Chapter 12: The Luck of the Amphibious
Kermit flexed his shoulder gingerly, knowing it would be sore tomorrow, and submitted with good grace to being examined. Robin had already received a thorough once-over by the Hensonville practitioners and been declared sound (and infused with lime gelatin). Other than a sore shoulder, where he had taken the brunt of Robin’s weight as the little projectile had hurtled into his arms, Kermit received the same diagnosis. This clean (if somewhat sticky) bill of health prompted a surge of concerned friends and townsfolk to converge upon him and want to hug and congratulate him.
Kermit was always happiest surrounded by his friends, but he did not always try to be the center of attention. Finding himself so was frequently uncomfortable, and Kermit blushed and stammered his way through many compliments and charges of incredible bravery.
“No, really,” he was saying for the umpteenth time. “It was nothing. If it hadn’t been for Blackstone—“ He craned around, worried that his valiant sidekick was being overlooked, but he found instead that the oddly-coiffed show horse was completely surrounded my admirers and fans, none the least of which was a rather pretty little brown filly. Kermit found himself grinning, and only turned back toward the crowd surrounding him and Robin when someone grabbed his shoulder (the sore one), turned him around, and kissed him with great fervor. Kermit didn’t even see who his partner in oscillation was, but he didn’t need to see to know these lips. He allowed Piggy to kiss him until he needed air, then took her gently by the shoulders and set her back from him.
“Oh, Kermie—I was sooo worried. When Robin’s diving board started to fall—“
“He’s fine,” Kermit said firmly. “And I’m fine.” And you look pretty fine yourself, he thought happily, but he said nothing. He did manage to flex his sore shoulder in an open ploy for sympathy and Piggy rose to the bait admirably, watching him flex his muscles a little and making cooing noises of concern.
“Are you—are you really okay, Mon Capitan?”
Kermit tried to look solemn and rolled his shoulder. The solemnity was entirely faked, but the wince was not. “I’ll be fine in a few days,” he managed, milking it with as much dignity as he could summon. After what she’d put him through today, he felt due a little tender loving concern. “Maybe you could bring me a limeade?” He was pushing his luck, he knew, but Piggy nodded at once.
“Of course,” she said, bobbing her bright curls. “Oh, Kermie, if anything had happened to you I don’t know what I would have—“
The lovely moment was broken—as so many lovely moments were—by the arrival of Gonzo, who appeared panting and out of breath.
“Omigosh,” Gonzo said, gasping. “That was AMAZING! You HAVE to do that for the next festival!” He insinuated himself between the pig and her frog and Piggy made a snort of disgust and backed away in search of that limeade.
Kermit and Robin looked at each other, then shook their heads and made identical noises of negation. “Uh huh,” they both said. “Not a chance.”
“But it was FANTASTIC!” Gonzo said. “Robin—you HAVE to tell me how you got the barrels to fall like that.”
Robin and Kermit exchanged another look, then Kermit gave a little shrug, leaving it up to his nephew.
“Why don’t you buy me a cream soda while I tell you?” Robin asked, his bright eyes wide and guileless.
“Sure! Anything!” said Gonzo, steering him away. Kermit watched them go, and caught Robin improvising, “Um, well, I didn’t know they would all fall at the same time….” as they moved off. He smiled and shook his head, just as he felt someone nudge his not-as-sore arm. Kermit the Frog turned to find Blackstone the show horse standing just behind him, and he turned at once and converted the nudge into a full-fledged hug.
“Oh, gee, Blackstone,” Kermit said, patting the proud neck. “I don’t know what I would have done without you today.”
Blackstone pawed the ground, but the little brown mare that Kermit had seen before stepped forward.
“Wasn’t he just marvelous?” she asked. “Oh, and you were so brave, too, Mr., um….” She stopped abruptly, as if just realizing that they had not been properly introduced. She faltered, suddenly shy, and Blackstone rose to the occasion.
“Marabelle, this is Kermit—Kermit the Frog. Kermit, this is, um, Marabelle,” Blackstone said, and it was obvious from the delighted and not-especially-subtle looks that he kept throwing her that this was the aforementioned love of his life.
“The, um, friend you mentioned,” Kermit said. Blackstone’s eyes went wide with terror, but he calmed down immediately as Kermit added. “The one who might want to audition for me?”
Marabelle and Blackstone exchanged uncertain looks, but she was obviously pleased to have been the topic of previous conversation.
