Wednesday night came and went with the usual friendly anarchy in the theatre, but no News Flash. On Thursday night, the newswire went off, and no sooner had the Newsman dashed onstage with the bulletin when Scooter heard a knock at the backstage door. Opening it, he found the odd young woman with auburn hair standing there meekly, in a simple gray sweater over slim jeans instead of the trenchcoat. "May I come in?" she asked.
"I think so, but lemme check," Scooter replied, and hurried over to Kermit. "Hey, boss? That fan of Newsie's is here. Should I let her in?"
"Oh boy," the frog sighed. "Sure, let her in." When the young lady joined him a moment later, worriedly peeking around the masking drapes onto the stage, he told her, "Gee, it'd sure be nice to see you around without knowing something bad is going to happen to our newscaster!"
Gina blushed. "I'm sorry. I don't make it happen."
"No, I know that. Listen, I've been meaning to ask you: what did you mean last week when you said we were all Muppets? Do you have something against Muppets?" Kermit asked, watching her closely.
"I…no! No, not at all!"
"Well then why –"
Just then a howl and a scream came from onstage. The Newsman barreled past, not seeing either of them, and all but dove downstairs. Hot on his heels bounded an enormous wolf. Gina took a large T-bone steak from a bag, and let out one of the loudest taxicab whistles Kermit had ever heard. The wolf braked, looking back. It saw the steak, and sniffed the air excitedly. "Yeah? You like that? Yeah? Go get it!" Gina shouted, throwing the meat towards the rear exit. The wolf raced after it, banging open the back door as it went; thinking fast, Scooter yanked the door shut and locked the deadbolt.
As the young woman pulled a hankie out of a pocket and wiped her hands dry, Kermit nodded. "Good one. Very nice. Did you know it would be a wolf this time?"
Gina shrugged. "I figured that or a lion, but I wasn't sure."
"So you were saying about Muppets?"
"Oh, I love you guys! You have the best show in town!" Gina assured him; feeling a bit smug, Kermit allowed himself a moment to enjoy that. "No, I don't have anything against you. Or Newsie. Any of you."
"Then why did you run off?" Gina shook her head, looking down, and Kermit waved in the direction the Newsman had fled. "I've heard from several people now that he's been acting very upset lately. He's had stuff drop on him or knock him down or just make fun of him for years, and he's never been irritable before. This is all since you showed up."
"Oh no," Gina said, casting a desperate glance in the direction of the lower stairs. "Oh, no. I should never have said anything. I should never have left that note for him!"
"Note? What note?"
"I have to go," she said, backing away. "I'm really sorry. Thanks again. Bye."
Before anyone could say a word more, she ran to the exit, unlocked it, and went out. Apparently the wolf had vanished as oddly as it had appeared, as Kermit didn't hear any commotion from outside. Shaking his head, he went back to his desk, making sure Rowlf was onstage with his piano in the right spot for his lighting.
In the broom closet, the Newsman huddled behind the mop bucket and listened, certain at any second the wolf would be ripping the door off its hinges. He stayed there, not daring to check even though he heard the usual bustle and conversation in the green room. For all he knew, the creature was having a cup of java while it waited him out. Eventually, Beau came in and promised him he saw three pigs, but no wolf.
Coming upstairs cautiously, he encountered Scooter. "Oh, your friend was here," the boy told him brightly. "She pulled a neat trick with that wolf."
"She was here? Where is she now?"
Scooter shrugged. "Don't know. She left pretty fast. Hey, at least it didn't eat you, right?"
The Newsman nodded as Scooter brushed past on whatever errand he pursued. She'd left again? Why was she doing that, when she no longer had to sneak around? She must really dislike Muppets, he thought, depressed. He went to find Kermit. The frog was ushering Fozzie onstage for his routine, but as soon as he turned back to his desk, the Newsman approached. "Kermit? I need to talk to you."
"Uh, sure, Newsman, what is it? Hey, you missed your secret admirer…although I guess she's not a secret anymore."
"Kermit, I think she…I think she's anti-Muppet." It pained him to make such an accusation; he'd always hated prejudice of any kind, avidly following the Civil Rights movement years ago. As a person of differently-colored skin, he'd wanted to join the march on Selma, but at the time he was still living at home, and his mother wouldn't allow it.
Kermit shook his head. "No, I asked her about that. She said she loves Muppets. She said we're the best show in town." The frog preened.
Discomfited, the Newsman asked, "She said that? She doesn't have negative feelings towards us?"
"No, no; she said she doesn't, and I think she was telling the truth."
"Then why…then…" The obvious answer struck him. "So…it's just me she can't stand." He felt as though something else had fallen on him.
"Why do you think she can't stand you? She shows up whenever you get hurt because she's worried about you," Kermit pointed out, frowning. Fozzie was getting some loud boos; distractedly Kermit looked out to see if he should end the act early before the bear was pelted with canned tomatoes again.
"She runs. Now that I know who she is, she runs!" the Newsman said, growing more depressed by the moment.
