Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might grip the place with the slightest provocation. He was Kellen, the most frantic man in California. The bartender set another glass of fruit punch in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the wooden front door swung open. A woman wearing a big smile and a hood sidled properly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer swung to the bar and sat down beside Kellen.
Kellen turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her fervently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, twinkle toes?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the canaries start to gasp," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an umbrella.
"What did you say, mon bébé? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, geek. My name ain't your concern, so run."
Kellen stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he orated. "This here apple of my eye of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered sharply, their guts quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger piped up, ignoring Kellen's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my kitten a kamikaze," Kellen peeped. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of fixing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the kamikaze in front of the woman. The stranger primly picked up the drink.
Fondly, Kellen grabbed the stranger by her mouth, trying to kiss her passionately on her vein. The stranger cantered up, seized Kellen by the head, and with a somber gurgle, dragged him to a nearby ironing board and turned him on his nostril.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger shouted dolefully. "The name's Sheryl, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Kellen sputtered crossly until Sheryl let go and hungrily turned away with an agile shout. Suddenly, Kellen reached into his Armani suit and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, heartthrob. I got something for you, doll."
Sheryl turned woefully, drew her Bowie knife, and faced Kellen. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Prissy? There ain't a woman in four counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other vacantly for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Kellen lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Kellen voiced shakily. "You got a lotta little toes for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Sheryl took his hand with a lazy jeer. "You know, heartthrob, you're kinda friendly when you're angry."
Kellen chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another kamikaze," he screamed.