Part Forty-Eight
At the next corner, Rhonda paused for a breath, flattening her back against the slimy wall. A ruined dress was the least of her worries at the moment. She looked at the bulky rat in a white tee next to her, catching his breath as well. “Ya hangin’ in there, kid?” Bubba asked her.
Rhonda nodded. She peered into the near-darkness behind them; she could hear groans and gasps as the rest of the motley rodent band regrouped in the corridor. “How...how many you think we lost so far?” Rhonda whispered.
Bubba shook his head grimly. “I ain’t thinkin’ ‘bout dat right now, just how ta get past da next brute.”
“I hate war movies,” Rhonda muttered. She dared a peek around the corner. “Two guards, but they’re playing checkers,” she told Bubba. “If everyone can move quietly, maybe...”
He nodded, and muttered to the skinny rat next to him, “Yo, Shakes. Two uglies in here, so keep quiet and heads down. Pass it on.” As the rat whisper chain traveled down the corridor, he turned back to Rhonda. “You said you had schematics of dis place? Any idea where we are right now?”
She shook her head. “Our informant never made it into this part of the tunnels. We’re running blind.” So far, in their wild escape attempt, the rats had run through some kind of pantry, a monster soup kitchen populated by grungy, filthy, smelly things...and then there were the patrons...ending up racing through some kind of bunkhouse, where one careless rat had tripped over a soda can on the floor and triggered an outcry of monsters all waking up famished. Rhonda shuddered; she didn’t think she’d ever forget the carnage of the short but vicious Battle of the Bugly Barracks. “If we can find a way to the roof of that hotel upstairs, we gotta shut down their transmitter! But if not...maybe at least we can go warn the Muppets! They’re all coming to the hotel for some charity thing, and none of them have any idea--”
“It’s a trap!” Bubba agreed, eyes widening. “You’re right. Someone’s gotta warn ‘em!”
“Aaagh! Trap? Where?” one of the rats nearest shrieked; before his panic could spread, however, Bubba grabbed his nose and muffled his mouth in a meaty paw. He held the struggling rat effortlessly, sighing and shaking his head.
“Awright, so, we try ta work our way up and out, yeah?”
Rhonda nodded. “That’s the idea...if we can get past the rest of these creeps.”
Bubba gave the frenzied rat a hard squeeze, and dropped him dazed to the floor. He dusted off his paws, took a deep breath, and nodded back. Together he and Rhonda took another look around the corner. The small room beyond, really just a space between the juncture of three different tunnels, held a rock table at which sat a goblin and a large purple-furred thing with a flat head and long arms. The pair seemed engrossed in a board game. “Which way ya think?” Bubba muttered.
Rhonda shrugged helplessly. “Heck if I know! If ya smell anything like fresh air, head for it.”
The burly rat chuckled. “Don’t t’ink dat’s gonna be easy down here. Awright, you punks, get ready to hustle! Remember to keep your heads down and your feet movin’ no matter what!” The gathered rodents blinked, shivered, or gulped, but they all knew there was no going back now; they’d stirred up too much in the rooms behind them. At least no alarm seemed to have traveled ahead of them. At the table, the goblin began protesting an illegal move the furry thing had made, and a loud argument followed. “Dat’s our cue,” Bubba rumbled. He offered a fist-bump for luck to Rhonda. She looked askance at him, but reluctantly touched her closed paw to his. “See ya on da udder side,” Bubba told her with a wink, and suddenly dashed into the room, keeping close to the nearest wall.
Rhonda took a breath and ran after him. In the middle of the room he stopped, lifting his large nose for a sniff, and then waved the troops in the direction of the narrower of the two rocky tunnels. Rhonda ran to the tunnel opening, checking for any sign of monsters ahead; the way seemed clear. She beckoned as well, and the rats darted by ones and twos across the open space to the relative safety of the dark corridor. All seemed to go well until the goblin upset the game board with a snarl; marbles rained down everywhere. A skinny rat in legwarmers and a headband was in the center of the room when the furry purple thing bent down to see where the game pieces had gone and spotted him. The rat froze a moment, then bolted for the opposite tunnel. Rhonda began shoving the rats already in the smaller tunnel farther on, yelling at them, “Go! Go! Don’t look back!”
Bubba tried to go after the stray rat, howling, “Adriiiiaaaannn!” Rhonda leaped onto his back, tugging at his arms.
