Chapter 140: It’s Not What It Looks Like (Part II)
The camera crew were very professional and accommodating. The gentleman wielding the camera seemed in awe of Piggy and hastened to make any small adjustments that seemed necessary.
“I won’t be on camera with you,” said the young lady helping Piggy adjust her lapel mike. “But I’ll be right here if you need anything and to troubleshoot.” She craned her neck to see how the lights were coming. “Can we get a little more light right here? And is it okay to turn down the lights on the stage itself? I want the stage to be visible in the background but not—good. Like that. Great job.” She turned and smiled at the director. “Thank you for being so flexible, Mr. Lowry. It’s very nice of you to let us back here while you’re getting things ready for tonight.”
Mr. Lowry smiled, looking serene and comfortable. He could take the stage himself, Piggy thought, and hid a smile. Although he’d been outwardly “directorial” with her and the rest of the cast, he had made sure that she was aware of both his intention and his desire that she have every little thing she wanted while she was here. She knew that that was attributable, in large part, to Marty, but she also felt that Lawrence was smart to know which side his bread was buttered on. The uncomfortable vibe that she’d gotten from him the other night had vanished, and she had found him pleasant and attentive today. The fervor of the Sunday matinee-goers—usually a sleepier, more laid-back crowd—had pleased him, and he had loosened the reins just a little. Piggy had realized at some point that some of his discomfort had to do with not being able to assert his usual level of control over backstage just because she was here. Kermit had long ago made an uneasy peace with not being in control of what he was in control of, but she could see how this might rankle someone who was used to being king of all he surveyed—or directed.
Bobo hovered just on the edge of her peripheral vision, and Piggy sighed and gritted her teeth. He could be a bit thick, and she reminded herself that he was here for her protection. Although she had almost convinced herself that she did not need help, she knew it was making her Kermie feel better to know the bear was here. They quit fiddling with her microphone, and Thoreau dashed in to smooth the lay of her sweater.
“Smile,” he murmured, and Piggy turned and flashed him a smile that was more of a grimace. Although it did not show, Piggy’s tummy was all aflutter. She was going to see Kermit! And he was going to see her!
“Moi is smiling,” she muttered.
Thoreau stopped and put his hands on his hips. “Don’t make me pull out the rubber ducky to wave around to get you to smile,” the dressmaker said severely and that did the job. Piggy not only smiled—she laughed, and the sound of it cleared the air.
The reporter smiled, the cameraman’s smile broadened, Mr. Lowry smiled and Piggy smiled. “Looking good, Miss Piggy!” called Bobo.
Piggy gave a queenly smile. “I was thinking about standing over here beside the curtain like this….” She struck a pose, hip cocked coquettishly, and fluttered her eyelashes.
“Beautiful,” the cameraman murmured. “Gorgeous. Now talk to me.”
“Hello Mon Capitan,” said Piggy, pretending to address her beloved frog. “It is Moi, all dressed up and ready to go on! How are the Academy Awards?”
“That’s going to be great,” said the reporter, nodding with satisfaction. She looked at her time. “They should be cued up any minute now. Let me see what’s happening there.”
“You looked wonderful!” Howard whispered in a stage whisper that would have carried to the back row.
“Ohhh. Thank you, Howard,” said Piggy. “Do not miss the overture on account of Moi,” she cautioned. She was pretty certain that walking into Les Mis late was not only forbidden, but illegal, given the scarcity of tickets.
“Plenty of time,” Thoreau insisted. Mr. Finkel was outside with the cab awaiting their appearance to whisk them away to their show.
“Go when you need to,” Piggy said, trying to look patient even if she didn’t feel patient. “Once I am talking to Kermie….” She did not complete her sentence. She did not have to. Once she was talking to Kermie, everything else in the world would cease to matter.
“Um, look, BrandeE,” said Kermit when his host returned. He smiled in what he hoped was a winsome manner. “I’m just a little distracted tonight. Could we…could we try the intro again?” He gave her his best pollywog eyes, the eyes Piggy swore were irresistible, and the perky reporter smiled.
“Sure,” she said. “Let me, um, get another sip of…water here,” she said, “and we’ll do that again. We’ve got enough time to run it again before we go live with New York.” She walked toward her assistant, reaching for the bottled water she held forth and tugging on the already-low neckline of her gown.
