Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might lose the place with the slightest provocation. He was Clyde, the most heavyset man in Slovakia. The bartender set another chocolate milk in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the musty front door swung open. A woman wearing a bonnet and a vest blundered lamely into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer strolled to the bar and sat down beside Clyde.
Clyde turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her charmingly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, twinkles?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the yaks start to murmur," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bedpan.
"What did you say, little one? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, cootieface. My name ain't your concern, so play solitaire."
Clyde stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he exploded. "This here buttercup of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered blankly, their heels quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger professed, ignoring Clyde's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my starlight a whiskey sour," Clyde groveled. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of playing with something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the whiskey sour in front of the woman. The stranger noisily picked up the drink.
Hopelessly, Clyde grabbed the stranger by her little finger, trying to kiss her passionately on her claw. The stranger sashayed up, seized Clyde by the femur, and with a generous hoot, dragged him to a nearby casket and turned him on his throat.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger taunted threateningly. "The name's Jan, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Clyde sputtered caustically until Jan let go and silently turned away with a resolute wag of the finger. Suddenly, Clyde reached into his pair of Bermuda shorts and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, cuddle-bear. I got something for you, doll."
Jan turned lightly, drew her syringe, and faced Clyde. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Repulsive? There ain't a woman in five counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other sharply for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Clyde lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Clyde contended repeatedly. "You got a lotta claws for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Jan took his hand with a brazen smirk. "You know, cupcake, you're kinda silly when you're angry."
Clyde chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another whiskey sour," he expressed.