“No! No! It’s too late! We have to leave him! Run!” she urged him. Bubba struggled, not listening, until the goblin swung around and saw him...and hopped off its seat with an evil smile. Bubba realized there was no way he’d make it across the room, and with a groan of pure grief, turned and ran along with the other rats. All of them fled, squeaking, into the darkness of the tunnel, terrified at the thought of what might have happened to their unfortunate colleague...and what could easily happen to them.
They ran pell-mell for several minutes; when some of the weaker rats began dropping, gasping, Rhonda called a halt. Exhausted, terrified rats simply plopped onto the muddy floor. Rhonda, panting, looked up at the stoic-faced Bubba. “I’m...I’m sorry about your friend,” she offered.
“Ehh...he’s a good runner...maybe he’ll make it,” Bubba mumbled. He fell silent. The quiet sound of dripping water echoed ahead, under the soft noises of rats trying to catch their collective breath.
“So much for my hose,” Rhonda grumbled, examining the spatters and tears in the formerly-pristine nylons. “I hate mud.”
Bubba’s whiskers twitched. “Uh...that ain’t mud.”
“Ewwww,” Rhonda whined. “I didn’t need to hear that! I really, really didn’t!”
Bubba’s gaze followed the line of mud farther ahead, where a very dim light allowed him to differentiate the path along the bottom of the tunnel from the rest of it. He scratched his crew cut. “Uhhh...hey sweetcakes.”
Irritated, Rhonda glared at him. “I’m gonna pretend you did not just say that because I am way too out of breath to hurt you right now.”
He shrugged. “Ya do what ya gotta do. But I was just wonderin’...when did the hallway turn round?”
“What do you mean? We didn’t turn around! Some a’ these honor students may be prone to that kind of complete navigational fail, but I—“
“No, no, no,” the burly rat muttered, touching a startlingly gentle paw to Rhonda’s chin and lifting it up for her to see. “I mean, da tunnel turned round.”
Her angry retort died on her tongue. “Round...hey! And the...the mud,” she said, glaring at Bubba to warn him not to correct her, “we must be close to the sewers!”
Several rats nearby perked up. “Sewers? Didja say sewers?”
“Woohoo! We’re home!”
“I’m comin’, Auntie Em!”
Bubba suddenly shoved Rhonda to the side and held her safely out of the way as a torrent of rodents scrambled past, whooping and squeaking, rushing toward the comfort of smelly pipes. “Wait!” Rhonda yelled, “No, stop! We still have to warn...everyone...” She fell silent, dismayed. One last rat on crutches loped past slowly, giving her not a glance as he headed along the pipe and out of sight. Rhonda’s shoulders sagged. “Well fer cryin’ out loud, would ya look at ‘em! Deserting the cause like...like...”
“I hear ya,” Bubba rumbled. He sniffed at the light breeze wafting down the tunnel. “Hey, real air!”
“I am not sniffing that.”
“Naw, naw, not like that. Dere’s fresh air somewhere up ahead.” He gave her a long, serious look, then nodded and straightened his bulky back. “Awright. What say we go find out where dis maze ends up and get outta here?”
Rhonda quirked her head sideways at him. “You’re not running off to join your buddies?”
He shrugged. “Always was a sucker for a dame in distress. Come on, just a little farther, huh? You can do it.”
Somewhat mollified, Rhonda resumed their trek, picking up her pace as she went, but Bubba matched her easily. He seemed to have long endurance as well as brute strength, and Rhonda’s opinion of the jock mellowed slightly. “So, what’s the plan once we find an exit to da street?” he asked.
“Well,” she sighed, “I guess if we can’t get near that transmitter from here, the least we can do is warn Kermit. If we can catch him or his first-LT Scooter, they can spread the word and keep everyone away from Creep Central.”
“Dat’s a good plan,” Bubba agreed. The two of them hurried on for several minutes in silence, guided by Bubba’s large nose; suddenly Rhonda thought she might understand her mother’s fascination with men of generous proboscis. Still don’t see the ‘handsome’ part, but letting someone ELSE do the sniffing is sure useful, she decided. “Ya doin’ okay dere, doll?” Bubba asked.
“Doin’ just fine, Rocky,” she shot back. To her surprise, the husky rat chuckled.
“Rocky,” he said, grinning. “You’re all right, doll. Ya got moxie.”
Rhonda was surprised again to find herself blushing. She snapped her gaze straight ahead, and together the rodents jogged for freedom.
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“Aunt Piggy! Aunt Piggy!”
Miss Piggy turned from her Art Deco round vanity mirror to find a fashion disaster: one small green amphibian bouncing on his toeflippers in a bright orange tee-shirt and purple jeans. She did her best not to openly wince. “Yes, Robin dear?”