“Well,” she said prettily, “I would love to, but my Father—“
“Would be delighted to bring her ‘round to audition for you, Mr. the Frog,” said a deep baritone voice. Kermit turned to find himself staring at the tufty foreleg of an enormous draft horse, and craned his neck to look up.
“Oh—um, how nice,” Kermit faltered, but he managed to put on his company manners and stepped forward. “That would be super—we’re always looking for talent, Mr., um--”
Marabelle hastened forward. “Daddy, I’m sure you know Mr. the Frog. Mr. the Frog—this is my father, Able Whitlock.”
Kermit wasn’t sure about shaking that huge hoof—especially with his sore shoulder—but in the end he and the big horse exchanged grave nods. “Kermit,” the amphibian said earnestly. “Everybody just calls me Kermit.”
“Oh, Mon Capitan!” Piggy called, coming through the crowd and pulling up short at the sight of so many equine personages standing around her small green frog.
“Except Miss Piggy,” he quipped. He took the limeade and reached for her gloved hand to pull her forward and make introductions. After a few minutes of pleasant conversation, Able gave a dignified snort and excused himself.
“Work starts early at the dairy,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “I think it’s time for me to cut out.” He turned and looked at Blackstone, who managed to keep his four knees from knocking. “Young man,” he rumbled. “Do you think you could make sure that Marabelle finds her way home safely after the festivities close down?”
Blackstone stepped forward, eyes blazing with pride. “Yes, sir,” he said smartly. “I’ll see her home.”
The two couples watched him amble serenely away. Finally, Blackstone cleared his throat.
“Say, Marabelle,” he said. “Would you like to go find a couple of oatmeal pancakes? I hear they’re pretty good.” Marabelle whinnied and the two horses walked off, shoulders touching amiably.
Kermit turned to Piggy and smiled. She smiled back and put her hands in his.
“Piggy,” he said. “Why don’t we—“
“Yes?” Her voice was breathless.
Fate had already been benevolent once, but was determinedly looking in the opposite direction now.
“Kermit!” said a hearty voice. “Kermit, my dear frog. What a wonderful day this turned out to be for Hensonville! Splendid job, splendid job, Kermit.”
Kermit was used to being interrupted, so he sighed, gave Piggy a lop-sided smile and turned.
“Thank you, Mayor,” Kermit said, and almost cried out as his arm was pumped vigorously. He disentangled his little froggy fingers as hastily as he could, assuming that the little drama with the gelatin barrels had not been widely known. Just as well, he thought firmly. No need to alarm folks, and next year he’d keep a better eye on Gonzo’s attraction. Kermit caught himself up short. Next year? Where had THAT come from? He was still somewhat staggered by the thought, which made him slow on the social niceties. Belatedly, he realized that Piggy was still waiting for him to either include her in the conversation or conclude his business with the mayor and turn his attention back to her. He turned to perform the civilities.
“You remember Miss Piggy,” Kermit said formally, but the mayor was almost ahead of him.
“Of course, of course. Nice to see you again, Miss Piggy,” the mayor boomed. He appeared to enjoy the view more than Kermit liked. “So nice of you to do your part today,” the man said dryly.
Piggy lowered her big blue eyes and murmured “thank you,” but Kermit had the feeling that this was not the first time they had seen each other today. He got between them determinedly.
“Yes,” said Kermit, a little coolly. “Everyone worked very hard to make the day a success—especially the Frog Scouts.”
“Yes—wonderful fellows, the Frog Scouts. Quite a turnout—quite a turnout,” the Mayor said jovially. “We’re really going to benefit from the energy savings, and all the money raised was very welcome.” He tipped his hat to Miss Piggy and Kermit almost swore he winked.
“I’ll pass along your compliments to Scooter and the rest of the gang,” Kermit persisted, and the mayor tore his eyes away from Piggy and blinked.
“Who?” he asked, then recovered. “Oh, yes! The young Mr. Grosse. Wonderful organizational abilities. He ought to be a politician.”
Or not, Kermit thought darkly, but he didn’t say it. He was, after all, an affable frog. “Well, it was great of you to stop by and I’m really glad the day turned out so well for everyone,” Kermit said, “but I know you must have a million details to attend to.” He hesitated, then plunged ahead. “Let me know when you’re ready to talk about next year, alright? I’ve got some ideas.”
“Capitol,” said the mayor joyfully. He looked at Miss Piggy hopefully. “And can we expect your…um, cooperation next year as well, Miss Piggy?”
Piggy cut her eyes nervously at Kermit, then opened her mouth to respond.
“We haven’t discussed Miss Piggy’s appearance at next year’s event,” Kermit said smoothly. “And we’ll have to talk terms with her agent.” And her frog, Kermit added mentally.
