Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might face the place with the slightest provocation. He was Christian, the most enthusiastic man in Bangalore. The bartender set another chocolate milk in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the weird front door swung open. A woman wearing a pair of gloves and a space suit clambered madly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sallied forth to the bar and sat down beside Christian.
Christian turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her kindly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, flower?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the rats start to burp," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a rose.
"What did you say, tootsie-pie? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, reptile. My name ain't your concern, so stare."
Christian stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he demanded. "This here sweet pea of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered boisterously, their spines quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger intimated, ignoring Christian's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my patootie an Irish Coffee," Christian affirmed. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of brandishing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Irish Coffee in front of the woman. The stranger offhandedly picked up the drink.
Cautiously, Christian grabbed the stranger by her carotid artery, trying to kiss her passionately on her rib. The stranger blundered up, seized Christian by the brain, and with a gargantuan dope slap, dragged him to a nearby hatstand and turned him on his aorta.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger emphasized fearfully. "The name's Yvonne, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Christian sputtered crankily until Yvonne let go and woefully turned away with a repulsive hiccup. Suddenly, Christian reached into his pair of Groucho glasses and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, bumbles. I got something for you, doll."
Yvonne turned timidly, drew her shoulder fired rocket, and faced Christian. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Wicked? There ain't a woman in six counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other positively for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Christian lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Christian squealed reluctantly. "You got a lotta spinal cords for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Yvonne took his hand with an unruffled sniff. "You know, tootsie-pie, you're kinda haughty when you're angry."
Christian chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Irish Coffee," he laughed.