He blanched. “Whoa. Cool mask!”
Piggy couldn’t frown very well with the super-refining-mud-masque slathered all over her snout and cheeks. “Different kind of mask, kiddo. Is that...is that the...”
“The official movie promo shirt! Yes! Isn’t it super neato?” Robin gushed, bouncing around in a tight circle so she could briefly glimpse the whole design. “I’ll be the only kid at school with this! I told Uncle Kermit I’ll wear it every day until the new movie comes out!”
“Well, that’s sweet, but you might want to wait until we’ve actually filmed it,” Piggy replied. “Assuming your uncle ever gets a location we can actually shoot at before winter...”
“I thought he and Scooter already picked out five or six places?”
“That’s what I mean,” Piggy growled. “Um...where is your wundermus uncle, anyway?”
“Oh, he’s downstairs with Bobo, making sure he knows the candy is for the trick-or-treaters.” Robin leaned closer and whispered, “I think maybe Bobo could eat all of it, even the pumpkin Mallomars!”
“Well, he’d better not,” Piggy grumbled. “I didn’t arrange the best candy haul on the block just for the big dumb furball to chow down! Remind him moi arranged for a super sub to be delivered from Bruno’s Deli at six for him.” Although Piggy agreed it would be classier to have someone remaining at the townhouse tonight to greet costumed children for the traditonal candy ritual, she felt Kermit’s choice of doormen left a bit to be desired. Namely self-control. “And tell Kermit moi wishes to see him immediatement!”
“That means right away, right?”
“You bet it does, little frog. Hop to!”
Within five minutes, just as Piggy was laving off the mud facial, a voice quipped from the master suite’s doorway behind her: “I still don’t see why it has to be thirty-dollar-a-pound imported French mud.”
“How does vous think I’ve managed this perfect complexion?” Piggy retorted, eyes narrowing as her frog slipped up behind her and put his arms around her. “Don’t you dare try and cozy up to me! I see what you’re wearing, frog!”
Puzzled, Kermit drew back, looking down at his tee-shirt. “It’s...it’s the official promo shirt, Piggy. We agreed we’re all going to wear them. It’ll present a unified look and hopefully excite some interest for—“
“You don’t need to explain publicity to me, frog.”
Noting the double use of the word she most often used as a perjorative, Kermit watched while his wife removed the protective bathrobe from her creamy shoulders. He nodded appreciatively. “Now that’s a cheerful look!”
Piggy glared at him in the mirror, adjusting the straps of her sleekly satin, gold-hued brassiere. “This is cheerful? Are we looking in the same mirror?”
Kermit tried his cheekiest grin. “Well, they’re certainly making me cheerful.”
“Hmf,” she snorted. She fussed with skin cream a bit, then sighed, turning around to meet those smiling eyes. “Kermie...must we really all don such...such gauche attire? I mean, I thought, since this is Halloween, I could wear that simply stunning black cocktail dress, and do my hair up with that pretty spiderweb-lace scarf and some black gems, and go as Audrey?” She picked up the foot-long Bakelite holder, sporting a bit of licorice instead of a cigarette, and posed to show him her idea.
Kermit shook his head. “Piggy, honey...that does sound really cute, but...we did agree we were all going to wear the shirts. Scooter was very thorough in getting everyone the perfect sizes! Robin and I are wearing ours, Scooter and Sara will have theirs, even Rizzo and Pepe agreed...”
“Well no one consulted moi!” Piggy snapped. She frowned, still fiddling with the long holder in her perfectly manicured fingers. Kermit was immediately struck with an idea for a romantic comedy: ‘Pigfest at Tiffany’s’...but much as he liked that idea, now was not the time.
“Sweetie, honey...” he began.
The pig would have none of it. “Don’t you sweetie me,” she growled. “Vous and yarn-head made a wardrobe decision without my input!”
Ah. Realizing the crux of the problem, Kermit gently stroked her bare shoulders. She tried to brush him off at first, but he was gently persistent. He stood in front of her and caressed her until she finally looked up at him, her blue eyes unhappy. “Piggy,” he explained softly, “this is for the film. For the studio. For us. All of us. And believe me...it may just be a silly tee shirt...but no one can fill out a shirt like you. It’s not about looking great for the cameras...it’s about looking unified, as a team. Just for tonight...would you wear the silly tee shirt?” He crouched slowly so they were eye-to eye, bringing his mouth closer to hers. “For me?”
