Chapter 118: The Curious Incident of the Badger and the Lo Mein
The next couple of days saw everybody busy about their own business—or other people’s. Kermit and Scooter put the desert scene to bed and Scooter meticulously copied their next segment before dropping it off at the digital imaging editors. As a final precaution, he and Kermit watched the footage roll start to finish just to make sure everything was hunky-dory. Determined, with fire in his eye to match the fiery red of his hair, Scooter set out to deliver the film. Kermit had promised to procure edibles of some sort, and he was scrolling through his extremely backed-up email while lurking around the doorway waiting for the delivery badger to arrive with the food.
His stomach rumbled loudly, causing Kermit to frown and wonder if there was anything—anything at all—left over from the Valentine’s party. The fridge had been picked clean, but he hadn’t actually looked in the old freezer for stray cupcakes or eggrolls or anything. He seemed to remember Sara putting things away, and his flippered feet went faster as he thought about finding something from her kitchen to munch on while he waited for lunch.
He had to scoot the table and chairs to the right in the tiny break room in order to even open the freezer, and Kermit struggled to get the lid up, eyeing the overabundance of frost ruefully. A large chunk of ice dropped on the ground and skittled under the freezer. Kermit made a rude noise and decided to hunt for it after he’d looked around—there! He’d been right! Try as they might, they had not managed to eat all of the cupcakes that night, and there was a small chocolate cupcake with white icing and red sprinkles that was positively calling his name. Kermit lunged for it, his froggy fingers reaching— No good. The freezer was a relic—it had probably come across the Pacific on the Ark—and while Kermit was tall enough to see everything in it, his arms weren’t long enough to reach what he saw. Smugly, the cupcake taunted him, just out of range. Kermit felt his mouth watering and looked around in frustration. Inspiration hit and he reached back with his right flipper and snagged one of the chairs, dragging it over so he could stand on it. Actually standing on the chair while he held the heavy freezer lid open proved to be quite a feat, and Kermit balanced precariously on one foot, the other stretched behind him for balance as he groped in the bottom of the freezer.
He heard the studio door open, suddenly remembering the food delivery, and contemplated dropping the lid to deal with that first, but he was so close. “Hang on a second!” he called out to the delivery badger. “I’m in the break room getting something out of the freezer! Be right there!” The badger could be impatient if made to wait, but Kermit’s fingers could almost grasp the paper baking cup. He could feel the fluted edges on his fingertips and, straining, took hold of the little comestible with a cry of triumph.
“Aha!” Kermit cried, and several things happened at once. The chair lurched beneath him, he lost his balance and the lid to the freezer started closing. Kermit dropped the cupcake and grabbed the lid, which proved to be a tactical mistake. The heavy lid continued to descend, momentum dragging it down. Kermit gave a groan and a heave, wrenching the freezer lid open again—
--and tumbled into the freezer itself. Scrambling to his feet, Kermit grasped the edge of the icy box and tried to swing one leg over as well, but the lid banged down on the top of his head and knocked him out, and backward, and down. The freezer lid closed and sealed.
All was still in the kitchen for several seconds, then a muffled figure walked gingerly across the floor…and pushed the chair casually under the break-room table, where it had resided until Kermit had nabbed it. The figure paused and nodded once in satisfaction. Excellent. The room looked like it always did, with no hint that there was a slowly solidifying frog in the freezer. It was tempting to linger, to savor the moment, but that little red-headed assistant would be back soon, so there was no time to waste. The swaddled figure walked quickly back toward the studio door, slipped through it, and was gone.
Piggy got to the theater early that day, trying to vary her schedule a little. She had gone to the dressing room and was laying out a few things. She needed to decide what to wear when she and Kermit “talked” on awards night, and she wanted to talk to Thoreau first. He had not been up to see her yet—there had apparently been some change in the schedule—but he was still planning a working vacation here in New York, and Howard was still coming with. On impulse, Piggy called him and—to her complete surprise—he answered on the first ring.
“Darling!” he cried. “How are vous! How’s every little thing in the Big Apple?”
Piggy giggled, relaxing just a little. The conversation with Fleet, and the worry over what Moishe had told her, and the worry over who was following her and the worry over Kermit—who was probably working his little green butt off—had taken their toll on her mood and she was glad for a familiar voice on the other end of the line. “Every little thing is larger than life here in New York. Moi thought you were coming to see for yourself!” Implicit in that comment was, “Where the heck are you?” and Thoreau set his phasers to “soothe.”
“I am coming, my goddess. In fact, I am coming Saturday. Or rather—we are coming Saturday.” His voice became abject—as least, as abject as Thoreau’s voice ever got. “I know it’s short notice but you can still get us tickets?”
“Oh! Oh—Thoreau! How wonderful! Of course Moi can get you tickets.” With the shows all sold out, Piggy had simply thrown her comped tickets into the cast’s cache of tickets, counting on the fact that—when her company came, the favor would be returned. “When are you coming?”