Kermit sighed and rubbed the aching spot between his eyes. Why, oh, why couldn’t he just get out here in front of the camera and act for goodness sake? And why, he demanded of himself, was it so hard to act like he missed Piggy and wanted desperately to connect with her. Fozzie’s words ran through his head and, instead of waving them away in irritation, Kermit stopped and thought about them. He didn’t want to appear uninterested—he was already battling the impression that Piggy’s absence had left him “free” to do whatever he wanted, when all he really wanted was to finish the movie and go and be with her. But he didn’t want to appear desperate and despondent because she was gone. That would imply he didn’t think she was coming back, or that he couldn’t function without her. Thinking that, Kermit reached for his bowtie again, certain it must be crooked. It was, and Kermit felt a pang of unhappiness and resentment. Piggy always tied his bowtie correctly, and it was her fault he was…whoa. Whoa. Where had that come from? Was he…did he resent Piggy going to New York, when he had practically forced her to go? Was he…was he mad at Piggy for being there while he slogged away at work? Everything was spinning through his head and he tried to sort it out, but BrandeE was coming back and he needed to get his head together. He wasn’t mad—he was…he was lonely. And lost. And in need of his pig to make everything okay. But everything was going to be okay when he saw her. Everything was going to be great when they could see each other and talk to each other and it would all be fine. Kermit felt a peace wash over him that he’d not been able to access before, and turned to face the young reporter calmly.
“Thanks so much, BrandeE,” he said. “I’ll tell you what. It is not good for a frog to be alone. Piggy would have kept me on track!” He smiled, oozing charm, and the reporter perked up a little.
“Well, we’ve got her on standby now. How ‘bout we just jump right in?”
“That sounds great! I’m definitely ready.”
BrandeE looked toward the cameraman and her eyes opened wide while her mouth dropped open, staring at something over Kermit’s shoulder. Behind him, Kermit heard someone say, “Is this him? The green one?” He looked around when someone said “Kermit? Kermit the Frog?” The voice was not familiar but someone was obviously hailing him. He saw a generously endowed dark-haired woman closing in on him wearing what Piggy would have described as “part of a dress”. Kermit had not thought it possible, but she was showing more cleavage than his hostess. He backed away politely and warily. The last thing he needed was a shot of him appearing to ogle some starlet’s assets, and he did not plan to give the paparazzi any fuel for the fire.
Before he could even say “Hi-ho”, she had bent over (very unwise, in his opinion) and swept him up in a full body hug and a cloud of perfume. “Kermit!” she cried, as though they were long-lost friends, and proceeded to plant a kiss over one of his aural organs, leaving a bright red lipstick smear. Hastily, Kermit disengaged and tried to step back, hoping to deter her—or at least learn her name.
“Um, hello Miss,” Kermit said. “Have we met?” For answer, she laughed and reached forward to hug him again.
“Oh, Kermit—you are such a tease,” she said. “Come on--you know me!” She turned and gave the camera a stunning smile and a deep shot of her bountiful chest.
He stepped back in alarm, very aware of the cameras. He put his hands on what he fervently hoped was her waist and pushed politely, trying to put some distance between them. Her dress was covered in little beaded strings that shimmied against her generous curves. He looked back at his hostess, who was staring in slack-jawed amazement. “I, um, don’t believe we’ve been introduced, um…Miss?”
“Oooh! Ms. Kardashian!” cried his hostess. “How nice to see you! I’m talking to Kermit the Frog now—“
“I know,” the woman gushed. “And I am such a fan! I watch him all the time on Sesame Street!” There was another huge smile for the camera and what appeared to Kermit’s practiced aural organ to be a pause for applause. It took all of his effort not to scrunch up his face in annoyance, but he was determined to be good-natured in front of the cameras, which were still rolling, if not live.
“—and in a minute we’re going to be talking to Miss Piggy! Please stick around—I’d love to talk to you!”
“Well….” said the woman, pausing dramatically, “I don’t want to intrude….”
Kermit knew at once her coyness was insincere. He had watched Piggy sabotage more than her fair share of on-screen moments with an innocent-appearing intrusion, and he was pretty sure he still remembered how to shut one down.
“We’re, um, sort of in the middle of something here, Ms., er, Kardashian,” said Kermit stiffly. “If you could wait over there—“ He pointed vaguely with his right arm. “—until we’re done….” He smiled his polite, firm, I’m-the-director-and-that’s-final smile and registered the surprise and poorly-concealed indignation and fury on the woman’s face.
“How dare you!” she huffed. “You obviously have no idea who I am!”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” said Kermit, and felt as much as heard the crowd nearest them draw back in shock and horror.