Piggy felt her frown slowly giving way. “You could have asked my opinion before you ordered them. And whose idea was orange?”
“It is Halloween,” he reminded her, bringing his lips ever closer. “And anyway...” He kissed her, gently, then with more pressure, until she relented and opened her mouth to him. He tasted her sweet tongue, feeling her shoulders relax under his hands. When he finally pulled away, her eyes were closed, and she seemed to have forgotten her anger. In a whisper, Kermit finished, “You only would’ve said no.”
Her eyes flew open, but the frog was already bounding for the door. “Oooooh! You—you slimy frog you!”
“Better to ask forgiveness than permission,” he taunted, grinning, as she shot to her feet.
“Oh yeah? Well better start practicing, frog, because you’re gonna be doing a whole lotta asking!”
“I should make sure Bobo knows he’s supposed to listen for the doorbell, even if he’s camped in the family room,” Kermit said, backing away, fairly sure she wouldn’t charge out of the suite before she finished dressing. “Hey, better get that shirt on, dear! The guys will be here any minute!”
“The guys? I thought we had a limo booked!”
“This is a charity event,” Kermit said, sounding a little too smug for Piggy’s taste. “It would be in bad taste to show up flaunting wealth, wouldn’t it?”
“This shirt is in bad taste! I look awful in that shade of pumpkin! And is that...is that supposed to be me on the back?”
“We’ll be downstairs,” Kermit said, heading that direction quickly as one incensed pig stared at the cartoonish drawing on the back of the shirt.
Piggy glared at the empty doorway. “Oh he’s gonna need some charity all right,” she growled, pulling on the shirt, unwilling to admit just how nicely it showed off her curves. She tromped to the first of her two walk-in-closets for a pair of stylish black jeans, determined to do what she could to save her stylish reputation in the face of such a gaudy color. “I wonder if Shriner’s Hospital admits grown frogs?”
--------------
“On your feet,” something growled.
Gina struggled to open her eyes fully, feeling nauseous and with a splitting skull. Her mouth felt strange when she spoke, “Screw you, I’m not a Marine...” She sat up, instinctively putting a hand to her forehead, then jerked back. “Ow! What the...” Shocked, she discovered tiny claws jutting from all her fingers...and her hands were coated in reddish fuzz. Trying to wipe it off, she noticed the fuzz became thicker and longer as it went up her arms...and over her shoulders...and her legs... Dark scarlet fur covered every part of her she could see, and she realized in horror it probably covered the places under the silly frilly dress, as well. Her head jerked up to glare at the long-tusked guard waiting for her to get up. “What the **** did you do to me?” she cried, hearing her voice too rough.
The guard grinned. Suddenly that smelly thing in the pirate hat was beside her, grabbing her arm. “Ahhh! Such a marrrrvelous shange for ze bettair, mon chere! Finalee, you are rrready to win ze hand of our swinging bachelor Gustar!” He paused, then admitted, “Well, maybe not ze hand as zuch...”
“What the frog did you creeps do to me? Change me back!” Gina demanded, panic rising.
“Zat’s odd,” Pew mused. “Arre you not all aqivair with ze desire, mon chere? Does zis handsome bachelor not excite every beautiful bone in zat sexy boday?”
Gina stood, leaning threateningly over the director. “No and oh **** no! You go get that freak doctor and tell him if I’m not back to normal in five minutes I’ll...I’ll use these claws on him!”
Pew chuckled, waggling a finger at her. “Ah hah hah! No no, mah petite chat! No flirting with anyone besides your intended...and of course moi!” Before Gina could retort, Pew grabbed her with surprisingly strong hands and dragged her, stumbling, from the cot where she’d lain to stand next to the quivering, pulsating glob of happy bachelor. Applause met her, and Gina looked up, startled, to find a studio audience of dozens of freakish creatures whistling and hooting appreciatively at her. Feeling naked, she reflexively touched her necklace...the necklace that always...she felt around frantically.
It’s gone! Those idiots took off my necklace! She glared, frightened, at the grinning director and the leering blob. Wait. Maybe that’s not a bad thing. When Newsie finds me... But she had no guarantee her shy Muppet would even be able to get past the front door of this place, assuming it had one. It’s crawling with monsters down here. They’ll eat him alive! Oh, Newsie, sweetie...please... She wasn’t sure if she should wish for a daring rescue or not. The last thing she wanted was to put her beloved in danger. Should try to get out by myself...but... She looked again at her arms, feeling ill. Can’t let him see me like this! He’ll freak! She felt decidedly freakish herself.
