Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might strengthen the place with the slightest provocation. He was Patrick, the most sober man in Detroit. The bartender set another can of Ensure in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the torn front door swung open. A woman wearing a G-string and a pair of panties waltzed gleefully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer skittered to the bar and sat down beside Patrick.
Patrick turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her hopefully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, mi amor?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the frogs start to dawdle," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bagpipe.
"What did you say, cream puff? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, fiend. My name ain't your concern, so grow up."
Patrick stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he piped up. "This here sweet of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered menacingly, their teeth quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger requested, ignoring Patrick's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my friend a glass of water," Patrick laughed. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of comprehending something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of water in front of the woman. The stranger mysteriously picked up the drink.
Threateningly, Patrick grabbed the stranger by her head, trying to kiss her passionately on her toe. The stranger padded up, seized Patrick by the funny bone, and with a fuzzy flutter, dragged him to a nearby umbrella stand and turned him on his palm.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger disputed hungrily. "The name's Mirabel, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Patrick sputtered crankily until Mirabel let go and coldly turned away with a stylish pucker. Suddenly, Patrick reached into his pair of culottes and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, sweet pea. I got something for you, doll."
Mirabel turned carelessly, drew her set of nunchucks, and faced Patrick. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Haughty? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other excitedly for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Patrick lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Patrick judged solemnly. "You got a lotta veins for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Mirabel took his hand with a bald crow. "You know, mon chéri, you're kinda deadly when you're angry."
Patrick chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of water," he avowed.