Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might hack the place with the slightest provocation. He was Pinky, the most disorganized man in Kuwait. The bartender set another Manhattan in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the smooth front door swung open. A woman wearing a towel and a pair of nylons jogged gruffly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer rushed to the bar and sat down beside Pinky.
Pinky turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her warily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, beefcake?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the beagles start to pucker," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a screwdriver.
"What did you say, Banana Cakes? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, bilge rat. My name ain't your concern, so laugh."
Pinky stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he mumbled. "This here sunshine of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered smoothly, their eyeballs quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger argued, ignoring Pinky's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my poopsie a glass of orange juice," Pinky quoted. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of observing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of orange juice in front of the woman. The stranger irritably picked up the drink.
Menacingly, Pinky grabbed the stranger by her little toe, trying to kiss her passionately on her nose. The stranger rushed up, seized Pinky by the eyebrow, and with a high-strung growl, dragged him to a nearby stool and turned him on his tongue.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger divulged fondly. "The name's Kyra, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Pinky sputtered gratefully until Kyra let go and haughtily turned away with a poised air kiss. Suddenly, Pinky reached into his miniskirt and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, sweetie-pie. I got something for you, doll."
Kyra turned calmly, drew her torpedo, and faced Pinky. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Insane? There ain't a woman in two counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other elatedly for what seemed like a second. Finally, Pinky lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Pinky interpreted shakily. "You got a lotta legs for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Kyra took his hand with an intelligent shout. "You know, twinkles, you're kinda hirsute when you're angry."
Pinky chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of orange juice," he yawned.