“Aaaand now, mon freres, we shall see who Gustar will be marrying tomorrow!” Pew shouted, and the audience cheered. Gustar beamed, little ripples coursing through his jelly. “Gustar has picked ze final four contestants!” More cheering.
“Contestants?” Gina asked, and again felt sharp things around her tongue. “Ow...” D—it my teeth, they did something to my teeth? Angrily, she glanced around, looking to see how close the guards were. Maybe if she used these awful claws to rip apart the blob-thing, they’d take her threat seriously... She felt something smack the back of her leg, and whirled. “Hey, quit touching, you—“ But no one was behind her. Turning again, baffled, she saw a red furry thing swishing at the corner of her eye. She froze. A tail? Oh my god what do I look like? Positive she didn’t want to know – and certainly didn’t want Newsie to know either – she glared at Pew again. “You’re dead meat, creep,” she growled under her breath.
He heard, and snorfled a laugh through that thick snout. “Latair, you sexy thang! So let us see who else will be competing for ze honair of being Mrs Blob!”
Three other creatures sashayed onto the set. One was blonde, with a huge alligator mouth and outrageous curves, in a bikini top and sarong. Another could barely see past the thick curtain of long purple fur covering her head to toe...and her toes looked more like giant bird-feet. The third sported neck-flaps like some prehistoric thing; she raised them to hiss and spit at the audience, and a monster in the front row sizzled and fainted in sheer acidic delight. “Gustar, ah see you have picked Susan, Susan, Susan, and Susan! What excellent choysez, mah friend!”
The blob nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yeah Pew, I thought hard about which girl I’d most like to swallow and completely incorporate into my bodily mass, and, well, these ladies just stood out, y’know?”
“Zat zey do!” Pew agreed. He leered at the Susan with the bikini. “Ah see some of zem even remembaired to brush all their fangs! Personal hygiene is soooo important, non?”
“You should try it sometime,” Gina muttered. She kept stealing anxious glances all around, but the room seemed to be teeming with monsters. How far would she get, if she grabbed Pew in a headlock and demanded the antidote? Wouldn’t they just all jump her anyway? Dismayed, she realized the better option might be to stay put until she saw a chance to get Pew or the disgusting blob alone, and show them she wasn’t squeamish about sharp objects... “Wait, my name’s not Susan!” she said loudly, suddenly realizing she was being included in that group.
Gustar shook with laughter. “Sure it is! I just love Susans!” He wobbled a bit as he leaned toward Pew. “All the other Susans like being Susan now...what’s wrong with her?” he whispered.
Pew shook his head. “Ah am not sure, mon frere...perhaps we will ask ze doctair to give her anozair shot later!” Raising his voice, he turned to the audience and the cameras. “Ah am happy to announce zat, as zis is ze last episode of ‘Ah Married a Monstair!’ before ze finale – and ze wedding!—tomorrow, all ze contestants who are not ze winnair today will be going home with...ze audience!”
Wild whooping and howling filled the studio. Gina winced, trembling at the horrible sight of so many bulging eyes and furry bellies and clutching, clawing hands. “Oh I don’t think so,” she gulped, though her voice sounded faint.
“Forget it, sister!” growled a deep voice; startled, Gina realized it was the purple-furred Cousin It Susan. A stubby thumb emerged from the fur to point inward. “That blob’s aalllll mine!”
“You can have it,” Gina muttered, but looked back at the audience. She swallowed dryly. Go home with the blob...or fall into their paws? She couldn’t suppress a shudder.
“Aww, Susan! Aren’t you in it to win me?” Gustar whined, glopping a slimy appendage onto her arm a moment. Gina shook him off immediately, but little droplets of jelly lingered on the fur.
“Ahve course she is!” Pew cried, clapping Gustar on the back...and then struggling to free his hand. “Ah...ungh...we’ll be...right back with ze first trial for ze ladies...ungh...on ‘Ah Married a Monstair!’, so don’t go away!” Frustrated, he yanked repeatedly, but his hand was stuck and sliding ever deeper into Gustar’s gelatin. “Gustar, mon ami, let go!”
