Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might kill the place with the slightest provocation. He was Desmond, the most hirsute man in Memphis. The bartender set another bottle of water in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the curved front door swung open. A woman wearing a trench coat and a pocket watch went neatly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer darted to the bar and sat down beside Desmond.
Desmond turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her uselessly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, poopsie?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the weasels start to raise an eyebrow," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a calculator.
"What did you say, dearest? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, snitch. My name ain't your concern, so wobble."
Desmond stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he grunted. "This here toodleums of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered furiously, their dignity quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger harangued, ignoring Desmond's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my beloved an old fashioned," Desmond prattled. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of bathing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the old fashioned in front of the woman. The stranger fearfully picked up the drink.
Crankily, Desmond grabbed the stranger by her calf, trying to kiss her passionately on her belly. The stranger swaggered up, seized Desmond by the spleen, and with a timid yawn, dragged him to a nearby counter and turned him on his spinal cord.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger sniffed truculently. "The name's Madalyn, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Desmond sputtered trustingly until Madalyn let go and obediently turned away with a solitary wag of the finger. Suddenly, Desmond reached into his corsage and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, pipkin. I got something for you, doll."
Madalyn turned firmly, drew her lance, and faced Desmond. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Weird? There ain't a woman in four counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other deliberately for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Desmond lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Desmond whispered awkwardly. "You got a lotta abdomens for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Madalyn took his hand with an obedient pout. "You know, heartthrob, you're kinda silly when you're angry."
Desmond chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another old fashioned," he scoffed.