“Well, I don’t care what worked for Katy Perry,” said the woman. “I am not about to be told to bug off by some…some lizard!” The crowd began to edge toward them.
Kermit started to correct her, but he could already tell that he had touched off a firestorm unwittingly. He knew from experience that the best tactic when dealing with irate, overwrought starlets was to be distant and polite but firm. “I’m sure that BrandeE would be happy to talk to you after our interview is over,” he said soothingly, but the only effect was to inflame the young woman further.
“Oh, please, Ms. Kardashian,” said BrandeE. “I would love to talk to you. It’s just that we have this remote interview we’re in the middle of and if you could just wait—“ The crowd was murmuring, some wanting to see the interview, some wanting to see what the noise was about. Kermit searched vainly for Scooter, but couldn’t see him over the press of the crowd. What he would have given for Piggy right now—she could have dispatched this young lady with, er, dispatch.
“I’m not blinking waiting for anyone,” the starlet shrieked. “I get millions of hits a day on my website, and I am not going to be told to wait by some no-name reporter and a reject from children’s programming.” She turned and started to stalk away. BrandeE surged after her, fawning, all-but-forgetting Kermit and Broadway in her haste to get the interview.
“But—but, oh, Ms. Kardashian!” BrandeE pleaded. “I would much rather interview you than—oh! Thank you! Thank you for waiting!” There were sounds of approval, and some of outrage, from the throng of people now pressing close.
Ms. Kardashian had stopped walking away, but it had nothing to do with the reporter’s pleading. She pulled up short, and at the same moment Kermit felt like his arm was about to be pulled from its socket. He heard the woman say “Oh!” and then there was another wrench that pulled him practically off his flippers.
“Ah! Ow! Hey—wait a minute!” Kermit gasped. As the young woman turned to face him, he was slung around to her side, and they both stared down in horror to find that his cufflink—the beautiful, intricate, amethyst cufflink in the shape of a dragonfly—was firmly enmeshed in the little strings of beads on her dress. His wrist was firmly attached to what was—very obviously—not her waist. They gaped at each other.
“Your dress is caught on my cufflink—“ he began.
“Oh yeah? Well your hand is caught on my—“
“It’s not my hand!” Kermit cried. “It’s my wrist!”
“Then your wrist is caught on my—“
“It’s a cufflink!” Kermit almost shouted. There were laughs and a few ribald comments.
“That’s what they all say!” someone shouted, and Kermit felt his cheeks flame with color. He was mortified by the crowd, but it was nothing to the mortification he was going to feel if they went live with New York and he was stuck here with his arm around this young woman’s, um, dress. If he occasionally battled the green-eyed monster, Piggy had made a house-pet of it. He had been careful to have very few occasions to incite her jealousy, but he did not think expecting to have an intimate little conversation with him on camera only to find his arm around another actress was going to do anything to improve his miserable condition.
“I didn’t ask you to put your hand on my—“
“I did not ask you to barge in on my interview!” Kermit snapped, and there was a crowd reaction that felt ugly to him. Children’s entertainers were often held to a higher standard, and although he had not done children’s work in years, he could see that many were surprised that he had raised his voice but he couldn’t care about it right now. “I am supposed to be talking to my wife right now.”
“That’s what they all say!” the woman smirked, and Kermit looked up at her with such a look of disdain and indignation that she shrank back—or tried to. When she moved, he moved, and there was nothing they could do about it.
“My wife,” Kermit gritted, “is the only woman I have any interest in. She is waiting for me right now, and I have been—“
“What on earth is going on?” Sara asked. A crowd had gathered—suddenly—around Kermit and she could no longer see him. Scooter was in the same boat.
“I…don’t know. Maybe they’re waiting to see the live feed with Miss Piggy,” he said, but he didn’t much believe it. Something was off, was wrong. The feel of the crowd was all wrong. “I’d better go check,” said Scooter, and started battling his way through the crowd. After a moment, Sara plunged in behind him, still holding tight to her camera.
“Sweetie,” Gina said urgently. She tugged on The Newsman’s sleeve. “There’s something going on over near the door. Rhonda said you need to come.”
Newsie looked up from his conversation with a well-known composer. “Tell her I’ll be right—wah!”
“Now!” Gina said, hauling him bodily away. She flashed the composer a big smile and her legs. “Please excuse us,” she said, and dragged Newsie over to where the crowd was thickest.
