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Indy tilted his hat and leaned away from the curb to take in the front edifice of the theatre. He was right; the Ionic columns were integral to the structure, and the entablatures had been carved in one piece, not attached as an afterthought. They should take his weight without snapping off. Nice old place, this one. They don't build them like they used to.
When Marion's cab pulled up curbside, he hurried to get the door.
"Hey, there," said Marion, and kissed his cheek. "You look…" She eyed his suit, which he'd walked out of the lecture hall wearing. "A little rumpled." She dusted off his shoulder, where he'd brushed against the plaster mouldings on the exterior wainscoting while trying to climb the wall.
"I wanted to check this place out while the light was good," Indy said, his cheek to hers, still vaguely eyeing the columns. "You smell great." She did smell great, and when he took a second look, he saw she was wearing something sleek and glittering.
She took in him taking her in, and raised an eyebrow, suspicious. "What the hell kind of date is this, anyway? No flowers, no chocolates…"
"Date?" said Indy, confused. "This isn't a date. I need someone to take away the ladder once I'm up on the roof."
"What?" said Marion. "The what?"
"The ladder," said Indy. "I can't leave it leaning against the wall. That would be suspicious."
He had everything set up in the alleyway, away from the stage door where a constant stream of performers trucked steadily into the theatre.
Marion edged her way past a man who wore a sousaphone curled over his shoulders. "What kind of show is this, anyway?" She refused to help him carry the ladder.
Indy awkwardly hoisted the ladder above his head while chickens milled by his knees, cackling and warming up their voices. "Some kind of cabaret, I'm guessing." He propped the ladder against the wall, and checked it was secure.
"Indy," said Marion. "Indy. If you're not here for the show, what are you doing?"
Indy pushed a flier into her hand, and she unfolded it. "The Piggy of Urbino?" she said. "Indy, there's a naked pig on this flier."
"It's an homage to a classical…"
"I know Titian, Indy. This is a naked pig." She held the flier up; there was indeed a wide expanse of pink in the image.
"Ignore the pig. Look at the tiara." Indy stabbed at the image. The tiara's central stone was massive, with wide, flat facets. "That's the Empress Mazarin."
Marion held the flier up to the distant streetlight and peered at it, dubious. "How does a naked pig score a stolen diamond?"
"I don't care how she got it." Indy put his foot on the first rung of the ladder. "But that stone belongs in a museum."
Once he was on the roof he signalled for Marion to take the ladder away, which she duly did, folding it with a snap and carrying it down the alleyway.
"Hey, where are you going?" he called after her.
She didn't look back. "To see if I can catch the show," she said.
"But I need that to get down!" he said. He eyed the ground; he could jump, but it was a long way, and his bones weren't getting any younger.
Marion shrugged as best she could with a ladder under her arm, and kept walking. Indy sighed, and started to scale the roof.
Despite what people said about him, and archaeology in general, Indy wasn't really a master burglar. The building was no Fort Knox, though, and he easily found his way in through the roof and into the flies of the theatre. Below him, he could hear the band tuning up, and see the heads of people milling in the wings. He leaned down a little further. No sign of the pig, or the pig's tiara.
"Hey," said a voice, beside him. "How are you tonight?" It was a small man, purple, with a very long nose. He shook a trumpet nervously, as if there was something stuck in the tubing.
Indy nodded, deliberately casual, as if he were meant to be there. "Not too bad," he said. "It's going to be a hell of a show." It looked to be one hell of a something, from the mixed bag of performers. There were a lot of pigs in this show. Still no tiara.
The man's eyes widened. "Oh, you haven't heard? The guest star didn't show. We were supposed to have Hedy Lamarr." He turned the trumpet around and peered into the bell. "I have a bad feeling about this."
Indy patted him on the shoulder. "Stage fright, huh?"
Down on the stage, there was a drumroll. A frog made the introduction, leaning through a window in a painted set piece.
"It's the Muppet Show, with a very special and very mysterious guest star!" He cheered, and waved his arms as the screen lifted him up and the curtains pulled back, to enthusiastic applause and some heckling from the balcony.
"That Kermit, " said the trumpeter. "Nerves of steel. You'd think it would show, but nope, he's a consummate professional." Below them both, the opening number was in full force.
The set piece arrived in the rigging, and Kermit, a frog with a furrowed brow, hurried away backstage. Indy stepped forward to let him pass, then felt his stomach drop as the title set piece descended again, this time with the nervous purple trumpeter and Indy aboard.
