Ruahnna
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A Pig Out of Water
“Kermit,” Piggy said urgently. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure, Piggy,” Kermit said absently. “Just give me a second here.” He signed his signature hastily and turned to her. “Yes?”
Piggy gave him a frustrated look. “In your office?”
Under normal circumstances, Kermit would have been suspicious, but something in her big blue eyes told him that there was more than flirtation at stake. He ushered her in—but kept the door open.
How strange, Kermit thought. Piggy looks uncomfortable. Piggy was rarely uncomfortable—Kermit thought of her more as a carrier—but she was clearly agitated about something.
“I want—I need to talk to you about the script changes,” she said, with nervous look at the open door. “Now.”
“I’m listening,” he said, trying to look reasonable and firm at the same time.
“It’s about the water scene,” she nearly whispered.
Kermit was momentarily confused. “The water—Oh! The water ballet—yeah,” he said, suddenly enthusiastic. “It’s going to be great. They started working on the new sets today.”
If possible, Piggy looked more apprehensive. “When do they want to start filming that part?”
“Couple of weeks, we hope. Maybe a little longer if the sets—“
“Oh….” The sound had escaped before she could stop it. Piggy put one hand to her mouth, looking crestfallen and flustered.
Kermit began to be genuinely concerned.
“Piggy, are you—are you okay?”
She mumbled something unintelligible, looking at the floor.
“What?” Kermit leaned forward. “I can’t understand you.”
A slightly louder mumble, with Piggy looking nervously again toward the door.
“Just tell me,” Kermit said, frustration beginning to show in his voice.
“I can’t swim.”
“What?”
“I. Can’t. Swim,” she gritted through clenched teeth.
Kermit stepped back in surprise. “Wha--?”
“I. CANNOT. SWIM,” she said, loud enough to have attracted the attention of anyone within 20 feet. Luckily, there was no one.
“What do you mean you can’t swim?” Kermit demanded.
“What do you mean what do I mean?” Piggy shot back. “Read my lips, frog.” She leaned closer, but there was nothing coquettish about it. “I. Cannot. Swim.”
Kermit was having trouble with the concept. “But you, I mean we, we talked about it. The fountain scene—you said—“
“I said I could float,” Piggy said distinctly. “I can even almost dive, but I cannot swim.”
Kermit was flabbergasted. “But, but—you can sing, you can tap dance, you can do karate and ballet and…how can you not know how to swim?”
Piggy put her hands on her hips.
“Look, Mister I-was-born-in-a-swamp,” Piggy said hotly. “It might surprise you to know that not all of us grew up with a bog in our backyard.”
“Yes, but—“
“And nobody ever asked me to swim in a beauty pageant or on stage. It never came up.”
“But Piggy, I just thought, I mean…you can do everything.” His voice was very small and wistful, and if Piggy hadn’t been so defensive she might have recognized the compliment and melted just a little.
“Apparently not!” She turned away from him, hunched miserably, and crossed her arms across her chest.
“It’s such a great scene….” Kermit said quietly. “I wish—“
“I know,” Piggy wailed. “But you didn’t tell me or ask me or—“ She broke off, fighting back tears.
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to cut the scene, do it the way we originally planned.”
“Why don’t you ask Annie Sue to do it?” Piggy flung back. She felt miserable and wanted Kermit to feel miserable too.
Kermit slapped both his hands over his face. “Sheesh! Again with Annie Sue! Piggy—Annie Sue is married and has four litters by now. I do not want to ask Annie Sue. I want you—that is, I want you to do, um, the part.”
He was quiet for a moment, his mind racing, then he reached out and caught Piggy by the shoulder, turning her to face him. He took both of her hands in his. Piggy was so astonished that she opened her mouth and shut it without saying anything.
“Look, Piggy, “ Kermit said earnestly. “Would you—would you be willing to learn?”
“Learn?”
“Yes—take lessons. You’re an awfully quick study….” He wheedled.
“I don’t know, Kermit. There’s so little time and I don’t know when I could—“
“Morning and evenings—before and after, “ Kermit said, squeezing her hands. “I know you could do it.”
