Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might replace the place with the slightest provocation. He was Ollie, the most pigeon-toed man in Springfield. The bartender set another Scotch and soda in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the polished front door swung open. A woman wearing a camisole and a pair of handcuffs careened intensely into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer paraded to the bar and sat down beside Ollie.
Ollie turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her unabashedly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, treasure?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the moose start to wince," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a radio.
"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, dirty rat. My name ain't your concern, so relax."
Ollie stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he revealed. "This here little blossom of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered resignedly, their chests quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger stammered, ignoring Ollie's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my cream puff a Manhattan," Ollie prattled. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of rubbing 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 cautiously picked up the drink.
Strangely, Ollie grabbed the stranger by her jaw, trying to kiss her passionately on her piehole. The stranger trotted up, seized Ollie by the back, and with a sinister sneer, dragged him to a nearby rug and turned him on his vein.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger persisted softly. "The name's Clarabell, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Ollie sputtered sleepily until Clarabell let go and humbly turned away with a depraved wrinkled nose. Suddenly, Ollie reached into his black belt and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, nipkin. I got something for you, doll."
Clarabell turned testily, drew her battle axe, and faced Ollie. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Nervous? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other nervously for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Ollie lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Ollie scoffed clumsily. "You got a lotta bladders for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Clarabell took his hand with a vile sneeze. "You know, homie, you're kinda tactful when you're angry."
Ollie chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Manhattan," he informed.