"Fortune and love favour the brave," said the trumpeter to himself, and nodded, resolute. The music came to a climax and he brought the horn up to his mouth, stepped up to the window, and drew a deep, deep breath. Indy stuck his fingers in his ears; this was going to be loud.
The trumpet made a hissing noise and ejected a python. Indy shrieked, and leapt away. He realised there was no footing beneath him and fell to the stage with a heavy thud. He breathed rosin and dust from the boards and he closed his eyes. "Snakes," he said to himself. "Why did it have to be snakes?"
The applause was thunderous. He had narrowly missed the frog.
"Who the heck are you?" Kermit said, looking out over the audience and managing to speak while barely moving his mouth.
Indy pulled himself upright, and straightened his hat. "Indiana Jones," he said.
Kermit grabbed his hand and raised it up like a prizefighter in the ring. "And here he is, ladies and gentleman! Our mysterious guest star, Indiana Jones!"
From the balcony came a gruff voice, unimpressed. "Never heard of him!"
Indy held up his hands to block the stage lights. The audience was a sea of faces. One of them was Marion and she put her fingers to her mouth and gave a ripping whistle. The applause rose.
"Exit," said Kermit and led him into the wings. "Hopefully not pursued by a bear. Because Fozzie isn't on until the second act."
A brown woolly dog pushed a piano out onto the stage. "Hey, good intro, Kermit. Nice improv."
"Thanks Rowlf," said Kermit. "Good luck with the waltz."
The dog shrugged. "I'm good; just hope the seafood does okay under those lights."
Backstage, Kermit reached for his mug and took a fortifying sip, before rummaging through the papers on his desk. "So, Indiana Jones. What is it you do?"
Indy stared around him. Backstage was crammed, so much so that people had to inch down the hallway towards the stage. The strains of the Blue Danube drifted in from the wings, where a cluster of shrimp in skating dresses waited for their musical cue. Beside him, the frog waited patiently for an answer.
"I'm an archaeologist," Indy said, finally. "And I teach history."
Kermit looked at him, assessing and somewhat dubious. "Can you sing? Dance? Do any magic tricks?"
"No," said Indy. "I give a mean lecture on Neolithic structures, though. Hey, do you have a props department?" Maybe the tiara was in there. This seemed the kind of setup that would keep a priceless diamond in a cardboard box.
Kermit spread his arms to indicate the piles of junk and over-stuffed shelves. "You're standing in it," he said, half proud and half resigned.
A door flung open on the upper corridor. "Kermie," a voice said sweetly. "Kermie, darling, I thought we discussed this. In lieu of a guest star, you have moi." From a dressing room emerged a pig – the pig, the nude from the flier – but this time she was clad in a white satin wrap and elegantly coiffed.
"I know, Piggy, but someone literally dropped in," said Kermit. "This is Mr Jones. He's an archaeologist!" He sounded suddenly more enthusiastic than he had a moment ago. Enthusiastic and slightly terrified.
"Doctor Jones," said Indy, while he rummaged on a shelf. "Do you have any costume jewellery?"
"And what exactly do you intend to do with it?" said the pig, suddenly all sarcasm and crossed arms. "Describe its historical origin for the audience?" She shook her hair, pleased with her retort, and let the wrap slip alluringly from her shoulders. This revealed the Empress Mazarin diamond hung from her neck on a golden chain.
Indy regarded her. "Maybe," he said. "Seems like the frog was pretty happy to have me stand in." The Blue Danube wound to a conclusion and shrimp in skates pushed past them, followed by scattered applause.
"Excuse me," said Kermit. He slipped out onto the stage with the speed of a man relieved to escape an argument.
"The frog doesn't understand star power," said Piggy. She glared at him. "I think you will find I make a better stand in for Hedy Lamarr than a, a history teacher."
Indy stabbed a finger at her. "History professor," he said. He made a snatch for the diamond.
"Hands off the treasure chest, Professor Nobody!" The pig clobbered him across the head with her arm, and he fell to his knees, dazed. Piggy found her position in the wings as the music swelled, and then she stepped onto the stage, her head held high. Indy shook his head to clear the stars, and staggered out after her.