“Well,” Piggy waffled. “It is a great scene. I’ll—I’ll try, Kermit, but who—“
“Great!” Kermit said, relief flooding his features. “I knew I could count on you.” He leaned forward suddenly, on impulse, and kissed her quickly on the cheek. Piggy was too surprised to respond, standing stock-still. Kermit was halfway out the door before she recovered her voice.
“But Kermit,” she called. “Who—who is going to teach me?”
“Don’t worry about that—we’ll find somebody. I’ll call you tonight when I get the details ironed out.”
Piggy was more than a little apprehensive when she arrived the next morning at the address Kermit had given her. A friend who was filming in Italy had been happy to grant access to his Olympic-sized pool for the next few weeks. Piggy pressed the security buzzer and the gate swung open soundlessly. She wrapped her cover-up more closely around her and gripped the handle of her leopard-print duffle with nervous fingers as she walked to the front door.
A note taped to the glass told her to proceed around back, and she followed the paving-stone path across the lawn and around the house. A wooden privacy gate opened when she pushed, and she looked anxiously for the one who would be her teacher. She heard water running and turned to see a long, lean figure in black swim trunks topping off the pool—a long, lean, green figure.
“Oh, no,” she said hastily. “I am not doing this.”
Kermit caught her before she could clear the gate, his hands on her shoulders.
“C’mon, Piggy—don’t be that way. I’m a good swimmer. I can teach you.”
“No,” she said stubbornly. “I—I don’t think it would work.”
“Piggy, please….” Darn him, he was giving her “the look,” the puppy-dog look that not even Fozzie could beat. It was terribly unfair, Piggy thought miserably. She let out a deep sigh and let Kermit turn her back toward the water. His hands on her shoulders were gentle. “At least try—for me.”
“I will…I will try,” Piggy said finally. “But if you get snarky with me I swear—“
“No snarking,” Kermit said quickly. He held up two fingers. “Frog Scouts’ honor,” he said.
Piggy gave him a withering look. “You were never a Frog Scout,” she snapped, but at least she stayed.
Kermit had one bad moment after that, waiting for Piggy to join him in the pool. It suddenly dawned on him what Piggy might have chosen to wear beneath that terry-cloth cover up, and he braced himself for a little more glamour and sex appeal than he thought he could withstand before 6 a.m. He heard the robe fall and peeked around nervously, only to find Piggy looking right at him, and perfectly attired in a very no-nonsense indigo-purple maillot. She looked at him as though she knew exactly what he’d been thinking, and Kermit felt himself blush, but she merely began to tuck her hair up under a swim cap.
“What did you think I’d be wearing?” she asked silkily. “An itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny purple polka-dot bikini?”
Kermit couldn’t help himself. He smiled widely and nodded. “Um, yes, actually.”
It was Piggy’s turn to blush. “Well you were wrong.”
“Darn,” Kermit muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. “And I took this job on account of—“
“Kermit, so help me—“
He laughed again, but held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, Piggy—no more joking.”
“I am working,” she said stiffly. “And so are you.”
“Yes,” Kermit agreed, and work they did.
It was not as bad as Piggy had professed, nor as good as Kermit had secretly hoped, but he was optimistic. Piggy really was a quick study, and she took direction very well (when she took it at all). By the end of the first session, she was well beyond, um, dog-paddling, and on her way to some fairly convincing moves. Piggy had always had a talent for slap-stick—she could take a fall with the best of them, but she had worked and polished her physical talents until her body would, mostly, do what she wanted it to do. Kermit was more than passing aware of this, but was happy to find that Piggy was completely focused on the work. He could have been the gym instructor at the Y—the one with the terminally baggy pants—for all the notice Piggy took of him as a man. This made the work easier, but Kermit was surprised to find himself just a little disappointed.
At last, Piggy walked up the pool steps and reached for a towel. After she had dried her face—patting gently, no rubbing—she plucked the swim cap from her head and her hair fell around her shoulders in glorious disarray. The early morning sun caught the gold in her hair, and her sleek, dark swimsuit left no curve to the imagination. She turned suddenly and caught him staring. Kermit flushed and started to stammer an explanation, but instead of getting mad, she smiled—a demure smile, a secret smile.
“Well, Coach,” she said softly. “I guess I’ll see you later.” And with that, she picked up her duffle and left.
