Wowsers, I never knew writing Stooges fics could be so much fun! A big Stooge slap to you all, with affection of course!
At the end of Pipe Down Stooges, Moe was thinking about them becoming bakers. You don't have to read Pipe Down Stooges in order to 'get' this one, because like all the Stooges shorts, there's no continuity whatsoever. (Or plot, come to that.)

Also, because I've always thought Moe Howard was a sweetheart, I've given him a tiny bit of a 'love interest'. Now, don't get alarmed. It won't be weird and it certainly won't be schmaltzy. (Moe Howard? Schmaltzy? GET OUTTA HERE! **slapp**)

(Oh, and I have shamelessly stolen the checkers joke from Gilligan's Island. Credit where credit is due.)


The Stooges Knead the Dough

Chapter 1

In the centre of a busy city street, tucked in between a Mercantile Store and an Antique Furniture Shop, stood a pretty little patisserie called 'Beautiful Buns'. The storefront was homely and welcoming and the doorway was bracketed by hanging baskets full of colourful flowers. It had been designed to resemble a gingerbread house from an old fairytale, and the warm aroma of freshly baked bread with a hint of cinnamon wafting from the inhouse bakery only added to the quaintness of it all. It was like a little oasis of calm in the middle of an urban sprawl full of tooting cab horns and delivery wagon horses clopping by.

Moe stood outside on the pavement, staring up at the hand painted sign with its decorative, swirly lettering. His smile was genuine, there was a look of wonder on his face. Curly and Larry stood just a little ways behind him on the kerb, mirroring Moe's look of wonderment and awe.

"Well, boys, look at it," Moe said, almost dreamily. "Isn't it a beauty?"

"Yeah," said Larry. "Just what we always dreamed of."

Moe looked as if he were about to drift off into a trance. Until Curly opened his mouth.

"So when are we gonna get one just like it?"

Moe's smile instantly flipped over into a murderous frown. He threw his fist up and back and bopped Curly right in the middle of his forehead without even having to look. "Be quiet, birdbrain," he muttered. Then he did the same to Larry on the other side. "You too, Porcupine. Just in case you were thinkin' about it." While Curly and Larry rubbed their heads, Moe pointed to a small sign taped to the inside of the main window, just next to the door. "See that sign? It says 'Help Wanted. Apply Within. And that's exactly what we're gonna do."

"Write signs?" asked Curly.

Moe turned around slowly and faced Curly head on. Curly twiddled his fingertips a little nervously. "I'll write you a sign," Moe told him. "You know what it'll say?"

"'She Sells Seashells by the Seashore'?" Curly suggested.

"Why would it say that?" Moe moved nearer, his chin thrust out in anger.

"Because it's long enough to give me time to get away," Curly answered, edging backwards.

Moe snorted in derision. "'Empty', is what it's gonna say, and you know where I'm gonna put it?"

"On your piggy bank?" Curly offered.

"Right here," Moe retorted, and smacked Curly upside the head with a loud crack.

Leaving Curly to his indignant shuffling on the edge of the kerb, Moe threw a friendly arm around Larry's shoulder and waved his hand towards the door of the cosy little bakery. "Shall we, Mr. Fine?"

"I believe we shall, Mr. Howard," Larry replied, happy not to be on the receiving end of Moe's wrath, for once.

The interior of the patisserie was just as pretty as the exterior. There were four small wooden tables covered with gingham tablecloths for customers who chose to eat in. There were shelves behind the glass fronted counter, all laden with fresh baked loaves of bread and exquisitely decorated cakes. Behind the glass wall of the counter there were doughnuts and cupcakes and pastries in all assortments and sizes. All three Stooges felt their mouths begin to water and their stomachs growl audibly.

"May I help you?" The female voice that came from the doorway leading into the back of the shop was rather snooty. The hungry Stooges looked up and noticed the proprietress staring at them rather stonily. She was a very tall, stoutly set middle-aged lady with a perfectly coiffed hairdo that was not so much gray as slightly purple. She wore a string of pearls around her neck and was dressed extremely elegantly, despite the spotless apron she wore over her carefully tailored suit jacket.

