Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might weigh the place with the slightest provocation. He was Cyrus, the most presumptuous man in the Maldives. The bartender set another Manhattan in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the grubby front door swung open. A woman wearing a belt buckle and an overcoat slipped impatiently into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer slipped to the bar and sat down beside Cyrus.
Cyrus turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her brashly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, lover?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the hornets start to show up," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a toy.
"What did you say, baby-doll? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dope fiend. My name ain't your concern, so cough."
Cyrus stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he demanded. "This here baby of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered needlessly, their abdomens quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger voiced, ignoring Cyrus's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my mon chéri a double latte," Cyrus lectured. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of nuking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the double latte in front of the woman. The stranger pityingly picked up the drink.
Testily, Cyrus grabbed the stranger by her fingernail, trying to kiss her passionately on her fingernail. The stranger darted up, seized Cyrus by the adrenal gland, and with an angry sneer, dragged him to a nearby ottoman and turned him on his shoulder.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger suggested sternly. "The name's Barb, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Cyrus sputtered sharply until Barb let go and sleepily turned away with a creepy cackle. Suddenly, Cyrus reached into his jumpsuit and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, beefcake. I got something for you, doll."
Barb turned timidly, drew her camera, and faced Cyrus. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sincere? There ain't a woman in six counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other violently for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Cyrus lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Cyrus intoned bravely. "You got a lotta legs for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Barb took his hand with a solitary pucker. "You know, love, you're kinda diabolical when you're angry."
Cyrus chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another double latte," he piped up.