The crowd was so tightly packed that Sara had to employ some less-than-ladylike moves to get through, but when she reached Scooter near the center of the knot of people, he was just standing there, jaw agape.
“Scooter—what’s going…on….”
“This is bad,” Scooter whispered. “This is very bad.” Sara could only nod.
A moment later, Fozzie pushed in beside them, took one look at the scene before him and fainted dead away in Sara’s arms.
“D’ja hear the buzz?” asked one of Scribbler’s fellow, er, journalists.
Scribbler fought the urge to step back. Although he wasn’t drunk, the man’s beery breath was overwhelming.
“Which buzz?” Scribbler asked, not really interested, but that changed at the man’s next words.
“That frog—the guy from The Muppet Show?—he’s over there with his arm around that Kardashian chick.”
Scribbler almost dropped his camera. “He—Kermit what?” he blurted. “Where?”
The man pointed, and Scribbler saw the crowd, heard the excited murmur that meant news—or tragedy—was occurring. Scribbler felt his heart leap in his chest. If that little froggy fink had the nerve to be cozying up to--!
“C’mon!” he yelled to the camera guy, but the raccoon was already loping toward ground zero.
“—waiting for this interview all day.” Kermit looked at her and her dress and made a scrunchy face that clearly expressed his disapproval.
“Well, I was only being friendly,” she whined, wilting a little. Some of the crowd made sympathetic noises, and Kermit turned and looked around him in horror. There were so many people so close to them that it was impossible to have a private conversation, which was, perhaps, just as well. All of a sudden, Scooter burst through the crowd, panting and breathless.
“Boss,” he said. “There’s an army of reporters all heading this way to get a shot of…this.” He looked at Kermit’s wrist, the way his hand appeared to be— “Oh, wow,” he said softly. This was worse than it had sounded, and it had sounded pretty grim just on description.
“Scooter—thank goodness!” Kermit gasped. “Help me—it’s my cufflink! Get me loose!” He glared at BrandeE who was just standing there helplessly, gaping. “We’re going to go live with New York any second now!”
Sara saw Gina run by and snagged her elbow. Newsie ran on, honing in on the sound of Rhonda’s voice and trying to spot Tommy the sloth. Briefly, Sara explained to a horrified Gina.
“Oh no! Poor Piggy!” said Gina.
“Poor Kermit! We’ve got to get him some coverage before one of these cameras gets a clear shot of--”
“Right,” said Gina, looking around desperately. She spied the backdrops that different networks were using to pose celebrities in front of and ran over to one, starting to drag it forward.
“Hey!” objected the flunkie who’d been left to guard it when everyone else had run over to see the commotion. “You can’t take that.”
Gina smiled a knock-out smile. “Oh, sure I can,” said Gina. “See—I’m picking it up, and I’m carrying it away….” She turned over her shoulder when she was about twelve feet away. “Thank you!”
Sara had rounded up some help—sortof. Beaker and Honeydew had been pressed into service, and when they saw Gina approaching with the panel they ran to help her.
“Help me make a privacy screen around Kermit so noone gets a shot of…what this looks like, okay?” They dealt with the crowd by the simple expedient of plowing through them. In a crowd less interested in being un-rumpled, they might not have made as much headway, but as it was, they soon had erected something like a three-quarter screen around Kermit and the very disgruntled starlet. To close the circle, they had backed up against a neighboring backdrop. It wasn’t exactly camera-free—BrandeE was still flailing around uselessly with her cameraman—but the networks would not be flooded with footage of Kermit standing around with his arm around one of the most recognizable backsides in entertainment.
Scooter squeezed inside the small enclosure next to Kermit to see what could be done.
Scribbler and the raccoon had edged all along the crowd, but there was no hope of getting in through the press of people, and whatever was happening was happening out of sight right now anyway. From what he gathered, Kermit and one of the Kardashian sisters were behind a set of screens doing who-knows-what. Was this part of the interview with Piggy in New York? Were she and the Kardashians friends? He didn’t think Piggy had ever mentioned them…. Even so, Scribbler doubted that Piggy would want anyone to horn in on her conversation with hubby dearest tonight, even a close friend, and especially not one as known for her salacious escapades. So what was Kermit doing behind a screen with an internet sex symbol when his sexy, glamorous wife was waiting for him in real time to do a real interview on real television? Whatever it was, it would look bad. It would be bad, even if it wasn’t. For the first time that evening, Scribbler felt like things were going his way.