"I think the question is, Madame, 'may we help you?'" Moe said, attempting to sound professional about it.

The woman looked Moe up and down, and clearly didn't like what she saw. "No tradesmen," she said, bluntly. "Please leave, and take whatever wares you're selling with you." She tried to return to the backroom, but Moe kept going.

"I do believe you misunderstood me," he insisted. "We're here about the sign. In your window."

"The sign?"

"Yeah. The sign. See?" Moe pointed at the window.

"Yeah, see the sign we saw? " said Curly. "Hey!" he grinned. "See saw!" He began humming and swaying. "see saw...see saw..."

Moe watched him for a few moments and then slapped him across the face. "I'll handle this," he said, gruffly.

"Ah yes. The sign." The woman sighed, wearily. "Well, if that's what you're here about, then tell me. What experience do you have in bread making?"

"I got plenty experience in bread eatin'," Larry said, rubbing his stomach gleefully.

Moe slapped Larry across the face. "Don't make a show of yourself," he grumbled. Turning back to the woman, he pasted on his cheesiest grin. "Lady, just show us the flour and the yeast and before long you'll be up to your eyeballs in bread."

"Are you saying you're fast workers?" the woman began to look impressed at last.

"Fast? Why, we're so fast it takes us a day to catch up with ourselves," Moe beamed, proudly.

"Yeah, we can undo the work of ten men in five minutes," Curly proclaimed.

"If there are corners to be cut, we'll cut 'em!" Larry grinned. "And how!"

"Very well," the woman said. "I'm in no position to argue. I lost two of my staff yesterday and I desperately need the help."

"Where'd you lose 'em?" Curly asked, looking around. "Maybe they're under the table!" He got down on his hands and knees and crawled under the nearest table. "Nope! Not under here!"

Moe leaned down and gave Curly a backhanded slap on his rotund hind quarters. "Get out from under there, you imbecile."

Curly stood up and banged his head on the underside of the table. The table wobbled and the little decorative vase of flowers rolled off and smashed on the floor.

"I'll deduct that from your first week's wages," the woman said in disdain.

Curly struggled to his feet. "Oh, ungrateful, eh?" He squinted purposefully at the woman, then barked loudly at her. "RUFF!"

The woman recoiled in disgust. "Does he have to come along?" she muttered.

"Why, sure," said Moe. "He's my right hand man. See my right hand?" And he dealt Curly such a stinging slap that the woman's hairdo visibly ruffled from the sound wave.

The woman hefted another sigh. She was clearly unhappy and her sigh was loud and purposeful. "Very well, I suppose you will have to do. The working day is about to begin and any minute now I'll be swamped with customers. I'm Mrs. Forshaw, the owner of 'Beautiful Buns'. Come on in the back and meet Matilda. You'll be working with her."

At the sound of a female name, Curly's eyes lit up and he started panting like a dog. "Oh, boy! A dame!" He lunged forward as if to follow hot on Mrs. Forshaw's heels but was held back by Moe, who shot out his hand and grabbed Curly by the earlobe.

"Where do you think you're goin', flathead?" he growled. "You know we ain't got time for dames. Besides, dames are nothin' but trouble."

"Yeah," agreed Larry. "All they do is order you around, and I won't stand for it!"

"Me neither," said Moe, nodding at Larry.

Mrs. Forshaw turned and glared at them coldly. "I do not condone shilly shallying among my staff! Come into the kitchens at once!"

"Yes, Ma'am!" said Moe and Larry in unison, scurrying meekly after the woman, with Moe still dragging Curly by the ear.

The back of the shop was a different story altogether from the front of the shop. The kitchen was small and cluttered and uncomfortably hot, with several ovens all on the go at once. Steam rose from the large industrial sink where cooking implements were either drying, soaking in hot water, or waiting to be washed. Baking trays, spoons, bowls and pans littered every available work surface and there was a steady sound of chunka-chunka-chunka coming from somewhere, as various machines diligently stirred cake and bread mixtures with large rotating blades. Clouds of flour billowed up and reduced visibility just enough so that the three Stooges had to squint through the haze to see everything that was going on. As the flour began to clear, a small, lone figure could be made out in the middle of all the paraphernalia. It was apparent that this was the only person in the kitchen, and she was doing everything by herself.

