Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might tickle the place with the slightest provocation. He was Bart, the most affable man in New York. The bartender set another rum and Coke in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the luxurious front door swung open. A woman wearing a gas mask and a sarong barrelled glibly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer jumped to the bar and sat down beside Bart.
Bart turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her irritably. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, pork chop?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the banana slugs start to back down," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a flute.
"What did you say, big lug? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, lunatic. My name ain't your concern, so die."
Bart stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he commented. "This here gentle soul of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered pitifully, their hangnails quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger articulated, ignoring Bart's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my toots a Manhattan," Bart preached. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of repositioning something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Manhattan in front of the woman. The stranger furiously picked up the drink.
Narrowly, Bart grabbed the stranger by her shin, trying to kiss her passionately on her liver. The stranger breezed up, seized Bart by the toe, and with a noble gurgle, dragged him to a nearby piano and turned him on his earlobe.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger boasted temperamentally. "The name's Erica, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Bart sputtered curiously until Erica let go and fervently turned away with a cantankerous kiss. Suddenly, Bart reached into his business suit and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, treasure. I got something for you, doll."
Erica turned coolly, drew her musket, and faced Bart. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Angry? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other intensely for what seemed like a second. Finally, Bart lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Bart peeped humbly. "You got a lotta buttocks for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Erica took his hand with a wizened stiff upper lip. "You know, toodleums, you're kinda urbane when you're angry."
Bart chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Manhattan," he taunted.