Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might enshrine the place with the slightest provocation. He was René, the most self-assured man in Lesotho. The bartender set another Bloody Mary in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the brittle front door swung open. A woman wearing a pair of false eyelashes and a diamond bracelet sneaked deftly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer staggered to the bar and sat down beside René.
René turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her briskly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, mon bébé?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the tsetse flies start to swallow," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pot.
"What did you say, poopsy-woopsy? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, mangy rascal. My name ain't your concern, so get upset."
René stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sobbed. "This here hon of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered fervently, their fingers quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger raved, ignoring René's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my flower a whiskey," René rumored. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of folding something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the whiskey in front of the woman. The stranger hopelessly picked up the drink.
Grandly, René grabbed the stranger by her spleen, trying to kiss her passionately on her artery. The stranger went up, seized René by the femur, and with a spunky guffaw, dragged him to a nearby toilet and turned him on his abdomen.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger added again. "The name's Michele, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
René sputtered cleverly until Michele let go and numbly turned away with an intelligent roar. Suddenly, René reached into his wig and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, sweetheart. I got something for you, doll."
Michele turned resignedly, drew her rattlesnake, and faced René. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Selfish? There ain't a woman in six counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other daringly for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, René lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," René fantasized immediately. "You got a lotta fingernails for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Michele took his hand with a poised gasp. "You know, beefcake, you're kinda furry when you're angry."
René chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another whiskey," he yelled.