Chapter Text
“Porky!”
As he had promised over a breathless telephone call, Porky stumbled off the aluminum bus and into the crowd swarming the depot. The bags pillowing his eyes were heavier than the bags he juggled in his hands, whose clumsy situating prompted him to stumble uneasily over his hooves. Maintaining his balance was a struggle.
With a pang of amusement, Petunia knew right away that he was wearing his Sunday best. It wasn’t glamorous by any means: a tan pea coat and gray fedora, a green bow-tie poking out from his coat. Yet, considering she was so accustomed to seeing him only in a dusty pair of overalls, she could only imagine the histrionics he went through trying to dress “Hollywood style”.
Regardless, he seemed rough around the edges, jerking his head around and scanning for Petunia in the crowd with tired eyes. His clothes were wrinkled and slightly dirty, and the contents of his suitcases were beginning to spill out from its slightly open cracks. Odd for such a neat fellow as himself.
“Porky!” Petunia called for him again, waving her hand. “Here I am!”
After a moment, Porky finally settled an unsteady gaze on the source of the shouts. Instead of greeting her with a smile, he languished with relief, his eyes rolling up and his shoulders sagging before shoving his way through his fellow departees on the bus.
Petunia threw her arms around her companion. She was met with a handful of awkward, strained pats on the back; Porky was never much of a hugger.
Bigger issues seemed to linger on his mind. Almost immediately, he thrust himself away from Petunia, placing his hands on her shoulders. He still clung to his luggage as he did so, causing the suitcases to nearly wallop her in the face.
His eyes were wild and his breath shallow as he sputtered “Eh-wee-eh-weeah-eh-where’s the feh-eh-fi-eh-fir-eh-fire!?”
“Look at you!” Porky couldn’t understand Petunia’s jovial expression, the rouge on her cheeks matching her lips. Her voice squeaked with bubbly energy, energy that left Porky bedridden for nearly a week every time she paid a visit—too much excitement for him to handle. “You look as though you’ve run a marathon!”
“Eh-wee-eh-weh-weh-what’s the emer-eh-meh-mee-eh-meh-emergeh-eh-geh—emer…”
Porky’s stuttering was more profuse than usual as he contorted his face into a scowl, wrangling to spit the words out. His hands, and consequently the leather baggage handles he lugged, dug deeper into Petunia’s shoulder blades as he wound himself into a frenzy.
Finally, getting nowhere fast, he spat “A-are eh-yeh-yee-eh-you al-ull-alright??”
Flightiness was no stranger to Petunia Pig—no relation to Porky, but a close family friend—yet even still, Porky couldn’t help but feel bewildered at Petunia’s calm and almost confused expression. She blinked at him.
“Why, I’ve never been better! What’s gotten into you?”
A squeaky, huffy laugh of utter confusion and helplessness as Porky allowed his arms to drop to his sides, the corners of his mouth twitching.
Now, his voice squeaked and cracked and pinched as he worked himself into a tizzy, dropping his baggage on his feet to scramble and wave his arms around like a madman.
“Eh-the-eh-the-eh-the emerg-eh-geh-eh-jeh-jee-eh-jeh-eh-meh—crisis! You-you-eh-you said to eh-ceh-eh-come ree-reeah-eh-right away on dire beh-bee-beez-eh-beh-business!”
A shy smile spread on Petunia’s face as her blush reddened, averting her gaze. Porky knew that gaze well. It never meant anything good.
“Oh, Porky,” Petunia cooed, grabbing him by the face and pinching his cheeks. He grunted audibly, squeezing his eyes shut and scowling as Petunia only tried to rile him up more. She grinned at the way his cheeks burnt beneath her grip. “You never would have come if I told you the real reason! You’ll thank me later!”
Weaseling himself out of Petunia’s grip, Porky tossed his head back and threw his hands in the air. “Leh-leh-leh-land sakes alive!” He sounded as though he could cry. “Eh-deh-deeah-eh-deh-d’you have eh-eh-any idea what I eh-peh-peeah-eh-put-put myself through eh-teh-treeah-eh-tryin’ t’ get here? I-I-I abee-eh-beh-about killed myself jeh-eh-just to get onto that bus!”