"This is Matilda, my niece," said Mrs. Forshaw. "Matilda, dear, come and meet the..." again she looked the Stooges up and down, pointedly showing her distaste for their rumpled clothes and untidy appearance, "...gentlemen who will be working with you."

As Matilda came forward through the haze, Moe pointed his finger at Curly. "Now mind your manners, you," he warned, and then flicked his finger upwards, catching Curly sharply on the end of his nose. Curly squawked in pain and pointed back at Moe. Moe grabbed Curly's finger and bent it back until it cracked. Curly squawked even louder. Moe shoved his best angry expression right in Curly's face.

"Moe! Moe! Moe! Ow! Ow! Ow!"

"Shaddaaaaap!"

Matilda was standing right in front of them now, waiting patiently for the Stooges' antics to end. Finally Mrs. Forshaw cleared her throat and both Curly and Moe stopped bickering and turned around.

"N'yee-ah-ah-argh," exclaimed Curly.

Matilda smiled shyly. She wasn't a young girl, but she certainly wasn't as old or imperious as Mrs. Forshaw. It was hard to guess at her age since her hair was coated white with flour, but her face was unlined and her green eyes were bright and she was able to hold Curly's gaze while she smiled with what seemed like genuine amusement.

"This is..." Mrs. Forshaw began to introduce the Stooges and then stopped. "I'm afraid I don't know your names."

"That's because you never asked for 'em, queenie," Curly said, waggling his fingers at Mrs. Forshaw. "Hiya, Toots," he said to Matilda. "I'm Curly, and these are my reknowned accomplices, Moe and Larry."

"It's nice to meet you," Matilda smiled. She held out her hand and Curly took it daintily, lifting it towards his lips as though he might kiss it. Instead, a hand came out of nowhere and slapped him on the cheek.

"Ow!" cried Curly, dropping Matilda's hand and rubbing at his face.

"Please excuse my friend here," said Moe, taking Matilda's hand. "When he was a baby, the doctor couldn't tell which end was which."

Matilda looked as though she might laugh, but a quick glance at the stern visage of her Aunt made her hold it in. "And you are?"

"Moe," said Moe. He found himself looking into her eyes and suddenly realised he didn't know what else to say. Luckily, Larry butted in and saved him from lapsing into a very uncharacteristic silence.

"And I'm Larry." The bushy haired Stooge grinned goofily and spoke in a sort of sing song drawl, eager to impress.

"It's lovely to meet you, Larry." Matilda attempted to shake Larry's hand, but her own hand was still attached to Moe's. Meanwhile, Moe had gone completely quiet and was just standing there like a statue.

"Hey, what's up with Moe?" asked Curly. "He looks half-baked!"

"Yeah!" said Larry. "He looks like he lost a quarter and found a dime!"

Curly and Larry waved their hands in front of Moe's face, snapping their fingers in rapid succession. "Nuthin's woikin'!" cried Curly.

Larry picked up a large wooden spoon. "Stand back!" he said. "For King and Country!" And he whacked Moe right in the middle of the head with the spoon.

Moe came back to life and shook his head. Flour erupted from his bangs as he blinked and reoriented himself. When he realised he was still holding tightly onto Matilda's hand, he began to blush and stammer. "Excuse me, miss," he blustered. "I don't know what came over me." He let go of Matilda's hand and took the spoon away from Larry. "Thank you, Larry," he said.

"You're welcome," replied Larry.

Moe turned the spoon this way and that, pretending to study it carefully. "You know, this looks like it was made from the wood of the Lignum Vitae tree. It's the hardest wood in the world. Unbreakable."

"Really?" said Larry, leaning forward for a closer look.

"Yeah," said Moe, narrowing his eyes. "Wanna see?"

"Sure!" said Larry.

Moe slapped him between the eyes with the flat end of the spoon and the spoon broke. "Guess I was wrong," he declared.

"Gentlemen!" Mrs. Forshaw cried, her hand flying to her mouth. "Such brutality!"

"Yeah, and if I didn't keep 'em in line, there's no tellin' what they'd do!" Moe said, nodding.

"I meant you!" the older woman tutted.