“Can you get in?” Fleet asked. The raccoon shook his head.
“It’s too tight,” he said. “If I could get up higher, I might shoot over….”
They looked around for something to climb….
“Dang it, Goldie,” said Rhonda. “I can’t see what’s happening.”
“Well, Kermit was standing there with his arm around that…that woman,” Newsie finished. “And then they disappeared behind some screens, and then Scooter went behind the screens, too.”
“Don’t tell me!” Rhonda snapped. She pointed at Tommy and the camera. “Tell them.”
“But—but what do I say?” Newsie said. “Kermit was supposed to do an interview with Piggy.”
“Then talk about that?” Rhonda said. She gave him three fingers, then two, then one….
“This is the Newsman for KRAK, your headquarters for Muppet news. We’re here at the Academy Awards where CEO and President of Rainbow Productions Kermit the Frog is getting ready to go live with his wife and frequent co-star, Miss Piggy, who is currently starring as Betty Rizzo in Grease! on Broadway. Mr. and Mrs. The Frog were slated to present an award together tonight, but their plans were interrupted by the opportunity for Miss Piggy to do a star turn on Broadway. We’re expecting them to reconnect—by satellite feed—any moment now!”
Not bad, Rhonda thought grudgingly. Goldie could spin with the best of them.
“We’re waiting now to bring you the latest news about Fozzie’s Angels, the newest movie from Rainbow Productions, currently in post-production.” Out of the corner of his eye, Newsie spied Fozzie, who had recovered and was hovering nervously nearby. Newsie reached out, snagged his jacket and pulled him in front of the camera. “Tell us, Fozzie, about the new movie that recently finished filming.”
Fozzie looked at Newsie, wide-eyed. “The new movie—?”
“Yes!” the Newsman said heartily. “The new movie. Tell us what’s going on inside the studio.”
Rhonda would have said it was impossible, but Fozzie’s eyes got even larger. “Oh!” he said. “The movie. I could talk about the movie!”
“That’s right!” said the Newsman, grinning and trying not to grit his teeth. “We want to hear all about it.”
Fozzie might not be everyone’s first choice for dealing with a crisis in the moment, but he was top-notch after the first shock wore off. Just like he had when Kermit had been frozen, Fozzie stepped to the plate ready to go. “Well, the movie is going to be wonderful,” he gushed. “I’m in it—that’s why it’s called Fozzie’s Angels—and I play a mysterious character named, um, Fozzie. And these three beautiful women work for me doing jobs that noone else can do.”
“Three beautiful women, huh?” said the Newsman.
“Yes! Miss Piggy is one of them. She’s kind of the boss of the group. I mean, not that she’s bossy…well, she is bossy, but it’s okay. It’s in the script.”
“What about the other lovely ladies?”
“Well, Janice and Camilla play the other two angels, and they are very good. It’s going to be a great movie.”
“I’m sure it is. When is it going to be released to theaters?”
For a moment, Fozzie looked panicked again, then thoughtful, and answered slowly and carefully. “It’s going to be in theaters by summer,” he said.
“What a summertime treat!” said Newsie, feeling hokey as all get out. “So…what can we expect to hear tonight from Kermit and Miss Piggy?”
“A lot of mush,” Fozzie blurted, then covered his mouth with his hands. “Oh—gosh. Can we edit that out?”
“We’re live,” said the Newsman. Standing next to Tommy, Rhonda was grinning her face off. These little unscripted moments were golden.
“Well,” said Fozzie, taking his fancy hat off and holding it in his hands. “It’s true. Miss Piggy is on Broadway and things sure are quiet around the studio.”
“You mean now that filming is over.”
“Yeah—let’s go with that,” said Fozzie. “Oh! And in this movie, I get to tell a few jokes! Want to hear them?”
“Er….” said Newsie uncertainly.
“It’s okay,” said Fozzie. “They’re scripted.”
“Oh, well then—“
“Sure thing, Chief,” said Scooter, glad to have something to do. He clambered between the backdrops, wedged himself next to Kermit and tried to get a good look at the problem.
“Do you mind!” said the woman, and Scooter turned as red as his hair.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m just trying to get the cufflink—“ His fingers felt slick from anxiety and nervousness and he was more than passing aware of what he was working, um, near.
“Can you get it?” Kermit asked, trying to look. When he shifted, they all shifted.
