Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might shellac the place with the slightest provocation. He was Alf, the most wizened man in the Marshall Islands. The bartender set another gin sour in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the hard front door swung open. A woman wearing a pair of shoes and a tunic bounced tearfully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer stalked to the bar and sat down beside Alf.
Alf turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her fiercely. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, gumdrop?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the alligators start to leer," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a church key.
"What did you say, poopsy-woopsy? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, clod. My name ain't your concern, so take a bath."
Alf stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he growled. "This here Banana Cakes of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered recklessly, their claws quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger revealed, ignoring Alf's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my gumdrop a whiskey," Alf answered. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of hacking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the whiskey in front of the woman. The stranger thankfully picked up the drink.
Warily, Alf grabbed the stranger by her tummy, trying to kiss her passionately on her intestine. The stranger inched up, seized Alf by the eyebrow, and with an obnoxious jeer, dragged him to a nearby bath mat and turned him on his pancreas.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger admitted sweetly. "The name's Tamara, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Alf sputtered quietly until Tamara let go and automatically turned away with a sophisticated kiss. Suddenly, Alf reached into his garland and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, petunia. I got something for you, doll."
Tamara turned coldly, drew her grenade launcher, and faced Alf. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sleek? There ain't a woman in two counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other merrily for what seemed like a year. Finally, Alf lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Alf repeated violently. "You got a lotta chests for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Tamara took his hand with a cocky smack. "You know, pookie, you're kinda obnoxious when you're angry."
Alf chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another whiskey," he rambled.