"I'm a victim of my own upbringing," Moe told her. "My mother used to beat me, my father used to beat me, my brother used to beat me, even my sister used to beat me, and she was only five."

"But that's terrible!" cried Matilda, putting her hand gently on Moe's arm.

"How else was I going to learn how to play checkers?" said Moe.

"Now stop this foolishness!" Mrs. Forshaw said, finally. "'Beautiful Buns' opens in three minutes and I must have you all working as fast as you can! I have a reputation to maintain!"

"Don't worry, angel, we'll make you the talk of the town!" Curly said, giving Mrs. Forshaw a quick salute.

"Yeah, by the end of the week, your 'Beautiful Buns' will be on everyone's lips!" said Larry with a big, beaming grin, just before Moe wiped it off his face with a furious glare.

"That's as may be," Mrs. Forshaw said to Larry, "but know this one thing. I'm very proud of 'Beautiful Buns'. I've worked very hard to reach where I am today. People come from all over the city just to buy from me and my bread sells like hot cakes!"

"And what do your hot cakes sell like?" asked Curly.

Moe slapped him.

"What?" pouted Curly. "It was a good question!"

"'What do your hot cakes sell like'. Of all the stupid..." Moe went silent and started thinking about it.

Mrs. Forshaw turned on her sensible heeled, patent leather shoes and left the kitchens, shaking her head and sighing harder than ever before. As soon as she was out of sight, Matilda shocked the Stooges by pulling a face and sticking her tongue out behind her Aunt's back.

"What was that for?" Moe asked, genuinely taken aback.

"That was for her," Matilda said, crossly. "The way she talks to the customers, you would think she was the only one doing all the work around here."

Moe's eyes widened. "Well, that ain't fair," he mused.

"No, it ain't...I mean, it isn't fair," Matilda agreed. "Oh, I don't want to come over sounding all ungrateful or anything, but Aunt Agnes doesn't appreciate anything anyone does for her. My Uncle Edward started this shop, and when he was in charge it was a wonderful place. But now, nobody stays employed here for long. Except me."

"So why have you stayed here so long?" Moe asked.

Matilda lowered her eyes and looked away. "Because... because I'm scared of her. Ever since Uncle Edward passed away, she's run this place with a rod of iron. She's terribly strict and very disapproving and I'm too frightened to leave."

"Oh, a sheltered life, eh?" said Curly.

"Did you have a sheltered life, too?" Matilda asked, hopefully.

"Sure! That's where I was born! In a shelter! Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk...OOF!" Curly gasped out loud as Moe's fist landed squarely in the middle of his diaphragm.

"Do you have to hit him?" asked Matilda.

"Yes, I do," said Moe.

Above the noises of the kitchen, the Stooges and Matilda all heard a bell suddenly ring out from the front of the shop.

"Quick! Get to work!" hissed Matilda. She shoved Moe and a still gasping Curly towards Larry and bundled them all over to the sink. "The shop's open and the customers will already be lined up outside. Sometimes we're sold out even before lunch, and we need to keep the stock turning over or Aunt Agnes will blow her top!"

"Whaddya want us to do?" asked Moe, still unable to tear his gaze away from Matilda's bright green eyes.

"One of you wash, one of you load the ovens and one of you unload them," Matilda said, scurrying over to her own workstation. "I'll handle the mixing and the decorating."

"You got it," said Moe. He squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest as though Matilda had made him her chief Lieutenant. "Right, you, get washin'," he told Curly, pushing Curly almost headlong into the sink. "You, Porcupine, you load the ovens, and I'll take everything out. We don't want Matilda getting into more trouble than she already is." He noticed Matilda flinch, and hesitated. "That is, I don't mean..."

"It's all right," Matilda said, sadly. "It's my own fault, the trouble I'm in. I've never had the courage to stand up to her."

Moe and Larry exchanged a look of sympathy. "An underdog, eh,"said Moe. "Well, don't worry, Matilda. If you think you have troubles now, it'll be all over by the end of the week!"

Matilda looked over at Moe and smiled warmly and Moe's granite heart began to melt around the edges...just a little. "Thank you," she said, softly. "I think."

to be continued...