Gina sucked in a breath, hating the prickly feel of her skin, the tail, the teeth, the whole appalling situation. Have to get out of this. Have to get one of these creeps alone so I have a chance, force them to fix this...oh, Aloysius, I’m so sorry! I don’t want you down here! Let me fight my way out and come find you, my love! But as she allowed the stagehand monsters to guide her to some kind of jungle-gym obstacle course along with the other monstrous girls, she suddenly understood they’d all probably gone through the same ordeal she had...and they, unlike her, all seemed eager for the task, and even eager for the dubious prize of marriage to a blob! Oh my god...what happened to them? Is it going to happen to me? Frightened, she looked back at Gustar, who waved cheerily. Nope. It’s still disgusting. Somewhat relieved she still had control of her own thoughts, she shivered and braced herself for whatever nonsense she’d be asked to do to prove her worthiness as a bride. She touched her neck again, and half-hoped her Muppet did try to rescue her...and unwittingly brought disaster and chaos with him.
It might actually be better than this.
--------------
Rhonda stood panting, waiting while Bubba hoisted himself out of the storm drain. They’d climbed up a cold, dripping shaft to emerge in the runoff tunnel just below a street, and somehow even after the exhausting ascent, Bubba had enough strength to lift Rhonda up to the gutter opening. She looked in all directions uncertainly, wrapping her arms around herself. Her sweater-dress was soaked through, and though the sky overhead looked clear and lovely blue, and the snow all melted, the temperature was low enough to make the rat positive she’d need a hot soak and a hefty dose of vitamin C to ward off a cold. She sneezed once, and glumly fished a packet of tissues from a pocket, but they were drenched as well. “Lovely,” she grumbled.
“Ain’t it though,” Bubba said, looking up at the sky. He dragged himself from the gutter, and vainly brushed off his shirt, which now appeared more brown than dirty white. He looked curiously up and down the street. “Huh. Looks like da Bowery. Hey, I got some buds over at O’Malley’s what works out with me sometimes, if ya wanna stop in, maybe get some dry duds on ya?”
“We don’t have time,” Rhonda said. Her watch had died somewhere in the tunnels, probably when she fell into a puddle of something she didn’t even want to contemplate. The light slanting through the forest of buildings, however, seemed low to her, and tinged with red. “Cripes, it’s almost sunset! We gotta find Kermit and the guys and tell ‘em not to go to the Hotel Creepy!”
“Awright den,” Bubba agreed. He looked once up and down the busy street. Some passersby already had costumes on: skeletons and witches and Marilyn Monroe all strolled along, heading toward the Village where the big parade would soon be starting. Suddenly Bubba grabbed Rhonda’s paw, slapping it against his chest. “Hang on!”
“Are you crazy? What the heck are you—waaaaagh!” Rhonda shrieked, abruptly clinging with all her might to the stronger rat when he flung himself into the street. Instead of splatting onto the pavement, however, he’d timed his jump perfectly; Rhonda cautiously opened her eyes to find the scenery whizzing by at an alarming rate. She blinked, and looked ahead: cars and trucks loomed and just as quickly slipped by. She craned her neck up. A bicycle? What the freaking holy Tour de Midtown? She gave Bubba a look of astonishment. “You grabbed a bike courier?” she demanded.
He glanced down at her, straining with both hands to hang onto the satchel swinging off the hip of the unheeding cyclist. “Just please tell me dis is da right direction,” he grunted.
“Uptown...yeah.” Rhonda dug her claws into Bubba’s shirt, but he didn’t complain. “Uh...we want Park and Seventy-ninth.”
“Ain’t dat da swanky place we went last time?”
“What?” A memory of clambering up Bubba’s back to teeter uncomfortably on Rizzo’s shoulders brightened in her mind, and she realized, embarrassed, she’d all but erased that night, this past spring. “Uh...yeah...you remember their townhouse?”
Bubba chuckled. “How could I forget? Dat pig dame kept lookin’ at me like she thought I was gonna chew on her French Rococo Revival console table!”
“You...you know antiques?” Rhonda managed, wondering if this was even the same jock she’d dragged along that night to retrieve the wayward Newsman.
“Eh, I got a buddy who does some carpentry an’ restoration stuff. He’s a beaver, but he’s an okay joe.”
“A beaver.”
“Yep.” When the messenger swerved left, they held on, but then Bubba said, “Dis is our stop, doll. Jump!”
Terrified, Rhonda closed her eyes and leaped for the sidewalk, but realized too late she wasn’t going to make it. The concrete rushed toward her. She flung her arms in front of her, hoping the damage wouldn’t be horrible, but instead found her breath knocked out and muscular arms around her waist. When the dust settled, and she’d coughed what felt like half the city’s smog from her lungs, she looked around to find herself cushioned on the sidewalk by a large rat. Discomfited, she got to shaky feet, and Bubba stretched up behind her.