“Our plane leaves about six-thirty Friday night,” said Thoreau. “We’ll pull in there at some ungodly hour, but the only thing on the agenda for Saturday is you, sweetie, so we’ll probably sleep in and call when we’re up and presentable.”
“By all means—wait until you’re presentable!” Piggy cried in mock horror, and giggled again when her designer made an indignant little huff. “Call me and I’ll come get you at your hotel, then we’ll go to the theater early. How is that?”
“That is de-lovely,” said Thoreau. “But you didn’t call me to talk about my schedule,” he said at last. “What gives?”
“Actually,” said Piggy. “Moi did call to talk to you about your schedule. Kermit and I are supposed to appear, um, together at the Academy Awards,” Piggy began, but Thoreau interrupted.
“Oh yes—the remote thing,” he said. “With him here and you there.”
“Sadly,” said Piggy, but her tone was matter-of-fact. “I am supposed to be backstage in costume but I am having a hard time deciding what look to go for.”
“Hmmm,” said Thoreau thoughtfully, and Piggy knew he was pulling absently at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve heard about your wardrobe. You’re a regular little hussy on stage, aren’t you?” he teased, and it was Piggy’s turn to huff.
“Moi is still a diva off stage,” Piggy growled, and her friend heard the warning in her voice and got down to brass tacks.
“Okay—so what are you thinking? You’ve got the pedal-pushes, but I’ve heard they’re skin-tight.”
“So are the jeans,” Piggy admitted. “It’s the right look for Rizzo, but not for Moi when she is talking to her frog.” Both of them momentarily imagined Rizzo the Rat in a pair of skin-tight pedal-pushers, then pushed the thought hastily away.
“Is the prom dress awful?”
“It’s not awful,” said Piggy thoughtfully. “It’s a little…streamlined, but not really trashy. Cha Cha’s dress has to be trashier than mine, so it’s actually semi-foufy.”
“A semi-foufy semi-formal?” Thoreau quipped, and they both laughed.
“Um, there’s this one thing I wear but only once—it’s a poodle skirt.”
“Been there, done that better than they do it, I’ll bet.”
“You’d be right. Any inspirations, dear?”
There was a pause, and Piggy heard Thoreau make a disgusted sound. She guessed (correctly) that he’d realized he’d been pulling on the corners of his mouth and desisted. “You know,” said the designer thoughtfully, “I’m thinking maybe the pedal pushers might not be sure a bad thing. It might be useful for you to look like a total tart while you make those ushy-gushy eyes at that frog of yours.”
“Moi does not make—“ Piggy started, then stopped herself. “Okay,” she said, and giggled a little breathlessly. “I do. Is that…will that…work, do you think?”
“Piggy, honey, when you look at him like that he can’t keep his mind on anything else. Tell me that won’t be adorable on national television.”
Piggy thought about it. She thought about the outfit, and the way it hugged her curves, and the way Kermit was likely to look at her when he first saw it, and then saw him going from indignant to mushy right there in front of the cameras. It could work.
“He is very cute when he gets all befuddled,” Piggy said.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” her designer said dryly.
“Said the man dating his own pig,” Piggy shot back, and it was—again—Thoreau’s turn to make a huffy noise.
“Well, just remember that this won’t work if you don’t go all melty when you see him. The audience will have to see it to believe it.”
“They’ll see it,” Piggy almost growled, trying not to grit her teeth.
“I believe it,” said Thoreau. They talked a few minutes more, and Piggy remembered to ask him if Sara had taken him up on her offer. Thoreau’s voice became furtive.
“She did,” he said, trying not to gush (and failing). “That little periwinkle number with the Austrian crystals looks gorgeous on her, and I didn’t have to do a lot too it. She’ll be a knock-out on Skippy’s arm Sunday night.”
“Scooter,” Piggy insisted, but knew he was just yanking her chain. “Scooter will be surprised when she comes out in that,” she said firmly.
“Nice of you to give her your seat.”
“Well, the Academy wouldn’t dare take it back because Moi is presenting, even though it’s not in person. I don’t see why she shouldn’t use the ticket, and there’s no point in going at all if you don’t look fabulous.”
“She’s no you, my darling, but she does look fabulous in that dress.”
“You’re a dear for doing the alterations,” Piggy said, and the wistful tone in her voice told Thoreau she had to hang up soon.
“Already on your bill,” he quipped.
”And you are coming on Friday?”
“I’ll see you Saturday,” he reminded her.
“And you really don’t care about being out of town during the Academy Awards? What if some starlet needs your help finding something for the red carpet?”
Thoreau’s chuckle was rich. “Dearheart—why do you think I’m leaving town?”
Mere moments after the shadowing figure had gone, the badger showed up with the two vegetable lo meins and knocked on the studio door. When no one instantly appeared, the badger sighed, griping loudly, and pulled the door open to yell inside.