Picking up Porky’s luggage, which nearly dislocated her shoulder due to its hefty weight, Petunia motioned for Porky to walk alongside her and out of the depot. It was past midnight; Porky had told her over the phone that the midnight bus was the only bus he could catch if he wanted to see her at all. She hadn’t minded, of course, and was eager to catch up with her company. Even in the midst of Porky’s breathless ranting and raving now, with his exhausted face rubs and interjections of moans and groans, her chest fizzed with excitement.
“Eh-ceh-eh-car broke down in Colo-eh-ceh-ceeah-eh-Colorado… heh-eh-had to bum reh-re-eh-rides from strangers… I-I-I had to eh-seeah-eh-speh-eh-spend the-the-the-the night in a-a cabin with a rat infeh-infesta-in-eh-feh-feeah—a swarm! Rats, eh-Petunia! Unsanitary little reh-re-eh-rodents nibblin’ at my ears! Hi-eh-heh-hitchhiking… walking… heh-had to work a day in a-a-a leh-leeah-eh-leh-lumberyard just so I could geh-eh-geh-get somethin’ t’ eat… I-I-I still eh-have beh-beeah-bli-eh-bliste-eh-beh-blisters on my hands!”
In the midst of his frenzy, Porky halted and shot Petunia a look, scanning her up and down with a quizzical stare, cocking his eyebrow and pouting his lip.
“I eh-sheh-sheeah-shuh-shoulda known somethin’ was up eh-wheh-eh-when you still answered my ceh-ceeah-eh-ceh-calls,” he moaned bitterly at last. “Huh! Some creh-cree-crisis! I haven’t sleeah-eh-seeah-seh-eh-slept in days!”
“We’ll fix you up when we get to my place,” Petunia reassured him, patting his back. “It’s a short walk.”
“A-a short eh-weh-walk,” Porky repeated with a grunt. “I-I-I’m tired of walking! Eh-heh-honest, Petunia, I-I thought eh-seeah-eh-seh-somethin’ terrible eh-happened…”
“You worry too much,” scolded Petunia. Porky gave another squeaky chuckle of bewilderment as he shook his head.
The cold night air did little to alleviate his nerves, as did the hustle and bustle of the city streets around him. Even at midnight, plenty of car horns blared and honked, headlights interrogated unwilling passerbys, footsteps clomped on the streets and chatter was abundant. Though the quietude of country life could get a little too suffocating at times, Porky desperately longed for the stench of his chickens and the bellows of his cows.
“Eh-neh-nee-eh-neh-eh-no c-car,” he mumbled to himself, staring at the sidewalk, sidestepping bits of trash. “No meh-mee-eh-meh-meh-money. I-I-I haven’t got a peh-eh-pehhh-peh-penny to my name! Ov-eh-eh-over a thee-eh-theh-thousand miles from home.”
He gnashed his teeth and shot a glare at the traffic whizzing past him. “It’s so neh-nois-eh-neeah-eh-noisy here! Weh-why is it seh-seeah-so noisy? Huh! Eh-neh-eh-noisy. I-I don’t leh-eh-like it.”
To add insult to injury, Petunia began to laugh. Porky snapped his head up from the ground and scowled at her, his giant cheeks reddening like apples. Just as he opened his mouth to tear into her, Petunia shook her head at him.
“In all my years of knowing you,” she giggled, waving her hand, “I’ve never heard you speak this much in your life!”
Indeed, on her impromptu visits to the farm, Porky always found himself a convenient excuse to avoid her presence. “Eh-geh-geh-gotta meh-me-eh-mehimilk the ceh-cows,” he’d say. “Eh-geeah-eh-gotta gather ay-ay-eh-eggs.” “Feh-fee-eh-feeah-eh-feh-fields need eh-pleh-plowing.” “I-I eh-neh-need to fix deh-di-din-eh-din-dinn--eh-supper.” “I have a-a eh-heh-eh-headache.”
Now, he had no such means of escape, and both of them knew it. To see such the awkward, bumbling, shy Porky ranting up a storm, waving his arms around and rubbing his face, it was a sight to behold.
“I eh-jeh-jee-eh-eh-just wanna know weh-wee-weh-why you dragged me ou-out here,” Porky moaned at last. “Haven’t eaten, eh-heh-eh-hav-eh-haven’t slept, neh-nee-eh-no shower…”
He seemed to be calming down, as his tone was less ferocious but much more pathetic and exhausted. All he did was stare at his feet instead of taking in the sights around him. Petunia thought for sure that he’d spend days rambling about the city life. She wasn’t sure that he knew where he even was.