Scooter wanted desperately to say, “Got it, Boss”, and be the hero of the hour, but it wasn’t happening. “It’s stuck,” said Scooter. “The wire from one of the antennae is stuck through one of the beads. I don’t know how—“
“I don’t care how!” Kermit cried, and saw Scooter flinch. “Sorry,” Kermit murmured. “Sorry—I’m just…please try, okay?”
“I am trying,” said Scooter. “Maybe I could break the wire—“
“Do it!” said Kermit, then groaned. “Wait—you probably can’t. It’s platinum. Can you get the cufflink off?”
Scooter worked for a moment, getting another huff from Kermit’s unwilling “co-star”. “Not from—I can’t get to it.”
“I’ll take the shirt off—“
“Then you’ll just be half-naked next to, um, I mean—“
“Okay—fine, fine. If we can’t get the cufflink or the cuff, can you cut the dress loose—?“
“Don’t you dare!” the woman shrieked. “It costs a fortune! If you lay one froggy finger on my…dress, so help me, I’ll scream bloody—“
“Okay!” gulped Scooter. “Don’t scream!”
“Fine,” gritted Kermit. “But my froggy fingers are currently—“
“Boss…,” Scooter pleaded, and Kermit subsided. Losing his temper wasn’t going to help.
“It’s just—it’s just Piggy’s going to be waiting for me on live television, and I don’t want her to see me with, um, my cufflink…um….”
“I understand,” Scooter said. If the feed went live with Piggy while Kermit was intimately entangled with another woman—deliberately or not—it was not going to be a happy reunion. He was listening with half an ear to hear Piggy’s voice on the live feed, and he knew Kermit was doing the same.
“It’s not coming loose is it?” Kermit said. He sounded weary and exasperated and defeated, and Scooter felt a surge of anger at how helpless he felt, unable to help his boss and friend.
“I don’t know much about ladies clothes,” Scooter admitted. “What else is there to do?” He had very little experience with women’s clothing, and was flustered to the point of panic. Kermit had quite a bit more experience with fastenings and closures and tried to think of something that would help them now. Nothing sprang to mind, and Kermit thought dourly that with all the money he’d spent on dresses over the years…oh!
“I’ll replace your dress,” Kermit cried. “Just let them cut the beading loose and I’ll buy you a new dress.”
They could hear BrandeE doing the intro again, welcoming the television audience to the Academy Awards.
“….Vargas coming to you live from the Academy Awards. We’re scheduled to go live here in just a few moments with, um, Kermit the Frog and his wife, star of stage and screen, Miss Piggy. Miss Piggy—are you there?”
The woman attached to Kermit’s wrist turned and surveyed the frog’s wholesome expression, and her own became cunning. “What kind of dress?” she asked.
“A classy one,” Kermit wheedled. “One that would make you look like…a lady,” he finished finally.
“Moi is here!” Piggy said. She smiled into the camera and saw the interviewer. What she thought was, Where the heck is Kermit? Why isn’t he here?
At the sound of Piggy’s voice, Kermit’s head snapped around. Piggy…!
“I want a designer dress,” the woman said, her lips pursed thoughtfully.
“Okay,” said Kermit, desperate now. “Fine. A designer dress.” Scooter was nodding. Yes, yes, say yes to whatever so you can get free--
“That…that Thoreau guy. I want one by him.”
Kermit would have paid anything, but he did not think Thoreau could be cajoled to design a dress for…just anyone.
“I don’t think so,” Kermit began doubtfully.
“Get him to make me a dress and I’ll take this one off here and now!” she said, sensing weakness.
“NO!” said Kermit and Scooter together. Oh, FROG no!
The woman rolled her eyes. “Geez. I’m wearing spanx,” she said. “It’s not like I’d be completely naked.”
On the other side of the partition, Scribbler and the camera guy both heard “completely naked” and stared at each other in surprise.
“You got to get me up there,” said the raccoon. Scribbler nodded, but his mind was awhirl. Regardless of what it sounded like, it couldn’t be like that. Not with Kermit, ol’ Dudley Do-Right himself. But, he reminded himself, it wasn’t what the thing was that mattered—it was what it looked like! In this town, what it looked like was more important than what it was. If Kermit was inside that partition with anybody who was naked and he could get a picture of it, it would make his boss’s eyes roll back in ecstasy. He looked at the raccoon, then the partition, calculating his chances….
“Hey,” said Hurley, running up. “What’s all the ruckus about?” He and Scoop had apparently decided to join forces, because the little rat was riding shotgun in his pocket. Leonard the gerbil was bouncing along in his other coat pocket. Scribbler suddenly wished Harve was there with him.
