Summary: A Really Lost Episode — sequel to “Marie My Fondue”
Word Count: 914
It was a cold night in West Poe Dunk. The three Cartwright brothers strode into the busy Greasy Garter Saloon. They had just sold a herd of Plethers and Naugas to the local Laz-e Boy Recliner factory and the boys were kicking back.
“Think Pa would mind if we stayed on in this town a few days?” Hoss asked eyeing the Pepperidge Farm Factory Outlet across the street. “They got a fondue restaurant here in town.”
“My mama made fondue. Pa told me.” Joe offered.
“That is right, Little Joe. Marie made fine fondue!” Hoss smiled at the memory.
“Bet Pa would be glad we had fun!” Joe said hopefully. “A few days of fun, fondue and sassy saloon women!”
“Bet Pa is glad to have the house all to himself,” Adam decided. It wasn’t often the single father could have a bit of privacy with his boys away and he could have a bit of privacy with no son pounding on the out house door or bleeding on the settee or roaming about in his dirty long johns while Ben was entertaining a lady for a private fondue diner in his HUGE Cattle Baron Boudoir.
The three manly Cartwright brothers sat at a table and a friendly bar maid approached wearing a twinkly dress that looked like it was painted on with metal flake automobile paint.
“My name is Frisco,” the sexy redhead said to Hoss Cartwright. The sparkles on her dress almost blinded Hoss. It was a good thing he put on his Ray Bans.
“Frisco?” Hoss said sipping his beer and eyeing the barmaid like she was a tray of Pepperidge Farm Tahoe cookies. His mouth watered and the saliva ran down his chin. Adam handed Hoss a saddle blanket.
“Wipe your chin, Hoss,” Adam said. “You know how you get a chapped chin when you drool and go out on a cold night.” Adam was so protective of his brothers. Pa would be proud.
“That is a mighty unusual name, Frisco.” Adam said deciding if he should think with his lips or play poker. Lips were good but if he won a pile of money playing cards, he could count it in the middle of the saloon and hope for an exciting bushwhacking by dawn. His most recent fractured skull had just healed and things were a bit boring in West Poe Dunk. Maybe he could get one of his brothers wrongly accused of a murder and then save them from a lynching.
“I was named for the place my momma and papa did the happy dance that made me. My sister’s name is East Poe Dunk and my brother is named Pittsburgh,” said sluttish sultry Frisco.
The voluptuous saloon gal leaned close to Joe Cartwright and ran her fingers through his adorable curls “And what do they call you, sweetie pie poopsie boy?” she asked as Joe rested his cheek on her lovely bazoom.
“You can call me “King Me Cartwright!”
Hoss choked on his beer and spit all over Adam’s black shirt. Both brother’s realized that their baby brother found out about “THE SPOT” on the coffee table where Pa and Marie had joined as one after eating fondue…and nine months later, in the little room upstairs Joseph Francis Cartwright was born.
“Wanna have a bit of ‘Dinner’ in my upstairs private boudoir?” Frisco sighed, twirling Little Joe’s curls and other things.
Joe nodded. “WGAGAGAGAGA. OOOO la la and WOWza, Ma’am!” His heart pounded in his chest like a jackhammer. A man less strong than a Cartwright would have died of coronary arrest.
“Is that a HUGE bottle of champagne in your pocket or are you REALLY happy to see me, Cowboy?” Frisco said eying Joe’s cowboy pants.
Joe pulled a HUGE bottle of champagne from his pocket . “I learned this from Miss Julia Bullette and Lotta Crabtree!” He uncorked the sparkling wine and poured the saloon gal a glass.
“Hope little brother don’t ask her to play checkers!” Hoss leaned over and whispered to Adam.
“And I hope he doesn’t tell her how much she reminds him of his dead Mama! Nothing kills a romantic interlude like telling a gal she reminds you of your dead mom.”
“Unless it is a chapped chin!” Hoss laughed wiping his drool in his sleeve.
“Or an Indian arrow in your arm pit and a husband who can’t shoot!” shouted Lady Beatrice from the next table.
White Buffalo Woman shouted “Or an Indian plague.”
“Or a pitch fork in your chest!” added Amy Bishop.
“Or being a nun!” added Sister Bertrille Judy Carne . “And getting killed at the same time!”
Joe wrapped his arms around the saloon gal and Frisco headed for her private boudoir and a dinner off OOO la la and WOWza. “Did I ever tell you that you remind me of my dead Mama, REAL Marie? She made swell fondue and played checkers with my Pa.”
Adam slapped his left hand to his forehead in frustration. He kept his right hand clamped on the top of his head for some unknown reason.
“Guess he can’t even wait until he gets up the stairs to tell her about his mom.” Hoss shook his head.
“Guess that is what Little Joe calls foreplay” Adam sighed.
“Wanna see my eppee, Frisco?” Joe asked as they headed upstairs.