She was surprisingly difficult to catch, weaving artfully through whirling circles of chickens with large fans. Indy pushed through the geometric patterns to snatch at Piggy's necklace, but the chickens brought their fans together into one quivering shield to hide her. When they dropped it, she was gone, only to appear stage right, twirling in balletic fashion. The crowd cheered. Indy tried again, cutting through the lines of chickens, but Piggy ducked and wove, batting her eyelashes coyly at the audience. The audience ate this cat and mouse game up, cheering for Piggy's every move. When Indy crept up behind her, determined to grab at the necklace, the audience booed.
"Great, now I'm the bad guy," he said.
"You certainly are," Piggy said, without breaking her smile. She glided offstage, and by the time Indy had fought his way through the chicken ballet, she was safely ensconced in her dressing room.
Kermit clapped him on the back. "You know, for an archaeologist, you make a pretty good entertainer," he said.
"Thanks," said Indy, and pushed past him towards the stairs and the dressing rooms. Behind the door with the star on it, he could hear Piggy in low conversation with another woman. He drew closer and pressed his ear to the wood.
"What am I supposed to think? He asks me to meet him at the theatre at seven, there's a show at half past. I mean, it's not unreasonable to assume it's a date, right?" Marion's voice was clear above the clink of glasses.
Piggy made comforting noises. "Oh, sweetie, he's nothing but a low-down, handsy creep. First thing he did backstage was go for the jewels, if you get my meaning."
Indy reached out to push open the door, but a soft purple hand caught his elbow. "I wouldn't," said Gonzo. "Not unless you're into serious pain. In which case," he said, brightly, "Wanna help me with my human cannonball act?"
Gonzo's dressing room was tiny and bare-walled, at the very top of the theatre. He kept his cannon there, improbably crammed into the space he shared with a rat.
"Hey," said the rat, from a beaded hammock strung between two suits of armour. "You the new sidekick?"
Indy edged between a motorcycle and the brick wall, to where other equipment was shelved. "Ah, no, I'm the guest star," he said. He surreptitiously scanned the shelves but it was mostly weapons and munitions.
"Funny, you don't look like Hedy Lamarr," said the rat.
Gonzo shrugged into a gold satin cape, and slipped on elbow length gloves. He picked up a can marked 'PHOSPHOROUS' and shook it. "Rizzo, this will be so much better than Hedy Lamarr. Indy can shoot me through a flaming ring of phosphorescent fire into the audience, where I will have earlier placed a trampoline, and then…"
"Uh," said Indy. "Are you sure that's a great idea?" He hadn't been here very long, but he didn't want in on anything lethal. He could tell Gonzo was a decent guy, just a decent guy with no danger sense. Or luck.
Gonzo wheeled on him, his face alive with the possibilities. "You have something else in mind? I would love to hear! I so rarely have the chance to collaborate on my act."
"Nobody's game to work with Gonzo more than once," said Rizzo. "It takes too long to regrow the eyebrows."
Indy turned in a circle and searched for something that would produce an adequate but safe distraction. His gaze fell on a coil of leather. "What about this?" he said, reaching for the bullwhip. "I'm pretty handy with one of these."
Rizzo snickered to himself in his hammock. "This is going to be awesome."
"Perfect!" said Gonzo. "I'll fetch the cigars!"
On stage the guitars strummed low. Indy straightened his hat and wondered how the chickens were playing those castanets. The stage lights simulated high noon, and the set was the exterior of a cantina. Gonzo had shed his golden cloak, and instead, donned a sequinned bolero and cordoban hat.
He stepped to centre stage with appropriate pomp and made his own introduction. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight, I, Gonzo the Great, shall risk life and limb – and to some extent, lung – as I smoke this cigar while performing the profound and deeply emotional dance form of the flamenco! At the same time, to the right, Indiana Jones, master of the whip, will demonstrate his skill and steady hand with the bullwhip as he nips the flaming stub from my mouth."
Gonzo arched backwards, bringing the cigar in his mouth to the vertical, but unfortunately, the acute angle of his nose meant that there nearly no space between it and the tip of the cigar. "Camilla, please begin!"
One of the chickens, the one in the lace mantilla, stepped forward and opened her beak, crooning a passionate song. Gonzo struck a match and raised it to the cigar in his mouth. He puffed gently, and emitted a cloud of blue, fragrant smoke, then he raised his arms and began to dance.
Indy coiled the whip and eyed the distance between him and Gonzo's cigar. Gonzo swayed hypnotically to and fro to the beat of the music. "Can you stay still? I don't want to take out your eye," Indy hissed at him.
