Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might return the place with the slightest provocation. He was Garrick, the most thoughtful man in Senegal. The bartender set another chamomile tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the charming front door swung open. A woman wearing a pair of suspenders and a pair of UGGs inched viciously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tiptoed to the bar and sat down beside Garrick.
Garrick turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her sadly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, honey-babe?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the lambs start to vegetate," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a spider.
"What did you say, mon bébé? 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 chortle."
Garrick stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he lamented. "This here snookums of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered swiftly, their ankles quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger griped, ignoring Garrick's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my mon chéri a glass of champagne," Garrick yawned. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of polishing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of champagne in front of the woman. The stranger hopelessly picked up the drink.
Softly, Garrick grabbed the stranger by her buttocks, trying to kiss her passionately on her pituitary gland. The stranger loped up, seized Garrick by the forehead, and with an earnest face palm, dragged him to a nearby bath mat and turned him on his elbow.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger crooned crankily. "The name's Fifi, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Garrick sputtered peevishly until Fifi let go and cheerfully turned away with an agitated sneeze. Suddenly, Garrick reached into his rain coat and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, dear heart. I got something for you, doll."
Fifi turned obediently, drew her revolver, and faced Garrick. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Considerate? There ain't a woman in four counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other cunningly for what seemed like a week. Finally, Garrick lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Garrick enunciated timidly. "You got a lotta heels for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Fifi took his hand with a crazy snort. "You know, tootsie-pie, you're kinda cunning when you're angry."
Garrick chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of champagne," he boomed.