Kermit sighed. "Look, Newsman…look, give me a minute, okay?" He signaled for the band to play Fozzie's trademark flourish and for the curtains to close, and hurried in front of them to announce the closing number. The Newsman waited, his mind filled with dark thoughts, frowning at Fozzie when the bear clapped him on the shoulder.
"Aaaah, I knock 'em dead every time! Every time!...Don't I?" The bear gave him a beseeching look, but the Newsman was in no mood to be supportive, and shrugged his paw off. Dispirited, Fozzie trudged away. As pigs in tutus hurried onstage and the band struck up a delicate Renaissance tune, Kermit returned, shaking his head in resignation, sure the entire number would shortly become something far from ballet. He seemed to have forgotten about the Newsman.
The unhappy journalist was about to simply leave when a thought occurred to him, and he tapped Kermit's shoulder to get his attention. "Kermit, if she comes back…tell her I don't need anything."
"What?" Confused, Kermit frowned at him.
Speaking low and clearly, the Newsman repeated, "Tell her I don't need anything. I don't want any of her pity. Tell her she's not obligated to try to help me. I don't want it."
"Uh, okay, if you say so," the frog agreed.
Grimly satisfied, the Newsman went downstairs to gather up his coat. The evening had turned chilly. Bundling up in the russet overcoat the same shade as his hair, he didn't bother saying good night to anyone, and was the first out the back door.
Unfortunately, the wolf was waiting for him.
The Newsman had been staring at the same cold cup of coffee for almost an hour, sitting in the green room away from everyone else, his left shoulder and right leg dully aching from last night's fight with the wolf. It hadn't eaten him, but it had beaten him around pretty strongly, and he knew it was lucky he lived close by or he'd never have managed to outrun and escape it. At least it hadn't returned tonight. He'd eaten something microwavable and shown up at the theatre early with a bitter cup of coffee from the corner convenience store, sat down, and stayed there. He tried very hard to keep his mind empty, simply listening passively to the chatter around him as other performers came and went. Nothing broke through his silent mood until he heard Scooter shouting his name.
He rose and went upstairs, trying to at least pretend some enthusiasm for his job. Reminding himself that as a journalist he had an obligation to report the news, he took the News Flash bulletin from Scooter and forced himself to run onstage with it as if it were something truly important instead of the usual absurdity. "And now a Muppet News Flash… The ShadyCo Telephone Company today recalled two thousand of its model 2200-M telephones. Industry reports claim the telephones have been seen suddenly becoming animate and devouring everything in their immediate vicinity." He scowled at his notes; honestly, who could believe this kind of trash? "Luckily, says the company, most of the affected phones were still in the factory; only one unit was listed as already having been sold, so the threat to the public is extremely minimal." Suddenly he realized something was eating his notes; looking up, he discovered the red telephone on his desk hungrily chewing up the paper. Startled, he let go of the paper, and the phone tossed it aside, snarling at him with enormous spiky teeth. It lunged at him; he shoved the mic in front of it, and with a growl it quickly chewed that and threw aside the remains. "Uh…anyone? Is this thing still under warranty? Aaaagh!" The Newsman fled when the phone leaped at him, its cord trailing after like a stringy tail.
It caught him backstage, gnawing on his right shoe. Screaming, he kicked it off, but it pounced again, dragging him to the floor. Everyone scattered, leaving him to fight it off alone. He spotted a broken stage flat nearby, grabbed it and began beating the phone over the receiver with a board that ripped off the flat. Snarling loudly, the phone kept coming, dodging another hit and clamping its teeth around his right arm. The Newsman screamed in fear and pain, trying to pry loose its mouth.
"I'll help you, Newsie!" Beauregard yelled, rushing over. He aimed a fire extinguisher at the phone, and with a sudden foosh there was white dust shooting all over the phone and the Newsman both. The Newsman coughed, trying to shake the phone loose; it groaned and slowly dropped off his arm. Covered in smoky, swirling dust, shaking and unable to see with the stuff making his eyes tear up, the Newsman crawled to the newel post of the dressing-room stairs and hauled himself to his feet. He looked back at the phone, which shuddered, rolled over, and dropped its receiver to the floor. When it didn't move again, the Newsman looked at Beau.
"A…a fire extinguisher?"
"Well, I figured it was a hot line," Beau explained.
That made as much sense as anything else around here. Shaken, his hair mussed and dusted and clothes ripped, the Newsman slowly went down to his dressing-room. No one looked twice at him. He closed the door for some privacy, sank to the floor, and leaned against a shelf of scrub brushes, panting. He didn't know whether Gina hadn't come, or whether Kermit had told her to go. No one had said anything about it, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know which was the case. It didn't matter, did it? He didn't need her pity. He sat there, nerves jangled, his arm hurting badly where the thing had tried to chew him up. He lowered his head to the shelf, breathing in the faint smell of wood oil soap, his eyes stinging.
He didn't need anyone's pity.