“Home’s just around the block,” She hummed, lifting Porky’s chin up. He made another angry grunting noise, staring straight ahead with tired eyes, which in turn caused her to giggle some more. “We can talk about it over a pot of coffee.”
They turned a corner, which branched into a more suburban, less clustered area of the town. Despite being late autumn, palm trees and other shrubbery dotted lines of bungalows in full bloom. Porky found the sight of the palm trees unnerving, a reminder of how far from home he was.
“It really could count as an emergency, you know,” Petunia piqued up nonchalantly. Porky jerked his head to look at her, drooping eyelids rising as he grew more alert. “Your life will change!”
Porky’s stomach churned at whatever she was planning. Spunk and vitality were rife in her delivery and mannerisms, so she obviously didn’t seem to be injured or hurt. That was a sliver of comfort that Porky opted to appreciate at another time when his head wasn’t spinning.
“Eh-mee-eh-meh-eh-my life’s cheh-chee-eh-chehh-eh-cheg-changed enough eh-the-eh-thi-eh-this past week,” he grumbled dejectedly. “Sheh-shoulda known you eh-we-eh-were gettin’ one of your ceh-cree-ceh-eh-ceh-cre-ehh-cehh-crazy ideas again.”
“You’ll thank me later,” Petunia shrugged in a sing-songy voice, repeating the same statement from earlier. Porky bit back the bile forming in his throat.
After what seemed an eternity, they approached a quaint little bungalow on the corner of the suburban street. Even in the darkness, the pearly white exterior glittered. Petunia’s home was sleek and modern, an obvious Art Deco influence; with its rounded edges and flat, rectangular roof, complete with steel handlebars skirting the staircase leading up to the porch, Porky would have thought it was a diner instead of somebody else’s home. The gold nameplate reading “Petunia Pig” above the doorbell was his only clue otherwise.
Just as Porky prepared to trudge up the staircase, barge into Petunia’s home and pass out on the floor for a couple of days, he halted, one hoof perched on the step.
“The-eh-the-the light’s on,” he blurted out, blinking.
Petunia pushed him up the stairs from behind, catching onto the briefcases threatening to spill from his tired grip. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about Penelope!”
Now, Porky stood in front of the doorway, yellow light streaming out from the blinds inside illuminating his contours. He didn’t turn his head as he asked “Eh-peh-peeah-eh-peh-Penelope?”
“You’ve forgotten about Penelope,” Petunia answered her question dryly. “Well, you’ll meet her in a minute!” She grabbed Porky’s hand, who swatted away from her.
“I-I-I can’t eh-lee-eh-leh-let her see me leh-leeah-eh-like this!” The frantic energy in his voice resumed as he carried on once more. He pointed to his clothes, his face, himself, practically smacking the dirt off of his jacket in a frenzy. “Eh-theh-thee-eh-theh-this is a teh-tee-eh-teh-terri-beh-terribeh-beh-terribeh-eh-beeah-terrible first impression! A-a eh-ceh-compleh-eh-complete stranger, eh-seeah-seeing me in this state!”
Petunia seemed oblivious to Porky’s problems, as she fished for a key in her pocket and jammed it into the keyhole. “Penny won’t mind,” she reassured him. Porky answered her with a mournful moan as he adjusted his hat, tightened his collar, gave a few flicks of his bow-tie, all the while muttering to himself about what a mess he was.
As soon as the key clicked inside the keyhole, Porky paused his cleaning frenzy, giving one last tug of the bow-tie for good measure. He had no doubt Penelope was a nice person, but any friend of Petunia’s made his stomach churn—Petunia could be a lot to handle. The prospect of dealing with another Petunia gave him pause; he had no energy to maintain pleasantries, and was never thrilled to meet strangers in the first place. He could only hope that Penelope would be a forgiving soul.
“Penny!” Petunia threw the door open before grabbing Porky by his plump wrist and dragging him inside. Much to the gratitude of his dignity, he only tripped over the stoop of the door twice. A good day in his book.
“Penny! I’ve brought Porky!”
Porky stood in the doorway smoothing out the wrinkles in his clothes, forgetting his manners after his little stumble. As he gingerly placed his luggage on the floor, he was able to catch a chance of Petunia’s furnishings.
Perhaps it was his own fatigue talking, or his own stubbornness, or his resistance to change, or an amalgamation of the above, but looking in one place for too long caused his head to spin.