“Whoo! Some way ta travel, huh? Dose guys go faster than da subway even,” Bubba remarked, grinning, seeming unaffected by their hard landing. He nodded ahead. “We go north again here. Just walk close to da curb; anoddah one’ll be along any minute.”
“You...you do this a lot?”
He quirked a puzzled eyebrow at her. “Don’t you? Wait...don’t tell me you’re onea dem fancy rats what’s gotta take a cab everywhere!” He grinned.
“Well, they’re easier on the wardrobe,” Rhonda grumbled.
“Guess so,” he mused, looking at her ruined dress from the rear. “Hey, ya know ya got a nice patch growin’ back over your...”
“I see a bike,” Rhonda interrupted, unhappy at the idea of another round on Mr Rat’s Wild Ride, but anxious about the lateness of the hour. “We have to get to Kermit’s fast!”
“I hear ya,” Bubba said, and helped her onto his back, hanging onto his shoulders. “Hold on tight!”
Several terrifying minutes later, they rolled into the gutter a couple of blocks from the quiet, elegant row of townhouses where the Frogs kept up their east-coast residence. Rhonda flushed, humiliated, doing her best to ignore the stares of the rich kids out with their nannies trick-or-treating. Bubba strode along unworriedly at her side, staring with unashamed curiosity at the three- and four-story townhouses, each brownstone stoop done up with colorful swags of leaves or fabric ghosts or grinning pumpkins. “Huh. Wonder what kinda treats dese guys give out?”
“Later!” Rhonda urged, trotting as fast as she could, although her chest felt about to collapse. “Look, up on the next block, see that bus? That’s them! Come on!” She took a deep breath, then did something she rarely permitted anyone in her company to do, much less herself: she dropped to all fours and ran like heck.
Bubba paced her, jogging on two feet, and Rhonda gritted her teeth and decided, When this is over, I’m going to the gym EVERY day, not just Mondays and Wednesdays! She stood back up as they approached the lingering, noisy bus; in the back seat, she saw a red mop of hair moving animatedly and a pair of pink ears nodding back. A roll of drums and the twang of a guitar told her the Mayhem were probably occupying the vehicle as well. Kermit hopped down the stairs from the townhouse, hurrying for the bus. “Kermit!” Rhonda yelled, but her own voice sounded more like a croak than the frog’s usually did. She sucked in a deep breath, putting all her energy into one last sprint, the bus two houses away...one... “Keerrrrmiiiiit!” she shouted – right as the driver gunned the engine, the frog slammed the door as he jumped in, and the bus backfired and screeched into the street. Desperately Rhonda waved, yelling, and Bubba raised a paw as well, but the bus sped off in a cloud of gray exhaust, leaving two tired and dispirited rats choking on the curb.
“D—it!” Rhonda cried aloud. “They’re heading right for certain doom!”
“Dis is like da movies,” Bubba mused, slowly catching his breath. “I always wanna yell at ‘em, ‘Don’t go in da basement!’, and dey never listen...” He shook his head. “Hey, whaddabout dat other guy? The LT?”
“Scooter,” Rhonda panted. “No good...he’s on the bus.”
Bubba cast a sharp eye around. “Okay. Don’t sweat it, doll. I see a ride. We’ll go after ‘em.”
“Maybe we could break inta one of these places and find a phone...” Rhonda shot him a wide-eyed look. “Oh no. No no no. No more bikes!”
“Who said anything about a bike?” Bubba put two fingers to his mouth and whistled, high and earsplitting; Rhonda winced. Barking preceded a large cocker spaniel. Rhonda stared first at the dog, which was done up in an orange jingly collar with jeweled pumpkins and harnessed to a Red Flyer wagon carrying a lit jack-o’lantern, and then at Bubba when he hoisted himself atop the grinning vegetable.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” she demanded. “Where did you learn to drive a dog-and-cart?”
“I’ve done some extra work in westerns,” Bubba shrugged. At Rhonda’s slack jaw, he chuckled. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you think dat alien flick with da Whatever was my first go-round in Hollywood?” With a cocky grin, he held out a paw to her.
Grudgingly, Rhonda took it and climbed into the wagon. “Sure you can drive this thing?”
“Piece a’ cake. Yo, Jingles, giddyup.” Bubba flicked the reins, and the dog trotted down the street back the way they’d come. A large woman in a party dress came running from a side yard at the corner, calling out for a Mr Puffies, and Bubba clicked his teeth and snapped the reins again, urging the dog into a run. He offered a meaty bicep to Rhonda as she tried to hang on in the bouncing wagon, looking pleased with himself.
