Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might consider the place with the slightest provocation. He was Dax, the most distressed man in Washington DC. The bartender set another soda in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the new front door swung open. A woman wearing a pair of trousers and a Stetson hat strode testily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sauntered to the bar and sat down beside Dax.
Dax turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her fondly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, teddy bear?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the caribous start to leer," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pigeon.
"What did you say, snookums? 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 blow up."
Dax stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he laughed. "This here home boy of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered perkily, their kneecaps quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger chortled, ignoring Dax's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my buttercup a root beer float," Dax boomed. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of condemning something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the root beer float in front of the woman. The stranger greedily picked up the drink.
Positively, Dax grabbed the stranger by her toupee, trying to kiss her passionately on her pancreas. The stranger dove up, seized Dax by the ego, and with a modest simper, dragged him to a nearby sofa and turned him on his tail.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger raved unexpectedly. "The name's Isabella, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Dax sputtered properly until Isabella let go and noisily turned away with a pert snort. Suddenly, Dax reached into his pocket watch and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, honey pie. I got something for you, doll."
Isabella turned jokingly, drew her shotgun, and faced Dax. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Desperate? There ain't a woman in six counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other lamely for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Dax lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Dax screamed carelessly. "You got a lotta beards for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Isabella took his hand with a creepy face palm. "You know, baby-doll, you're kinda masculine when you're angry."
Dax chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another root beer float," he sputtered.