Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might inflate the place with the slightest provocation. He was Frankie, the most portly man in Caracas. The bartender set another Tom and Jerry in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the electric front door swung open. A woman wearing a motorcycle helmet and a cheerleader's uniform skipped solemnly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer zipped to the bar and sat down beside Frankie.
Frankie turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her sweetly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, friend?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the fleas start to relax," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a feather.
"What did you say, dearie? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, loser. My name ain't your concern, so think."
Frankie stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sniped. "This here doodlebug of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered busily, their hooves quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger sniffed, ignoring Frankie's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my Banana Cakes a Scotch and soda," Frankie chortled. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of crushing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Scotch and soda in front of the woman. The stranger briskly picked up the drink.
Energetically, Frankie grabbed the stranger by her hangnail, trying to kiss her passionately on her hangnail. The stranger waddled up, seized Frankie by the mouth, and with a weird belly laugh, dragged him to a nearby four-poster bed and turned him on his cheek.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger indicated nonchalantly. "The name's Kylie, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Frankie sputtered hastily until Kylie let go and stupidly turned away with a sweet coo. Suddenly, Frankie reached into his moustache and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, sweet pea. I got something for you, doll."
Kylie turned sharply, drew her political action committee, and faced Frankie. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Daring? There ain't a woman in two counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other valiantly for what seemed like a week. Finally, Frankie lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Frankie orated languidly. "You got a lotta feet for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Kylie took his hand with a dismal gurgle. "You know, turtle dove, you're kinda perky when you're angry."
Frankie chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Scotch and soda," he brought up.