“Oh,” said the mayor, looking surprised. “Of course.”
“But it was really very nice of you to stop by,” said Kermit, taking the mayor’s elbow and steering him back into the crowd. “I’ll have my people call your people,” he added wickedly, and then the mayor was gone.
Kermit swung around to look at Piggy, who was biting her lip and very determinedly not looking at Kermit.
“Now,” said Kermit blankly. “Where were we?”
“You were saying, ‘Why don’t we—‘” Her cheeks were flushed and Kermit suddenly remembered what it was he had been about to say.
“Yeah,” he said. “Why don’t we—“
Something collided with his shin. Kermit winced and looked down.
“—best party ever,” said Rizzo. “Oh—hey Kermit! Hey Miss Piggy!”
The little rat had an enormous blue ribbon pinned on his chest and he was munching what looked like an enormous tamale. Following in Rizzo’s wake were an assortment of rats and a somewhat bedraggled Beauregard. They all bore the evidence of pie-eating and merry-making, and Beauregard had some sort of second-place ribbon pinned to his chest. Kermit squinted at it, amused to see that it was for knocking the most milk-bottles down. Beauregard would be a natural at knocking things down, he thought dryly. It took several minutes of exchanged small talk and congratulations for the rodents and the janitor to be on their way.
Kermit turned to Piggy urgently, grasping her hands, but this time he didn’t even manage to get any words out. They were interrupted by the arrival of Sam the Eagle, still looking quite fetching in his mop-cap and pantaloons, and a small horde of happy children. If Kermit had had ears they would have hurt by the time the surprisingly motherly eagle and the chattering passel of children (all talking at the same time) moved on toward Storyteller’s Point where parents would undoubtedly be waiting to collect the little darlings.
After Sam and the children came Wayne and Wanda, who seemed to want to talk at great length about how terrible they felt about what had happened to the newsman.
“And who even knew it was a toupee?” Wayne was saying in an anguished tone. Kermit calmed them—at least as much as anyone ever could—and sent them morosely on their way. Fozzie came by, trying to bum spirit glue, and Piggy dug in her purse for a bit and handed him a tube without comment.
“What do ladies use that for?” Kermit asked, overcome with curiosity despite his annoyance at being so continuously interrupted.
“False eyelashes,” Piggy said at once, and then her own blue eyes with the thick dark lashes widened cautiously. “At least,” she said hastily, “ladies who wear false eyelashes use it.”
Kermit’s mouth twitched a little at the corner but he said nothing.
“Not that I ever have,” Piggy continued doggedly, looking pouty and defiant.
“Of course not,” Kermit murmured, putting her back at her ease. “You’re definitely a one-hundred-percent natural beauty.”
Piggy’s eyes narrowed and she could not tell if she was being teased or not. Kermit’s expression was guileless, but then—so had hers been in the days leading up to this fair. She decided to take it at face value and did not rise to the bait.
Rowlf came by arm in arm with the Swedish chef and they were singing something vaguely Nordic at the top of their lungs. Kermit suspected it had something to do with the frosty mug he’d seen earlier in Rowlf’s hands.
Camilla and Gonzo came by next. Camilla had retained all her feathers and her good humor despite a hard day being Chef’s assistant. Kermit wondered absently if there was a neon sign pointing out his position in the dusk-gathering evening, but when Gonzo and his chicken took their leave, he waited a couple of beats for the next interruption.
Nothing happened. He waited a minute more, but it was just him, and Piggy, and the rising moon. Kermit turned to find her regarding him with some bemusement.
“What I started to say—“ Kermit began.
“Uncle Kermit—can we go home now?”
Kermit looked down into the eyes that this morning had been wide, wide awake. Now, his nephew looked pleased and rather sleepy. He found Robin’s hand slipping into his and Kermit squeezed that little hand in return.
“Sure, Robin,” he said. “Just let me tell Piggy—“
But Piggy was bussing him gently and regretfully on the cheek.
“I’ll see you at home, Kermie,” she said softly. “I’m going to try to catch a ride with Wayne and Wanda.”
Kermit watched her go, equal parts disappointed and perhaps relieved. He thought about what he had wanted to say and wondered if he would have really said it, but it was too close to call. He shook his head at his own folly and looked down at his nephew.
“So you’re ready to go back to the Boarding House?” Kermit said. “I think we might have missed the shuttle.”