Well well, Rhonda thought, amazed. Can’t judge a rat by his fur, they said...
One spaniel, one juttering red toy wagon, one bouncing jack-o’lantern, two rats, and a stumbling dowager made their own little parade toward Chinatown.
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Bobo flipped through channel after channel, stopping on what looked like some sort of action movie, or maybe horror: people were screaming in the streets, and the cops were rounding them up in riot gear. Looks good, Bobo decided, settling his generous rear more comfortably on a squeaking loveseat in the Frog family room. His catcher’s-mitt-sized paw rummaged absently through the huge basket of treats on the table before him. “Hum hum hum...pumpkin taffy? Now that’s just weird...oh, hey! Mallomars!” Unwrapping two at a time contentedly, he returned his attention to the screen.
Some short guy with a long parsnip of a nose was barking at the camera, “And the Police team is heading off yet another offensive try by the Street Crazies! I’ve never seen anything like this! No matter how many gibbering, insanely reeling, poorly dressed people the cops haul off, more seem to crop up! What’s your take on this phenomenon, uh...” Realizing he had no one to offer color commentary but himself, the announcer scuttled to the opposite side of the scene and took up the job. “Well, Lewis, I gotta say this comes as a complete blindsiding surprise to me as well! They say the full moon brings out the nutjobs, and Halloween is just as bad, but typically that involves public drunks, flash mobs and people just flashing, and multiple arrests for publicly impersonating Donald Trump – not this kind of random screaming!” He paused, listening to the wails of the housewives in headscarves and teenagers half-costumed, as if they’d all run out of doors in the middle of getting dressed for the evening. “Uh, what exactly is it they’re all screaming, anyway?”
The doorbell rang. Bobo sat staring at the television, trying to figure out if he’d seen this movie before. “Looks like they shot it here in the city,” he mumbled, spotting the Chrysler building in the skyline across from the residential neighborhood where the action was going on. The doorbell rang again, and this time the bear’s ears perked at the sound of children shouting Trick or treat!
“Oh!” he exclaimed, levering himself out of the seat. “Oh, oh yeah! Coming, coming...got yer Mallomars and Oreo brownies, Mallomars and...ooh, better save one a’ those...” At the front door, he beamed at a crowd of cats, goblins, and a couple of young wizards who all looked troubled at the sight of a huge bear thrusting a big black basket of wrapped treats at them. “Here ya go! There’s one for you, and one for you, and one for me, and –hey, nice robe there, I’m more of a Hufflepuff guy myself – one for you, and one for me! Okay! Buh-bye now! Happy Halloween!” Chuckling, he shut the door, lumbering back to the family room, but he’d only set the basket down and begun fumbling with the cellophane enclosing a brownie when the bell rang again. “Awww...okay...” He glanced at the TV, where the confused-looking sports reporter was ducking a canister of tear gas thrown by the cops into a shrieking mob of pajama-clothed people. “Man. Sure hope they replay this later...hey, I wonder if Kermit has one’a those DVL thingies? Maybe I can record it...” The bell rang insistently, and with a sigh, the bear shuffled toward the foyer. “Okay! Okay! Geez...”
Onscreen, Lewis Kazagger continued, “This is astounding! Ordinary citizens are rioting in Queens, in Brooklyn, even in midtown Manhattan; reports are coming in from all over that the police have called to duty every officer on the rolls tonight to deal with this unprecedented uprising of the masses!”
He shook his head, amazed, watching as the riot squad wrestled a three-hundred-pound walrus to the ground. The walrus, with her hair in curlers and an apron around her ample tummy, was moaning loudly, “They’re coming! They ate my Offie and they’re coming for me! Run! Ruuuuunnn!”
Baffled, Kazagger turned back to the camera. “We will continue to follow this developing story through the evening, folks. Stay with us. For KRAK, this is Lewis Kazagger, filling in for...well...pretty much everyone.”
As the channel brought up a commercial for Loopy Larry’s Lemmingburgers, Bobo thumped back into the family room to grab the forgotten treat basket.
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Welcome to the Muppet Central Forum!
Back to the Rock Season 2
Sesame Street Season 54
The Muppets Mayhem premieres
Bear arrives on Disney+
Sam and Friends Book
And I tought this Count guy's keeper had da dirty mind. Sheesh.
She DID nudge me toward Rhonda/Bubba...
Storm is fright.
Uh, should it be snowing?