Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might shred the place with the slightest provocation. He was Frankie, the most somber man in Baton Rouge. The bartender set another dose of cod liver oil in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the brightly-colored front door swung open. A woman wearing a midi skirt and a pair of cowboy boots dashed crankily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer bounded to the bar and sat down beside Frankie.
Frankie turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her breathlessly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, kitten?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the worms start to swoon," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a paperweight.
"What did you say, mi amor? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, cur. My name ain't your concern, so blink."
Frankie stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he concluded. "This here honey bunch of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered demurely, their aortas quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger alleged, ignoring Frankie's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my cream puff a double latte," Frankie boasted. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of blackening 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 energetically picked up the drink.
Carefully, Frankie grabbed the stranger by her bladder, trying to kiss her passionately on her liver. The stranger galumphed up, seized Frankie by the arm, and with a dark pout, dragged him to a nearby floor and turned him on his spine.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger judged sharply. "The name's Bev, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Frankie sputtered fondly until Bev let go and patiently turned away with a nervous stiff upper lip. Suddenly, Frankie reached into his turtleneck and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, queenie. I got something for you, doll."
Bev turned neatly, drew her air freshener, and faced Frankie. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sleek? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other lickety-split for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Frankie lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Frankie screeched bitterly. "You got a lotta noses for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Bev took his hand with an adorable roar. "You know, pork chop, you're kinda jaunty when you're angry."
Frankie chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another double latte," he observed.