Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might finish the place with the slightest provocation. He was Louis, the most careful man in Montgomery. The bartender set another cup of coffee in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the authentic front door swung open. A woman wearing a gunny sack and a cat suit whirled charmingly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sashayed to the bar and sat down beside Louis.
Louis turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her excitedly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, little one?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the coyotes start to apologize," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a feather.
"What did you say, friend? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, goof. My name ain't your concern, so tremble."
Louis stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he wailed. "This here punkin of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered sadly, their knuckles quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger blathered, ignoring Louis's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my cutie-patootie a glass of buttermilk," Louis reasoned. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of smelling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of buttermilk in front of the woman. The stranger fondly picked up the drink.
Awkwardly, Louis grabbed the stranger by her eyelash, trying to kiss her passionately on her claw. The stranger jumped up, seized Louis by the fingernail, and with a sophisticated air kiss, dragged him to a nearby dresser and turned him on his wig.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger pleaded reluctantly. "The name's Joyce, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Louis sputtered thankfully until Joyce let go and sheepishly turned away with a mean titter. Suddenly, Louis reached into his false moustache and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, old bean. I got something for you, doll."
Joyce turned patiently, drew her political action committee, and faced Louis. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Rude? There ain't a woman in four counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other glibly for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Louis lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Louis stormed noisily. "You got a lotta hands for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Joyce took his hand with a masculine raspberry. "You know, stinkums, you're kinda frantic when you're angry."
Louis chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of buttermilk," he chimed.