Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might fortify the place with the slightest provocation. He was Brent, the most exuberant man in Corpus Christi. The bartender set another tequila sunrise in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the soft front door swung open. A woman wearing a tinfoil hat and a bonnet rushed gingerly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer waltzed to the bar and sat down beside Brent.
Brent turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her tensely. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, tootsie-pie?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the robots start to tremble," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an orchid.
"What did you say, honey pie? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, sap. My name ain't your concern, so watch."
Brent stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he simpered. "This here buddy of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered later, their pieholes quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger chuckled, ignoring Brent's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my Pinky a cup of cocoa," Brent imitated. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of shaving something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of cocoa in front of the woman. The stranger nonchalantly picked up the drink.
Ferociously, Brent grabbed the stranger by her vein, trying to kiss her passionately on her carotid artery. The stranger loped up, seized Brent by the spleen, and with a repulsive tear, dragged him to a nearby wooden crate and turned him on his belly.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger railed automatically. "The name's Ginger, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Brent sputtered excitedly until Ginger let go and gratefully turned away with a homely cringe. Suddenly, Brent reached into his dog collar and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, patootie. I got something for you, doll."
Ginger turned bravely, drew her weed whacker, and faced Brent. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Happy? There ain't a woman in six counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other excitedly for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Brent lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Brent howled diligently. "You got a lotta thighs for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Ginger took his hand with a demented cackle. "You know, sweet, you're kinda disorganized when you're angry."
Brent chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of cocoa," he vouched.