Robin looked up hopefully. “Do you think Mr. Blackstone might give us a ride back home?” He gave Kermit a pretty fair imitation of his uncle’s lop-sided smile. “I’m—I’m kind of tired.”
“We can sure ask,” Kermit said gently. Sore shoulder or not, he scooped Robin up and slung him casually over one hip and around his back until the young frog scout was riding along hanging off his uncle’s back like a baby possum. When soft snores began to emerge from a place somewhere between Kermit’s shoulder blades, Kermit turned away with Robin still snoozing on his back. He would walk. It was a lovely evening and he would simply walk the dusky streets back to his home with the sweet weight of Robin’s form slumped against his back. He’s not heavy, Kermit thought with some amusement. He’s my nephew. They made their quiet, pleasant and altogether uneventful way back up the long dark streets of Hensonville until Kermit himself stopped underneath the front porch light. Before he could debate the logistics of trying to open the door with his foot or ring the doorbell with his elbow, the door opened soundlessly to reveal Piggy, holding the door and shushing anyone in the house who was loud enough to wake one tired and snoring little frog. The room quieted, and Kermit ascended the stairs with his precious burden. In a moment, Robin lay sprawled on his very own bed. Kermit unfastened and tugged away the Frog Scout uniform which—rinsed or no, still smelled faintly of lime jello. Kermit loosened the neckerchief and took off his nephew’s hat, setting them both on a chair. He bent down and kissed that smooth, unlined forehead, blessing his good fortune and the happy intervention of trusted friends both old and new.
He closed the door quietly behind him, and found Piggy waiting for him. Before he could think of anything to say, Piggy had put a finger to her lips and, taking his hand, drawn him out onto the little balcony on the second floor, closing the door behind her. She started to speak, but nothing came out, and Kermit realized with great satisfaction that she was blushing and looking uncomfortable. It would have been easy to step forward and take her gently in his arms, proving conclusively that he was no longer mad, but it was more fun to watch and see her wrestle through it on her own. Kermit crossed his arms across his chest, looking stern but feeling incredibly, blissfully smug.
Piggy sneaked a peak at his face, and his lack of an open scowl made her visibly relax.
“Kermie,” she said softly. “I thought vous were very brave today.”
“Gee, thanks Piggy,” he said. He could have said more. He did not. He waited, watching her with some amusement.
“And I’m so glad that Robin is safe.”
“Me, too,” Kermit agreed fervently. “I—it was pretty scary there for a few moments.”
“And I like your new friend, Blackstone. He seems very nice.”
“Yes. He is.”
Piggy obviously had something more to say, but she appeared to become unwilling to say it. “Well, that’s—I, um, goodnight, Kermit,” she finished abruptly. She started for the door, but as soon as she’d opened it, Kermit’s hand shut it again. Piggy turned to look at him in surprise, and this time he did, indeed, take her gently into his arms and kiss her. He felt her swoon just a little, and there was enormous satisfaction in knowing that she had been kissing fellows all day long—and had not swooned--not once.
“Oh, Kermie—“ Piggy began, her blue eyes enormous in the moonlight. “About the booth. I didn’t mean—“
Kermit shushed her. “It’s okay,” he said.
Piggy looked at him hopefully. “Really?”
“Yeah. Sure. I—you were doing your part. I shouldn’t have made such a stink.”
It was as close to an apology as Kermit was likely to come, and Piggy wasn’t inclined to look a benevolent frog in the, um, mouth. She leaned forward suddenly and covered that mouth with hers, making this hasty kiss count for all of its shortness.
Kermit now looked a little discombobulated, but very pleased. Piggy straightened up, brushing her silky hair back from her face and reaching for the door.
“Piggy—“ Kermit began, but she was already sailing past him.
“Don’t worry,” she said archly. “That one’s on the house.”
When he was finally alone with his thoughts and the night, Kermit shook his head and smiled. His shoulder felt like it had been wrenched out of its socket and snapped back on a rubber band, but he could not shake the feel of Robin’s head tucked into the hollow of his collarbone, trusting his uncle to make everything all right. Grunting a little, he lifted that sore arm to touch his froggy lips where Piggy had just kissed him, and that made him smile too. He was tired—he was exhausted—he was pleased. It had been a long, long day, full of unexpected twists, but in the end, it had been a good one. Especially in the end. The town had lots of money to meet the ambitious (and amphibious) goals set forth, Robin and his Frog Scouts had won an award and Piggy had kissed him. It had been a pretty good day in the life of this frog. Some days, it’s not easy being green, Kermit thought as he made is way back to his room. But today—today wasn’t one of them.
Finite
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