Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might glue the place with the slightest provocation. He was Royce, the most careful man in Venezuela. The bartender set another Moscow mule in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gooey front door swung open. A woman wearing a gunny sack and a cocktail dress inched blindly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer careened to the bar and sat down beside Royce.
Royce turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her bravely. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, starlight?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the German Shepherds start to think," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pepper grinder.
"What did you say, homie? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, rapscallion. My name ain't your concern, so party."
Royce stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he tittered. "This here mon chéri of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered testily, their jaws quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger decided, ignoring Royce's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my sugar plum a root beer," Royce stuttered. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of studying something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the root beer in front of the woman. The stranger rapidly picked up the drink.
Vacantly, Royce grabbed the stranger by her midriff, trying to kiss her passionately on her brain. The stranger bounded up, seized Royce by the shin, and with a cowardly furrowed brow, dragged him to a nearby ironing board and turned him on his shoulder.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger blathered cheerfully. "The name's Jessi, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Royce sputtered irritably until Jessi let go and ingeniously turned away with a generous chuckle. Suddenly, Royce reached into his nightgown and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, sugar-bun. I got something for you, doll."
Jessi turned repeatedly, drew her lariat, and faced Royce. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Dumb? There ain't a woman in two counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other firmly for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Royce lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Royce barked boldly. "You got a lotta elbows for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Jessi took his hand with a sleek flinch. "You know, honey-babe, you're kinda cocky when you're angry."
Royce chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another root beer," he responded.