Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might reposition the place with the slightest provocation. He was Brett, the most wily man in Caracas. The bartender set another Long Island iced tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the rusty front door swung open. A woman wearing a midi skirt and a pair of UGGs tramped suavely into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer waded to the bar and sat down beside Brett.
Brett turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her peevishly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, snookums?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the lions start to giggle," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a cigar.
"What did you say, honey bunch? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, rogue. My name ain't your concern, so hang around."
Brett stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he burbled. "This here princess of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered hysterically, their fingernails quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger pronounced, ignoring Brett's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my twinkie a gin sour," Brett nattered. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of labeling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the gin sour in front of the woman. The stranger thoughtfully picked up the drink.
Dolefully, Brett grabbed the stranger by her eyelash, trying to kiss her passionately on her hangnail. The stranger zoomed up, seized Brett by the eyebrow, and with a serious tear, dragged him to a nearby chair and turned him on his appendix.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger concluded blissfully. "The name's Peggy, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Brett sputtered fearlessly until Peggy let go and angrily turned away with a melancholic jeer. Suddenly, Brett reached into his pair of socks and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, love. I got something for you, doll."
Peggy turned noisily, drew her crossbow, and faced Brett. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Contented? There ain't a woman in five counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other narrowly for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Brett lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Brett breathed immediately. "You got a lotta earlobes for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Peggy took his hand with a shifty sniffle. "You know, snigglefritz, you're kinda yappy when you're angry."
Brett chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another gin sour," he gabbed.