A brash, rectangular rug took up the span of the living room, adorned with flat, Art Deco style rectangles. The wallpaper served as the rug’s older cousin, giant, rectangular tile patterns stretching around the span of the living room.
Furniture was sleek, modern, and of keen design sense. Consequently, it felt cold, mechanical, and the antithesis to homely. The couch nestled against the dizzying wallpaper looked more like a can of sardines than a sofa, with a hard, curved back, a single cushion stretching to form a bench. No pillows, no arms.
A glance into the kitchen fared even worse. The kitchen stretched straight ahead from the doorway, yet Porky had to crane his neck to get a good look at its contents. Dizzying, triangular tiles immediately caught his eye, and was enough to make his stomach churn.
Amidst the main stretch of the hallway, there was a cut in the walls as the hall turned right, likely where the bedrooms and facilities resided. Porky almost considered making a break for it and locking himself in one of the bedrooms, never to come out again, stowed away from any potential ridicule and poking and prodding that the night surely entailed. Instead, he forced himself to remain grounded, cementing plenty of weight on the ground so he wouldn’t be tempted.
So caught up in scrutinizing the sickening sleekness of Petunia’s glamorous Hollywood bungalow, he didn’t even realize the black cat standing right in front of him. Porky gasped audibly, clutching his stout chest before sulking and rubbing his face. So much for good first impressions.
The cat in front of him was much smaller than he was, but she had a surprisingly strong demeanor. Small ears, small nose, curved whiskers, but wide, curious eyes and a tail big enough to put a feather duster to shame. She said nothing, only bearing holes into Porky’s soul with her all-consuming stare.
Porky made an attempt to shove his trepidation in a corner as he forced a smile, outstretching a plump hand and tipping his hat. “Eh-heh-eh-how d’you do, eh-Miss Peeah-eh-peh-p-ee-eh-Penelope…”
Penelope said nothing. In fact, her eyes didn’t so much as think about moving towards his outstretched hand. She just continued to stand and stare at him with an expression Porky couldn’t read.
Opting not to pry, Porky instead heaved a timid, nervous chuckle, awkwardly returning his hat to his head and hiding his outstretched hand behind his back as though it were tainted.
“Porky’s a little high strung,” Petunia informed Penelope, patting Porky on his shoulders. It was impossible to discern whether his wincing was on account of her words or her touch. “I told him I’d fix us all a pot of coffee and break the news! Oh… would you mind, Penny?”
Penelope gave a wordless smile as she excused herself to the kitchen. Petunia used this as an excuse to usher Porky towards a table in the middle of the living room, its sleek and shine a reflection of its neighboring decor. Almost immediately, Porky flopped into a striped chair situated at the table, throwing his head in his hands.
“She eh-deh-dee-dehh-deh-doesn’t talk much, eh-dehh-does she?” His voice was muffled and spent, but a hint of dry humor lingered behind it.
Petunia, however, merely blinked, situating herself in the chair across from him. “Not to you, maybe.”
Together they sat there, listening to the sounds of Penelope making coffee in the kitchen. The clinks of spoons and gurgles of the percolator sounded distant, tinny, far-away and pinched to Porky. His eyes, his feet, his legs, his mind, and his heart ached. Telling himself that Petunia’s emergency wasn’t that dire did little to alleviate his nerves—he knew he should be grateful that nobody was injured or in danger, but a pit still lingered in his chest.
So caught up in his wallowing, Porky hardly noticed that Penelope had situated a cup of coffee in front of him. The real prize of the deal was the banana nut muffin perched neatly on a pearly white plate in front of him. Having not eaten all day, Porky thought he could burst into tears.
“Eh-thee-eh-theh-eh-eh-thank you,” he told Penelope, staring at her with wide, soulful eyes, completely disregarding any attempts to siphon himself through a presentable filter for his new company. Penelope, at the very least, seemed to take the hint, smiling as she sat next to him.
As soon as she made contact with her chair, Porky scarfed down his meal, much to the bewilderment of Petunia, who ogled at him with wide eyes as he devoured the muffin in seconds.
“Porky Pig!” She gasped. Porky recognized her tone—a layer of authenticity covered it, sure, but he knew she was also trying to get a rise out of him. “I’m surprised at you!”
“Eh-hee-eh-hev-haven’t eaten in-in-in a de-eh-day,” he told her quickly between bites. “Eh-two days! It’s peh-pehh-eh-peh-eh-eh-past eh-meh-midnight now. I-I-I’ve eh-ped-paid my deh-eh-dues.”