Gonzo stamped his feet rhythmically. "Have a little professionalism, will you? I am trying to invoke the spirit of the dance!" Tiny puffs of smoke escaped from the side of his mouth as he spoke.
Indy sighed and let the whip unspool to the floor. In the wings opposite stood Marion and Piggy, arm in arm, watching the performance. Piggy was incongruously clad in surgical scrubs, and fixed him with a flat stare. That was when the cigar exploded.
Havoc broke loose on the stage, with panicked chickens running in all directions and some small fires on the set. The curtain flew down, and Rizzo and his friends gathered Gonzo up and hefted him onto a hospital gurney. All around Indy, the scene was swiftly and surprisingly competently changed to a hospital set. Rowlf emerged from the wings dressed in a surgeon's mask and cap.
The curtain swung open again, and from above the set, somewhere in the flies, a stentorian voice spoke an introduction. "And now, Veterinarian's Hospital, the continuing story of a quack who's gone to the dogs…"
The bear, Fozzie, pulled at Indy's arm and tugged him off stage, just as the be-masked dog, Rowlf began his sketch.
Indy glanced over his shoulder. Gonzo was unconscious on the table as Rowlf ordered the nurse to put him under. "I don't think that dog is a real doctor," he said to the bear.
"Don't worry!" said Fozzie. "They're not using real anaesthetic!"
Backstage was crowded again, but this time with people crammed in corridors and draped on the bannisters, all listening, rapt.
"But square cut or pear shaped, these rocks won't lose their shape…" Marion stood at the top of the stairs to Piggy's dressing room. She was still in her glittering evening gown, and she sang.
Indy leaned against the wall, and the bear leaned against him. He had never heard Marion sing.
"Hubba hubba," said Fozzie, dreamily clutching his hat. "Heck of an audition. She'll close out the show with a bang." He took Indy's hand in his paw and patted it gently. "Not literally a bang," he said. "Gonzo only gets one act per show."
Indy wriggled his way past everyone to where Kermit stood, watching Marion with starry eyes, and he bent to whisper at the frog. "Marion's doing the finale? Won't Piggy be angry?" Indy had already felt Piggy's wrath and he didn't want to subject Marion to that.
"It was Piggy's idea," said Kermit. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but she may have a teensy grudge against you."
"You think?!" said Indy. That bruise on his temple reminded him; while Piggy was onstage, he had a chance to ransack her dressing room and look for the damn diamond. He pushed himself up and over the balcony while everyone was hypnotised by Marion's song, and slipped into the room with the big gold star on the door.
He stood in a cocoon of pink and satin, coughing in the cloud of French perfume. He pulled at a drawer and, vastly over-packed, it exploded with a frothy mess of lacy underwear. Indy scrabbled it all back together in his arms – he could feel one tickling his ear – but before he could stuff it all back, the door flew open.
"Ahem!" said Piggy in the doorway. Behind her towered Marion, smirking.
Indy froze, his arms full of lacy nothings. "This – this isn't what it looks like," he said.
"Oh?" said Marion. "What is it, then? Archaeologically speaking, of course."
Piggy drew in a deep breath, and Indy winced. Instead of walloping him, though, she pointed at the passageway. "YOU! OUT!"
Indy left, and feeling useless, went to stand with Kermit while on stage, a really angry eagle delivered an address on permissiveness and the lack of wholesome entertainment today. Lacklustre applause followed him off the stage.
"Nice job, Sam," said Kermit, as the eagle carried out his own podium.
The eagle stopped and stared up at Indy in outrage. "Kermit, who is this, this pervert?"
Indy bridled at the ferociousness of his gaze. "You got a problem, buddy?" The last pair of Piggy's knickers slid from his head and fell to the floor between him. Indy ignored them, and bore down on the eagle, who retreated hurriedly to the next floor. From the top of the stairs, where Indy could no longer reach him easily, he stared loftily down at him.
"You are all weirdos," he said, and vanished through a door.
Kermit was already onstage, introducing the final number. "And now, for our grande finale, ladies and gentlemen, we're very lucky to have the beautiful Marion Ravenwood, with Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend! Yaaaaaaay!"
"Well, here goes nothing," said Marion, beside him, in a cloud of perfume. She put her hands on his chest; they trembled a little.
Indy took her hands and looked at her in awe. Her hair was beautifully dressed, her makeup was glamorous, and around her neck, on a chain surely too slender for such a large stone, hung the Empress Mazarin. He grinned at her and she gave him a wink.