“Not entirely sure,” Scribbler said. “But I want to take a look on the other side of that screen. Kermit the Frog is in there with one of the Kardashian chicks and I want a shot of it.”
“Which one?” asked Hurley.
“Does it matter?” asked Scoop. “I wouldn’t mind a shot at either of them.”
“So—what do you need—a boost?”
Scribbler grinned. “A boost would be terrific.”
Hurley knelt and held out his laced hands. Scribbler grabbed his camera, put his wingtip in the sling. “Alley oop!” said Hurley, and sent him up and not-quite-over.
At that precise moment, the partition cracked open, and a wide-eyed BrandeE looked in on the frog, the gopher and the well-endowed young woman. BrandeE was still talking to Miss Piggy—small talk, introductory talk—but she was waving frantically behind her back. Scooter and Kermit stared at each other, then Scooter caught on. He grabbed Kermit’s shoulder and pushed him through the crack in the partition so that only his right side was visible. The camera turned and Kermit made an appearance on the screen, but his left arm did not. It was twisted behind him painfully, but that hardly mattered.
“Kermie!” Piggy cried. “Oh, Mon Capitan!”
“Hello Piggy,” said Kermit, and tried to smile. It wasn’t hard. Piggy's familiar face and figure filled the screen. She looked wonderful, all smiles and blushes—and no wonder! Her pedal-pushers hugged her curves and her sweater set did nothing but enhance what her creator had endowed her with.
“Wow,” said Kermit. “Look at you, Piggy! You look terrific. Wow! That’s—that’s some get-up!”
“Well,” said Piggy coyly. “It’s to remind everyone to get up here and see me in Grease! Vous too, Kermie.” She bit her lower lip playfully.
“Oh—I can hardly wait!” Kermit said. It was coming back to him. He was remembering what they’d talked about, what they’d planned to talk about. “So, how is Broadway treating you, Piggy?”
“Yes, tell us!” said BrandeE, whose role had shifted from being ornamental and useless to being simply extraneous.
“Broadway has been very sweet to Moi,” said Piggy. She was pulling out all the stops, every look and gesture designed to please, but Kermit seemed distracted. He was talking to her and looking at her, but something was off. Why was Kermit distracted? What on earth could he have on his mind now? Was something wrong? Was there a problem with the film? And he was standing all bunched up, like he was in pain. She wanted him to look at her, not in her general direction. “Moi’s shows have been sold out and everyone in the cast has been wonderful. Mr. Lowry has made sure that everything is just right for Moi behind the scenes.”
Piggy was looking at him funny. What did she mean, behind the scenes? Was she trying to tell him something? Was she mad about Bobo? She looked worried. Was something wrong?
“Well, everything is great here except I’m here and you’re there,” Kermit said. Piggy melted.
“Oooh….”
“There you have it folks. We’ll be back in a moment to talk some more with Kermit and Miss Piggy about their upcoming movie.”
“What in the Sam Hill has gotten into Kermit?” Mabel said when they went to commercial. “He’s stiff as a board!”
“And why is he hugging the backdrop like that?” Tricia said. “He looks like he’s in pain or something.”
“He will be in pain if he doesn’t get his head in the game and tell Piggy how great she looks,” said Clifford.
“Well, he might not have said she looked great, but you could tell he thought so.”
“That was weird,” Mabel grumped. “He was standing all sideways and stiff. He ought to be jumping up and down. Do you think he’s hurt? He ought to be ecstatic….”
The second BrandeE signed off, Howard and Thoreau rushed their favorite sow, who looked bewildered to the point of tears.
“Did you see?” Piggy said. “He didn’t—he didn’t even…something must be wr-wrong.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” said Thoreau, fingers crossed behind his back, but Howard just snorted.
“I don’t know what was going on on that end, but everything was wonderful on our end. Maybe he’s just nervous,” Howard soothed.
“I thought he’d be glad to see Moi! I thought he’d be all gushy and lovey-dovey.” She turned and glared at Thoreau. “You said he’d get distracted and forget his own name!”
“Well, he seemed distracted,” Thoreau hedged, shooting a pleading look at Howard. Howard made soothing noises and patted Piggy.