While Petunia observed with a scowl, Penelope seemed amused, observing with a pleasant smile on her face. Porky swiped a hand over his mouth, an adequate substitute for a napkin. He’d compensate for his manners later. For now, he caught wind of Petunia’s sour expression and stretched a dry smile of his own on his face.
“I-I like cheh-cheh-eh-chec-eh-choc-eh-chocolate chip beh-best,” he professed before downing a gulp of black coffee. He wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but he knew he would need it for the time being. A smile tugged at his lips as he heard Petunia huff at him in response.
“Well,” Petunia’s voice was commanding, matter of fact as she stared at Porky, who was taking hearty swigs of java. “Are you finally ready to hear the news?”
Of course he wasn’t. He could go his whole life without having to tag along in one of Petunia’s grand, crazy schemes again. The ceremony she was putting on, refusing to tell him and dragging him across the country for it, it all coagulated in a giant, ugly knot in Porky’s chest.
Instead Porky cautioned a shaky nod of the head, peering uncertainly at Petunia over the porcelain rim of his coffee cup.
Petunia flashed an excited glance at Penelope, who reciprocated it gently.
“You’re going to be an actor!”
Right on cue, Porky choked on his coffee, clutching a hand over his neck as he coughed and heaved, welding his mouth shut so he didn’t spew all over the table. Penelope had enough goodness in her heart to give Porky a few hearty whacks on the back, making his brains rattle. She was small but boy, was she fierce.
“I told you he’d be delighted,” Petunia squeaked breathlessly to Penelope.
After a handful of belabored, desperate gulps, Porky was finally able to breathe, panting audibly as he leaned over the table, coughing and sputtering. His eyes were wide and his face was red, and the scalding hot brew sloshing in his insides provided little comfort.
“Eh-the-ehh-thank you,” he croaked to Penelope with an apologetic wave of the hand. A warm smile was gifted in return.
Before Porky had any time to tear into Petunia and tell her how ridiculous she was being, she was already rambling and listing off ideas. “Oh, isn’t it wonderful, Porky? You’re going to be an actor! Famous! Why, I bet I’ll live the day to see your name in lights… billboards and magazines! Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”
Porky shook his head furiously, still recovering from his choking incident. Grabbing the table with his hands, he leaned back in his chair and gawked at Petunia, still shaking his head as words refused to come out. When he did manage to speak, his voice was comically shrill and squeaky.
“I-I-I-I-I-I’m eh-neh-nee-eh-eh-not gonna eh-beh-bee-eh-beh-be nothin!’” He pointed a trembling finger, the rosy bloom of his cheeks completely drained. “Eh-yeh-yee-eh-eh-eh-yee-eh-eh-you’re ceh-eh-craz-eh-ceh-craz-eh-heh-eh… you’re nuts!”
Secret conversation was exchanged through glances between Penelope and Petunia. It was exceedingly clear that they knew something he didn’t; it made him itch.
“But Porky,” Petunia insisted. Porky winced and screwed his eyes shut at the sound of her voice; she was putting on her signature pouty voice, the squeaky, pinched little coo she always did when she wanted Porky to do something for her, usually at his own expense.
“Eh-eh-yeh-eh-you stop that,” he snapped before she could say another word. “I-I know eh-the-thee-eh-theh-that voice! I-I’m no dope!”
Of course, his threats were disregarded immediately as Petunia continued to coo at him, putting on a disgustingly sweet and pathetic, sad expression. “You know I’m a dressmaker at Warner’s! They’re scouting for talent, I was told to ask around… oh, Porky, you’d be perfect for the job! You could keep me company on my breaks, we could go out to lunch… you told me yourself! You said you always wanted to make it big someday!”
“I-I-I eh-deh-deeah-did-eh-did-eh-eh-didn’t mean neh-neeah-eh-neh-no-eh-nothin’ by it!” Curses were handed to both Porky and Petunia on a silver platter as Porky chastised the both of them mentally. Curse him for saying that, and curse Petunia for remembering. He always knew he needed to watch his mouth around Petunia.
“You mean you plan to live on that dusty old farm for the rest of your life?” Petunia’s tone wore a veil of accusation.
