anywhere.
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