“Kermit,” Piggy said urgently. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure, Piggy,” Kermit said absently. “Just give me a second here.” He signed his signature hastily and turned to her. “Yes?”
Piggy gave him a frustrated look. “In your office?”
Under normal circumstances, Kermit would have been suspicious, but something in her big blue eyes told him that there was more than flirtation at stake. He ushered her in—but kept the door open.
How strange, Kermit thought. Piggy looks uncomfortable. Piggy was rarely uncomfortable—Kermit thought of her more as a carrier—but she was clearly agitated about something.
“I want—I need to talk to you about the script changes,” she said, with nervous look at the open door. “Now.”
“I’m listening,” he said, trying to look reasonable and firm at the same time.
“It’s about the water scene,” she nearly whispered.
Kermit was momentarily confused. “The water—Oh! The water ballet—yeah,” he said, suddenly enthusiastic. “It’s going to be great. They started working on the new sets today.”
If possible, Piggy looked more apprehensive. “When do they want to start filming that part?”
“Couple of weeks, we hope. Maybe a little longer if the sets—“
“Oh….” The sound had escaped before she could stop it. Piggy put one hand to her mouth, looking crestfallen and flustered.
Kermit began to be genuinely concerned.
“Piggy, are you—are you okay?”
She mumbled something unintelligible, looking at the floor.
“What?” Kermit leaned forward. “I can’t understand you.”
A slightly louder mumble, with Piggy looking nervously again toward the door.
“Just tell me,” Kermit said, frustration beginning to show in his voice.
“I can’t swim.”
“What?”
“I. Can’t. Swim,” she gritted through clenched teeth.
Kermit stepped back in surprise. “Wha--?”
“I. CANNOT. SWIM,” she said, loud enough to have attracted the attention of anyone within 20 feet. Luckily, there was no one.
“What do you mean you can’t swim?” Kermit demanded.
“What do you mean what do I mean?” Piggy shot back. “Read my lips, frog.” She leaned closer, but there was nothing coquettish about it. “I. Cannot. Swim.”
Kermit was having trouble with the concept. “But you, I mean we, we talked about it. The fountain scene—you said—“
“I said I could float,” Piggy said distinctly. “I can even almost dive, but I cannot swim.”
Kermit was flabbergasted. “But, but—you can sing, you can tap dance, you can do karate and ballet and…how can you not know how to swim?”
Piggy put her hands on her hips.
“Look, Mister I-was-born-in-a-swamp,” Piggy said hotly. “It might surprise you to know that not all of us grew up with a bog in our backyard.”
“Yes, but—“
“And nobody ever asked me to swim in a beauty pageant or on stage. It never came up.”
“But Piggy, I just thought, I mean…you can do everything.” His voice was very small and wistful, and if Piggy hadn’t been so defensive she might have recognized the compliment and melted just a little.
“Apparently not!” She turned away from him, hunched miserably, and crossed her arms across her chest.
“It’s such a great scene….” Kermit said quietly. “I wish—“
“I know,” Piggy wailed. “But you didn’t tell me or ask me or—“ She broke off, fighting back tears.
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to cut the scene, do it the way we originally planned.”
“Why don’t you ask Annie Sue to do it?” Piggy flung back. She felt miserable and wanted Kermit to feel miserable too.
Kermit slapped both his hands over his face. “Sheesh! Again with Annie Sue! Piggy—Annie Sue is married and has four litters by now. I do not want to ask Annie Sue. I want you—that is, I want you to do, um, the part.”
He was quiet for a moment, his mind racing, then he reached out and caught Piggy by the shoulder, turning her to face him. He took both of her hands in his. Piggy was so astonished that she opened her mouth and shut it without saying anything.
“Look, Piggy, “ Kermit said earnestly. “Would you—would you be willing to learn?”
“Learn?”
“Yes—take lessons. You’re an awfully quick study….” He wheedled.
“I don’t know, Kermit. There’s so little time and I don’t know when I could—“
“Morning and evenings—before and after, “ Kermit said, squeezing her hands. “I know you could do it.”