“Eh-neh-nee-eh-neh-no!… I-I-I mean, ee-yes!… I-I, eh-wee-eh-weh-eh-well…”
Porky faltered, bumbling with his words in a desperate manhunt for any sense to be made. He hadn’t planned on being a farmhand for the rest of his years, and he had aspirations of doing something worthwhile, but he never got to the “what” stage. What did he plan on doing? Where did he plan on going?
“I-I-I eh-ceh-can’t leave home, Petunia…” He folded his hands as he pleaded to her, now growing desperate. The bemused expressions on her and Penelope’s face made him want to claw out of his skin. “I-I-I’ve got eh-theh-thee-eh-the-the whole feh-eh-fehhh-feeah-fam-eh-family beh-eh-back home…”
“But you’re the youngest!”
“Eh-seh-eh-so I eh-ceh-ceh-eh-ceh-can’t stay becau-eh-ceh-eh-because of that? I-I-I eh-deh-didn’t say goodbye or-or-or nothin’! Weh-weeah-eh-eh-weh-what sorta reh-reeah-eh-rat just up an-an-and leaves his feh-eh-feeah-eh-fami-family weh-eh-without saying g’bye?”
Petunia jabbed a thumb towards the kitchen. “We have a phone!”
“All my beh-eh-beeah-bel-belongi-eh-eh--my things are-are-are still eh-there! I-I-I hardly peach-eh-peh-peck-packed a thing! I…”
Porky was cut off by a giggle from Petunia. Another knowing glance was shot towards Penelope, which made Porky’s insides boil and his cheeks burn. He hated feeling like a stage act. One more reason why he wanted no part of her acting scheme.
In an attempt to command a sense of authority, Porky cocked an eyebrow and lowered his voice, leaning towards Petunia. “And jeh-eh-jeeeah-eh-jeh-just eh-wee-eh-weh-eh-what’s so feh-eh-funny?”
The smile on her face refused to falter. “Oh, Porky,” she cooed again, “I’ll be willing to bet that your entire bedroom is stuffed in those suitcases! You always take so long to get ready. I’ll bet you have suits, ties, seasonal clothes… every single toiletry in the house! Books… do you still have that Rolleicord I bought you? You never travel light!”
A violent wash of crimson branded its way onto Porky’s face, a dead giveaway that her point was proven. She burst into a case of giggles again as Porky folded his arms and stuck his chin in the air.
“Oh, don’t be like that.” Petunia turned to Penelope, audibly informing her “Porky can be so stubborn.” The only thing more insulting than Petunia’s audible dig was the understanding nod that came from Penelope.
With that, Porky excused himself from the table, leaning back and scooching his chair back. Bitterness, fatigue, and a hint of fear amalgamated in his tone as he mumbled “I-eh-eh-I had a leh-leeah-eh-lovely time, but I-I-I really eh-ough-ought to get eh-geh-geeah-eh-goin’.”
“Where are you going at this hour?” Petunia reached across the table and grabbed Porky by the sleeve as he made a move to collect his luggage.
“Home!” Petunia had an iron grip on him as he struggled to wean himself free from her grasp. She refused to budge, staring at him with steely eyes.
“How do you suppose you’re going to do that? You said you haven’t got a car!”
Porky heaved against her grip. Petunia clasped a second hand on his upper arm to prevent him from budging.
“I-I-I’ll eh-beeah-buy one.” The intonation in his voice hardly quivered.
“You said you haven’t any money!”
Another unsuccessful heave from Petunia’s grip. “Ull-eh-eh-I’ll eh-feh-eh-feeah-find a job.”
Petunia tugged Porky closer to the table, causing him to stumble over his feet and curse. Almost immediately, he flashed a mournful, apologetic frown at Penelope. Any further attempts at making a good first impression were out the window. Thankfully, Penelope seemed more amused than offended at Porky’s colorful vocabulary, beaming at him and waving a hand dismissively.
“An actor’s a job,” Petunia persisted, the bubble and squeak returning in her tone. “Think of all the money you’ll make! You’ll buy all the cars you can imagine.”
“Eh-neh-nee-eh-eh-eh-no thank ye-you. I-eh-I’d rather work in-in-in the-eh-eh-the leh-leh-leeah-lumberyeh-yeea-eh-lumberyard again.”
“Now where are you going to find a lumberyard in Los Angeles?”
Porky’s timbre continued to harden into steel, though the struggle he put up against Petunia was beginning to subside. “A-alright, eh-the-then I’ll deh-deeah-eh-deh-eh-dance on the street ceh-eh-corners and beh-beeah-eh-beh-eh-beg for money.”
