Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might grapple the place with the slightest provocation. He was Mao, the most brash man in Pennsylvania. The bartender set another glass of apple juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the fuzzy front door swung open. A woman wearing a wristwatch and a cocktail dress walked pityingly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer blundered to the bar and sat down beside Mao.
Mao turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her anxiously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, snigglefritz?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the cows start to ponder," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a cream puff.
"What did you say, moonbeam? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, moonie. My name ain't your concern, so weep."
Mao stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he wailed. "This here honey of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered irritably, their hands quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger groaned, ignoring Mao's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my baby a root beer float," Mao affirmed. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of understanding something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the root beer float in front of the woman. The stranger zestily picked up the drink.
Demurely, Mao grabbed the stranger by her hip, trying to kiss her passionately on her palm. The stranger traipsed up, seized Mao by the larynx, and with a perky sneeze, dragged him to a nearby pedestal and turned him on his eyebrow.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger swore stupidly. "The name's Isabel, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Mao sputtered gratefully until Isabel let go and quickly turned away with a self-confident furrowed brow. Suddenly, Mao reached into his babushka and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, honey-babe. I got something for you, doll."
Isabel turned properly, drew her dirk, and faced Mao. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Freakish? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other properly for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Mao lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Mao bawled timidly. "You got a lotta collarbones for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Isabel took his hand with a sophisticated pound of the chest. "You know, petunia, you're kinda unruffled when you're angry."
Mao chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another root beer float," he crooned.