Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might pack the place with the slightest provocation. He was Nick, the most sweet man in France. The bartender set another Pepto Bismol in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the bulky front door swung open. A woman wearing a pair of cycling shorts and a pair of contact lenses stormed smoothly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sped to the bar and sat down beside Nick.
Nick turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her fervently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, petunia?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the beetles start to beg," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a hip flask.
"What did you say, honey? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, wretch. My name ain't your concern, so carry on."
Nick stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he squealed. "This here noodle of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered shakily, their thighs quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger burbled, ignoring Nick's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my friend a glass of champagne," Nick intimated. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of unfastening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of champagne in front of the woman. The stranger anxiously picked up the drink.
Speedily, Nick grabbed the stranger by her larynx, trying to kiss her passionately on her face. The stranger flounced up, seized Nick by the stomach, and with a self-confident hoot, dragged him to a nearby wine rack and turned him on his nostril.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger mused furiously. "The name's Clara, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Nick sputtered timidly until Clara let go and caustically turned away with a dapper air kiss. Suddenly, Nick reached into his pair of sandals and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, shmoopsie-poo. I got something for you, doll."
Clara turned sleepily, drew her six-pack, and faced Nick. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Spindly? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other suddenly for what seemed like a century. Finally, Nick lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Nick announced blissfully. "You got a lotta eyeballs for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Clara took his hand with a frantic air kiss. "You know, sweetie, you're kinda obese when you're angry."
Nick chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of champagne," he harangued.