After a few more seconds of struggling, Porky finally allowed himself to go limp, dejectedly slumping back into his chair and waving Petunia off his arm. She grinned at Penelope as he shook his head.
“I-i-it’s awful neh-neeah-eh-neh-nice what yee-ee-you’re tryin’ t’ do,” Porky moaned, returning his head to his hands. He looked and sounded pitiful. “But I-I eh-ceh-ceh-can’t act! Jeh-jeeah-eh-jumpin’ juniper, I-I-I-I eh-ceh-eh-ceh-can hardly teh-teeah-eh-tehh-talk!”
When he snapped his head up to stare at Petunia, his eyes swam with desperation, his face contorted into a pitiful frown as he made a gesture to his gut. “Who-who-who-uh-who would eh-ev-eh-ever pay meh-meeah-eh-meh-mon-eh-mon-eh-money to look an-an-and listen to theeah-eh-this? I-I-It’d be heh-eh-highway ree-robbery!”
“Porky!” Petunia’s tone was sharp enough to snap him back to his senses. Her eyebrows pinched her face as she stared daggers at her company with a gaze so suffocating that Porky felt compelled to loosen his collar. “You know better than to say things like that!”
He didn’t.
Swallowing the rebuttal thudding in his chest and begging to be let out, Porky instead shook both his hand and his head, heaving a sigh. “I-I-I’m just eh-tehh-tired. It’s beh-eh-been a-a-a long eh-deh-dee-eh-deh-eh-da--er, i-it’s been a leh-eh-lee-eh-long weh-wee-eh-wee-eh-wuh… I-I’m tired.”
A gusty sigh from Petunia in response as she folded her arms and her legs. Slowly, the steely glower on her face melted into one of sympathy. “Oh, Porky,” she cooed, prompting a wince from the pig in question. He desperately longed for her to stop “Oh Porky”-ing him. “I see all kinds of faces at the studio, listen to all sorts of performances… I really think you have what it takes! You have so much natural charm.”
The squeak that emanated from Porky sounded more akin to a strangled sob than a dry laugh. With his head in his hands, he didn’t see the nod of agreement affirmed by Penelope.
“I can put a good word in,” Petunia continued. “And you’re already way out here anyway! You’re free to stay with us until you get back on your feet. Penny doesn’t mind, I won’t mind… oh, Porky, won’t you please consider it? What have you got to lose?”
Porky made a noise in his throat that sounded like the lovechild of a grunt and a whine as words refused to come out. He knew there was something he had to lose. Dignity? Integrity? He had made a royal fool of himself that evening, so perhaps he’d already lost that. Wires refused to connect together as his mind hummed in dull, staticky pulsations. Thinking, speaking, acting, being was futile.
“I-I’ll-eh-ull-I’ll-I’ll think on it,” he conceded at last, without lifting his head. The words coming out of his mouth felt foreign and his head spun. He couldn’t concentrate on anything.
Though he didn’t look up, instead staring at the polished metal wrapping around the table, the electricity from Petunia and Penelope’s grins were well present, making his ears tingle. He sought refuge in himself as he sunk deeper into his coat.
“That’s wonderful, Porky!” Petunia beamed as she got up from her post to wrap Porky in another hug. He grunted in acknowledgement, devoid of the energy to reciprocate or shun her advances. “You can stay in the guest bedroom, it’s just down that hall… oh, this is so exciting! I promise you won’t regret it.”
Biting back a comment about how he already did regret it took more strength than he wanted, but Porky silently congratulated himself for keeping his dry remarks to himself.
With that, Porky excused himself from the table, trudging his way over to Petunia’s pseudo-sardine can sofa. Petunia and Penelope both observed as he flopped like a dead weight onto the cushions, lying on his back as he rubbed his face.
“We have beds, you know,” Petunia prompted after a beat.
Dismissing her with a wave of a hand, Porky shut his eyes and shook his head. “I-I-I’ll only be a-a meh-mee-eh-meh-min-eh-minute.” His voice wavered and sounded staggeringly unconvincing as he mumbled “Eh-jeh-jeeah-eh-eh-jeh-just… eh-geh-gotta think…”
Petunia maintained an amused stare as she watched Porky turn weightless and succumb to unconsciousness in a matter of seconds. All she could do is shake her head.
Penelope’s softspoken, heavily French voice piped up from behind Petunia’s shoulder: “He’s funny.”