Marge arrived at the Maison Derrière. She was upset at Homer allowed Bart to work at such a place even after he learned what it really is, and expects her to talk to the woman in charge about it.
After validating her car, she marches towards the front door. She'll admit the house does look rather ravishing. She's sure the decor inside is lovely. But she has no time admiring the structure. She's about to give the woman a piece of her mind.
She knocks on the door. Soon it opens and there stood a middle-aged woman. She has very sharp facial features. She has rings under her eyes. But she still looks quite attractive for her age. She certainly has aged well. Her gray hair tied back into a bun. She also wears lipstick, and has eye shadow. She wears oval-shaped pearl earrings. She wars a large red Victorian-style gown. Marge noticed the woman's chest is more bustier than hers. The woman is also a foot taller than Marge.
Belle eyes this rather attractive-looking woman from head to toe. That hairdo. That strapless green dress shows off her figure nicely. She wonders how it's holding up despite not having that large a bust.
"Can I help you, deary?"
Marge noticed the way she was looking at her, but she answers her.
"Hello, I'm Marge Simpson. I'm Bart's mother."
Belle's eyes lit up. So this is the boy's mother? I never would have guessed. she thought, I'll admit, it's not everyday you see a housewife dress so promiscuously such as her.
"Ah, so you're Marge," she grasped Marge's hands, "it's good to finally meet you." she said in an overly friendly tone with a glint in her eyes.
"Uh, yeah," she slid her hands from Belle's grasp, "I would like to talk to you about something."
"Oh sure, walk right this way." Belle opens the door wider to allows Marge in. Reluctant at first, Marge comes inside and is amazed at the decor, more than she imagined it would be. Belle closes the door behind her. Then pushes a button on the wall of the main lobby and heads to the living room.
Meanwhile in the back house, a particular flashing alarm caught the girls' attention. They know what that means: a lovely non-lesbian is inside the burlesque. Which also means they're free to walk around to make her uncomfortable with their skimpy clothes.
"I'm going to check her out, see ya girls!" an African-American girl in a showgirl outfit said, winks at her fellow showgirls as she walks to the living room.
"When you come back, tell us what she looks like." the blonde showgirl said. The others share a giggle.
"Please come in, Mrs. Simpson!" Belle gestures to the living room couch, Marge follows. Suddenly Marge sees the African-American girl walking pass her with a strut. The girl was glaring back at Marge, as if thinking "You jealous of how I look?"
Belle caught noticed Marge's eyes wandered at one of her girls.
"How can I be of service?" Belle was disappointed that Marge took a seat on the chair next to the couch. So Belle sits on the couch, but sitting closer to Marge.
"I have a favor to ask... please shut this place down and move away from Springfield!"
Belle smirks, oh so she's one of THOSE women. She was surprised a woman with her fashion statement would oppose burlesque. Still, she intends to sway her, like she swayed many women before. She pulls up her skirt and crosses her fishnet stocking-clad legs.
"Oh honey, you can't be serious." she said, casually leaning back on the couch.
Marge glanced at Belle's legs, is she trying to seduce me? She ignores the display to try and get her point across. "Springfield doesn't want places like this."
Oh sweetie, you don't know what Springfield wants, she thought. "I think I know what Springfield wants, sugar." she tells Marge with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh?" Marge was put out by the way she called her 'sugar'. "I've lived in this town for 37 years."
So we're doing that now, she thought, very well then. She puts on her game face.
"I've lived her 52 years."
"I'm third generation."
"Sixth."
After a brief silence, "Get out of my town!"
Belle's smirk returns from Marge's outburst. She thinks it's time to put on her charm that make even women flustered. She just enjoys it so much.
"Listen darlin', we're just as much a part of Springfield as the church..." Belle leans closer to Marge "... the library..." closer, which Marge is starting to notice "...or the crazy house."
Belle is really invading Marge's personal space. Her face is close to Marge's. She's nervous at the way Belle's smiling at her and with the eyes of a predator.
"So I think I'll stay right here..." Belle puts her left hand tenderly on Marge's right. "Neighbor."
In that brief moment that seem to be like an eternity, the feeling of Belle's hand is like electricity. It suddenly occurred to her that Belle's trying to butter her up, and also feels like she's trying to hit on her. Oh my Lord, is she going to kiss me?! She made an audible gulp in that brief moment.
Belle heard Marge gulped. She's pleased that she made such an impression to her. She caresses Marge's hand like a mother to her daughter. She felt her goosebumps on Marge's otherwise smooth hand. Belle decides to "seal the deal" by kissing her on the lips. But before she could even touch lips...
"Is that so?" Marge challenged. "Well, sleazy entertainment and raunchy jokes will never be as popular as sobriety and self-denial."
Marge gets up from the hair and heads to the door. Belle is checking out her butt with a raised eyebrow. Damn, she's got a nice patootie.
"You're about to learn the two most dangerous words in the English language are 'Marge Simpson'." She marches outside and speaks to the valet, "It's a light pink '87 wagon."
After she left, Belle's girls come out, witnessed the entire thing.
"I see what you mean. God, what a bitch!" the blonde girl said to the African-American girl.
"I know, right? And what's the deal with that hair?" the Asian girl said.
"And that dress? So bland!" said the orange-haired girl with a peculiar accent. (She's the one who sang "the point after touchdown")
"Not to mention that voice," the blonde shudders.
"Yeah what's the deal with that? Does she have laryngitis?" said the African-American girl.
"More like she has throat cancer. Sounds like she smokes a lot." said the Asian girl.
"All I know is if I have that kind of voice, I would just kill myself!" said the orange-haired girl.
"Now now girls. Let's not be so rude." Belle ordered, getting off the couch. "I have to say I'm impressed. A caring mother, devoted wife and a civic woman who can dress so promiscuously and have the guts to walk into a burlesque house has my respect."
"But Ms. Belle, what if she brings a mob to try and close us down?" asked the worried blonde.
"We'll just have to deal with it when it comes. And we might not have to wait so long." Belle answered, knowing it's only a matter of time.