“De! Liv! Rie!” he shouted, expecting the frog to come running around the corner like he usually did. No frog. He shouted again. “Hey! I got your lo mein!” he bellowed. “Come and get it.” Nothing happened. No frog. No redhead. No weirdo, either, and no sign of the bear who always told him bad jokes. The badger sighed and had just filled his lungs to holler again when someone came up behind him and he turned.
“Oh, hey,” said the red-headed guy, eyes lighting up at the sight of the food bags. “I guess you need to be paid.”
“You guess right,” the badger grunted. “I called but the frog didn’t come.”
“He’s probably got the earphones on in the editing room,” said Scooter, pulling out his wallet and paying the badger the amount on the receipt stapled to the side of the paper bag. Before the badger could say anything, Scooter held out a five-dollar bill, but when the furry paw reached for it, the guy wouldn’t let go of the other end.
“Did you remember the eggrolls?” Scooter demanded. “And the fortune cookies?”
Grumbling, the badger swung his backpack off his back and consulted a list, then grudgingly added two eggrolls and a handful of fortune cookies. Scooter traded him the five and grinned.
“Thanks,” he said. “You guys make the best eggrolls in town.”
At that, the badger finally grinned. “I’ll give the chef your compliments,” he said, and trundled off.
Happily, breathing in the spicy, gingery smell of the food, Scooter walked toward the editing room but came right back out. Kermit was not in the editing room. Puzzled, Scooter went and knocked on the bathroom door, but Kermit did not answer. Scooter went and looked in the sound booth, now truly bewildered. Perhaps Kermit had stepped out to run an errand—but would he have left the delivery-badger waiting without a note? Scooter decided to call Kermit, who had gotten much better at charging, carrying and answering his phone since Piggy had left, but he couldn’t do that with his arms full of food. He went and sat the bags down on the break room table, then paused. Something about the room seemed off, but he couldn’t quite place it. He fished out his phone and dialed the amphibian he worked for, then heard the phone ringing somewhere. He went to find it and came back, holding Kermit’s phone and looking worried. This wasn’t like Kermit. Kermit was responsible and thoughtful. He left notes and didn’t stand up the delivery people. He had ordered lunch…then what? He wasn’t calling Piggy—here was his phone. Despite the fact that he had programmed—and retrieved—most of the information on Kermit’s phone, Scooter felt vaguely guilty as he checked Kermit’s phone to see if he’d talked to anyone. Nope. Scooter left the kitchen and made a quick circuit of the studio, calling Kermit’s name. No one answered except the echoes. Scooter was beginning to be spooked. He had never thought twice about the cavernous depths of the studio soundstages and he certainly had never worried about what might be lurking in the dark corners. When you worked with monsters, a lot of rather ordinary things didn’t worry you anymore, but he was worried—or at least he was about to be.
Kermit had said he was hungry. At the thought of the food in the white paper bags, Scooter’s mouth began to water. It smelled heavenly, and he was hungry, too. Oh! Of course! That would do it! If Kermit was just somewhere distracted, the smell of the food ought to bring him round. Scooter returned to the kitchen, then stopped in the doorway, put off by that subtle wrongness he had felt before. Something was different about the break room. He counted chairs, looked in the microwave. He even checked on the fridge and in it to see if Kermit had left a note, but there was nothing. Scooter went and opened the bags to set out the food. The smell was tantalizing, but he was no longer hungry. This wasn’t like Kermit—this wasn’t like Kermit at all.
He heard the studio door open and gave a great sigh of relief. Thank goodness! he sighed. But when Fozzie rounded the door Scooter let out a little bleat of dismay. Fozzie looked behind his back self-consciously, hoping he wasn’t the reason Scooter had sounded so disappointed. He took of his hat and twisted it in his hands.
“Um, hi Scooter. I know you are busy and everything, but could I talk to Kermit for a minute?”
“You could if he were here,” Scooter said, and Fozzie looked up, startled.
“But…where is he?” Fozzie asked.
“I wish I knew,” Scooter said. “I went to deliver the film and when I came back he had vanished.”
“How long were you gone?”
“About forty minutes.”
“How long have you been back?”
“About twenty. It’s so strange. I went to deliver the film and he was going to wait on the food. He said he was—oh my gosh! Fozzie! Help me!”
And Scooter was rushing over to the freezer, throwing the lid open and looking down in horror at a very pale, lightly frosted Kermit the Frog.
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It's that Mookie-mookie character! I KNEW he wasn't dead! Er...dead again...
Had to liven this thing up somehow. After all SHE just gave YOU a funny review. This thing is so dull they use it for contrast in Ginsu commercials.
uh ho ! 
DUN DUN DUN 
a frog-sical ah waka waka !!
Vhy not the cream cheese icing instead?