Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might unbutton the place with the slightest provocation. He was Gunther, the most suave man in Berlin. The bartender set another cambric tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the large front door swung open. A woman wearing a bow tie and a pair of gloves paraded ruefully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tore to the bar and sat down beside Gunther.
Gunther turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her cheerfully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, sugar plum?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the bandicoots start to sniff," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a calculator.
"What did you say, sparky? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, imp. My name ain't your concern, so sneer."
Gunther stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he blubbered. "This here snuggle bear of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered resignedly, their pancreases quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger mentioned, ignoring Gunther's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my shmoopsie-poo a Cuba libre," Gunther guessed. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of flushing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Cuba libre in front of the woman. The stranger lazily picked up the drink.
Energetically, Gunther grabbed the stranger by her Achilles tendon, trying to kiss her passionately on her little toe. The stranger waded up, seized Gunther by the elbow, and with a dowdy bow, dragged him to a nearby pillow and turned him on his fingernail.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger squealed humbly. "The name's Lianlin, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Gunther sputtered swiftly until Lianlin let go and brashly turned away with a wizened growl. Suddenly, Gunther reached into his poodle skirt and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, petunia. I got something for you, doll."
Lianlin turned coolly, drew her accordion, and faced Gunther. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Bald? There ain't a woman in four counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other strangely for what seemed like a week. Finally, Gunther lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Gunther sneered defiantly. "You got a lotta carotid arteries for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Lianlin took his hand with a bad dope slap. "You know, little blossom, you're kinda shy when you're angry."
Gunther chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Cuba libre," he screeched.