“Well,” Piggy waffled. “It is a great scene. I’ll—I’ll try, Kermit, but who—“
“Great!” Kermit said, relief flooding his features. “I knew I could count on you.” He leaned forward suddenly, on impulse, and kissed her quickly on the cheek. Piggy was too surprised to respond, standing stock-still. Kermit was halfway out the door before she recovered her voice.
“But Kermit,” she called. “Who—who is going to teach me?”
“Don’t worry about that—we’ll find somebody. I’ll call you tonight when I get the details ironed out.”
Piggy was more than a little apprehensive when she arrived the next morning at the address Kermit had given her. A friend who was filming in Italy had been happy to grant access to his Olympic-sized pool for the next few weeks. Piggy pressed the security buzzer and the gate swung open soundlessly. She wrapped her cover-up more closely around her and gripped the handle of her leopard-print duffle with nervous fingers as she walked to the front door.
A note taped to the glass told her to proceed around back, and she followed the paving-stone path across the lawn and around the house. A wooden privacy gate opened when she pushed, and she looked anxiously for the one who would be her teacher. She heard water running and turned to see a long, lean figure in black swim trunks topping off the pool—a long, lean, green figure.
“Oh, no,” she said hastily. “I am not doing this.”
Kermit caught her before she could clear the gate, his hands on her shoulders.
“C’mon, Piggy—don’t be that way. I’m a good swimmer. I can teach you.”
“No,” she said stubbornly. “I—I don’t think it would work.”
“Piggy, please….” Darn him, he was giving her “the look,” the puppy-dog look that not even Fozzie could beat. It was terribly unfair, Piggy thought miserably. She let out a deep sigh and let Kermit turn her back toward the water. His hands on her shoulders were gentle. “At least try—for me.”
“I will…I will try,” Piggy said finally. “But if you get snarky with me I swear—“
“No snarking,” Kermit said quickly. He held up two fingers. “Frog Scouts’ honor,” he said.
Piggy gave him a withering look. “You were never a Frog Scout,” she snapped, but at least she stayed.
Kermit had one bad moment after that, waiting for Piggy to join him in the pool. It suddenly dawned on him what Piggy might have chosen to wear beneath that terry-cloth cover up, and he braced himself for a little more glamour and sex appeal than he thought he could withstand before 6 a.m. He heard the robe fall and peeked around nervously, only to find Piggy looking right at him, and perfectly attired in a very no-nonsense indigo-purple maillot. She looked at him as though she knew exactly what he’d been thinking, and Kermit felt himself blush, but she merely began to tuck her hair up under a swim cap.
“What did you think I’d be wearing?” she asked silkily. “An itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny purple polka-dot bikini?”
Kermit couldn’t help himself. He smiled widely and nodded. “Um, yes, actually.”
It was Piggy’s turn to blush. “Well you were wrong.”
“Darn,” Kermit muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. “And I took this job on account of—“
“Kermit, so help me—“
He laughed again, but held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, Piggy—no more joking.”
“I am working,” she said stiffly. “And so are you.”
“Yes,” Kermit agreed, and work they did.
It was not as bad as Piggy had professed, nor as good as Kermit had secretly hoped, but he was optimistic. Piggy really was a quick study, and she took direction very well (when she took it at all). By the end of the first session, she was well beyond, um, dog-paddling, and on her way to some fairly convincing moves. Piggy had always had a talent for slap-stick—she could take a fall with the best of them, but she had worked and polished her physical talents until her body would, mostly, do what she wanted it to do. Kermit was more than passing aware of this, but was happy to find that Piggy was completely focused on the work. He could have been the gym instructor at the Y—the one with the terminally baggy pants—for all the notice Piggy took of him as a man. This made the work easier, but Kermit was surprised to find himself just a little disappointed.
At last, Piggy walked up the pool steps and reached for a towel. After she had dried her face—patting gently, no rubbing—she plucked the swim cap from her head and her hair fell around her shoulders in glorious disarray. The early morning sun caught the gold in her hair, and her sleek, dark swimsuit left no curve to the imagination. She turned suddenly and caught him staring. Kermit flushed and started to stammer an explanation, but instead of getting mad, she smiled—a demure smile, a secret smile.
“Well, Coach,” she said softly. “I guess I’ll see you later.” And with that, she picked up her duffle and left.