"You're amazing," he said, and went in for a kiss.
A trotter with pink painted nails intercepted his mouth. "Uh uh," said Piggy, wriggling between the two of them. "Those lips are a work of art, and you shall not despoil them." She reached up on tiptoes to plant a kiss on Marion's cheek. "There, now. You're beautiful and you are the star of the show. Go and make me proud, chéri."
Epilogue:
Indy had been loitering in the alley for an hour since curtain fall, and he'd seen most of the cast leave for the night. Marion's final number had brought the house down. Even the two cranky old guys in the balcony had wept.
The door swung open, and a bewhiskered old man stuck his head out. "Do we got an Indiana Jones out here?"
Indy was the only person waiting now, but he put his hand up as if there were a huge crowd. "Yeah, I'm Indiana," he said.
"I got a phone call for you, Doctor Jones," said the doorman. He held out a receiver on a really, really long cord.
Indy reached for it, and, remembering the python that had ejected from Gonzo's trumpet, put it tentatively to his ear. "Hello?" he said.
"Hey." It was Marion's voice, low and wicked, and in his mind, he could see her lips curling into that smile. "How'd I do?"
"You know you were fantastic," said Indy. "Couldn't take my eyes off you."
"Couldn't take your eyes off that rock around my neck, you mean."
Indy knew to say the right thing, even if it wasn't what he was thinking about right now. "Even without the diamond, you were the star."
"Bullshit," said Marion. "You want to know if I still have it."
Indy winced, but Marion knew how to wait him out. Eventually he said, "Do you still have it?"
"Yeah, I still have it," she said. There was something a little cruel in her voice. "And I'll give it to you. But I've got some conditions."
"Okay," said Indy, warily. "I'm willing to hear those."
"I want a date – a real date, somewhere nice, somewhere that doesn't just happen to have an archaeological artifact nearby. Something romantic. That doesn't involve punching people." Marion thought about it for a moment. "Unless it's a bar fight."
Indy leaned against the brick wall and peered up towards the small square of light that was probably Piggy's dressing room. "Marion, you've got yourself a deal," he said with a grin.
Coda:
Indy and Marcus stood back to admire the glass case. The case was inch-thick unbreakable glass, lit with four spotlights that made the Empress Mazarin sparkle as bright as the day it had been cut and polished. It sat in the middle of the Geology section, the prize display.
"It's a fantastic addition to the museum, Indiana," said Marcus, with admiration. "I hope that the process of obtaining it was not as arduous as some of your other acquisitions. Oh, I say, did you hear? Apparently, Hedy Lamarr will be here for the unveiling."
Indy flicked a speck of dust from the bright brass plaque on the case, before flicking a blue velvet cloth over the whole thing.
"Hedy Lamarr, hey? Boy, did she miss out on all the fun."
Absolutely the final word on the matter:
At night, the gem case was as brilliantly lit as it was in the day. The silence and stillness in the museum was enough that the first few trickles of dust fell in undisturbed columns from the roof to the top of the display case. Suddenly, a slender length of black silk cord fell from the roof, pooling in coils on the marble floor. A woman clad in tight-fitting black gear rappelled silently from the ceiling, landing with barely a whisper beside the gem case. Through the balaclava, sharp green eyes narrowed. Gloved hands unwrapped a set of lock picks and reached for the complicated lock on the gem case.
"A-hem," said a voice, pointedly, from behind the woman. She spun, lock pick read to use as a weapon. It was a pig, dressed in eveningwear, complete with elbow-length satin gloves.
The pig threw her feather boa over her shoulder in an obvious challenge. "You will find that this diamond belongs to moi."
The woman pulled off her balaclava and brown hair tumbled over her shoulders. Hedy Lamarr stepped towards Piggy with a conciliatory gesture. "It has more use in a laboratory! Think of the scientific advances that could be made! Please, Piggy, I don't want to fight you."
Piggy flexed her arms and shook the hair out of her face. "Sister, you don't stand a chance."
The two women drew apart and then flew into the fight.
When the altercation was complete, and Ms Lamarr had retreated up her rope without her prize, Piggy reached out and polished the golden plaque with her satin-clad elbow. The letters stood out clear and bright.
The Empress Mazarin is on display thanks to the gracious and munificent donation of a benefactor of the museum, who wishes to remain anonymous.
"Gracious," Piggy said, proudly. "Now, that's the sign of a lady."