“He must be mad at me!” Piggy cried. “Over the meeting—“
Thoreau gave her a warning sign, indicating the filming crew, and Piggy subsided. “He must be upset because of something Moi did or said or—“
“Live in fifteen seconds, Miss Piggy,” said the interviewer, hating to interrupt but needing to remind them of time. She had watched their nervous nattering with more than passing interest, and they subsided. Piggy wet her lips and took her place.
Please let him be like I wanted him to be, sweet and smitten and mushy and—
“Five-four-three-two-one—“
Piggy opened her eyes.
Rowlf had been leaning back into Jolalene’s embrace, but he sat up slowly, peering at the screen.
“Doggonit. What do you suppose that little green amphibian has gotten himself into now?” Rowlf said. “He looks like a cardboard cutout.”
“You said he can be a little high-strung,” said Jolalene, but Rowlf shook his head.
“Not like this. He’s got a slow fuse that eventually reaches its limit, but not…this. Something’s wrong.”
“He does look a little…I don’t know, uncomfortable.” Jolalene tilted her head to the side, studying Kermit. “He looks sweet…sweet and a little unworldly.”
“Yeah. He’s kind of old-school about giving his word and doing what he says—you know. A good guy.”
“He looks like a good guy, but—I don’t know, Rowlfie—like he’s up to something? Hand in the cookie jar?”
“Yeah, maybe,” Rowlf admitted. “But I can’t think what about. He’s pretty straight-laced in public,” said Rowlf. “You know, conservative dresser and all that.”
“Doesn’t he usually work nude?”
“Well, yeah, but it’s different for frogs.” He grinned at her. “And dogs.”
“You might work in the nude, but you are not straight-laced,” said Jolalene.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Rowlf said. He settled back and let her scratch lazily behind his ears. The show cut to commercial and he settled back against her. “Oh—yeah—right there, Jo, darlin’. That feels just fine.”
Good grief, thought Scribbler. It defied explanation. The frog was 90% out of the partition, but his assistant and the Kardashion du jour were still inside the enclosure—with Kermit’s arm. Quick as a flash, Scribbler’s camera was up and he was clicking pictures as fast as he could. It was perfectly obvious what had happened—perfectly obvious that, far from trying to cozy up to another babe—Kermit and his assistant were trying desperately to disentangle him from the woman’s curvaceous form. The redheaded assistant shifted, and Scribbler got a clean shot of the problem—the cufflink, the beading on the dress, the bodacious backside which almost any male on the planet would have been happy to have been stuck next to…. But of course, Kermit wasn’t happy—he was miserable. He didn’t want to be plastered next to some starlet’s figure—he wanted to be on camera with Piggy. Scribbler took another shot, and another. Well, he thought savagely. Never mind what the frog wanted. Soon, when these pictures were posted, he’d want to be dead.
Which suited Scribbler just fine.
“Chief,” said Scooter worriedly. The second the camera had gone off the air, Kermit had been hauled back inside the partition. “We’re live again in fifteen seconds.”
“I don’t know—“ Kermit moaned. Thoreau could be temperamental. Kermit did not want to give his word and prove to be a liar, even under duress.
The woman stamped her foot, jarring Kermit’s arm all the way up to his shoulder. “Thoreau or nothing, and you don’t want that camera to go live—trust me!” The threat implicit in her suggestive stance made Scooter back away nervously.
“I don’t—“
“Ten seconds, Boss.”
“Scooter, I can’t just—“
“Mr. The Frog, we’re live in Five-Four-Three--“
“Okay!!!” Kermit blurted.
There was a sound of ripping fabric, a sharp yank to his arm and he was free, he was free, he was…he was outside the partition looking into Piggy’s eyes. Well, not exactly, but the dual cameras gave that illusion. He could see her, and she could see him, and that was more than wonderful, more than enough.
“Hi Piggy,” Kermit said, and his bulbous eyes went all melty.
Tremulously, Piggy smiled. Everything suddenly seemed right with the world. Kermit stepped forward—toward the camera—and took the microphone in both hands. “You look beautiful.” This is what she wanted. This was what she’d been waiting for all this time. Kermie, mon chere….
“You said that,” Piggy giggled.
“I did, didn’t I?” said Kermit, smiling. “Well, it bears repeating. What would you like me to tell everyone about our movie?”
*Working downstairs. *Remembers to deliver presents tomorrow, as I'm booked solid all throughout the evening and late night hours tonight.
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lol aww finally Kermie gets to see piggy 
No, that's Chopped Liver. *Waves at a meatslab Muppet alien.
You're as bad as Gonzo.
What are these 'spanks' ju speak of?