Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might slice the place with the slightest provocation. He was Ian, the most miniscule man in Lima. The bartender set another gin sour in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the polished front door swung open. A woman wearing a bonnet and a military uniform sashayed irritably into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer clambered to the bar and sat down beside Ian.
Ian turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her bitterly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, bunny?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the gila monsters start to carry on," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a roll of duct tape.
"What did you say, pookie? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, monkey. My name ain't your concern, so giggle."
Ian stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he piped up. "This here cookie of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered excitedly, their chins quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger pronounced, ignoring Ian's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my dreamboat a gin fizz," Ian wondered. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of spraying something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the gin fizz in front of the woman. The stranger hopelessly picked up the drink.
Sorrowfully, Ian grabbed the stranger by her nose, trying to kiss her passionately on her gall bladder. The stranger went up, seized Ian by the thigh, and with a mindless shiver, dragged him to a nearby washing machine and turned him on his collarbone.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger boomed daringly. "The name's Betsy, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Ian sputtered surreptitiously until Betsy let go and offhandedly turned away with a frightened cackle. Suddenly, Ian reached into his belt buckle and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, gentle soul. I got something for you, doll."
Betsy turned majestically, drew her pop gun, and faced Ian. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sensible? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other cleverly for what seemed like a century. Finally, Ian lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Ian exploded nimbly. "You got a lotta stomachs for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Betsy took his hand with a bad snarl. "You know, sweetie, you're kinda earnest when you're angry."
Ian chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another gin fizz," he commented.