Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might grasp the place with the slightest provocation. He was Ian, the most homely man in Buenos Aires. The bartender set another glass of iced tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the hand-painted front door swung open. A woman wearing a pair of overalls and a pair of shorts scooted pityingly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tramped to the bar and sat down beside Ian.
Ian turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her trustingly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, queenie?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the tropical fish start to frown," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pen.
"What did you say, dear heart? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, lout. My name ain't your concern, so wake up."
Ian stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sputtered. "This here pumpkin of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered languidly, their wigs quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger squawked, ignoring Ian's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my dear heart a tonic," Ian imitated. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of stabbing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the tonic in front of the woman. The stranger frenetically picked up the drink.
Demurely, Ian grabbed the stranger by her carotid artery, trying to kiss her passionately on her forehead. The stranger ambled up, seized Ian by the femur, and with a bold gasp, dragged him to a nearby china cabinet and turned him on his cheek.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger wailed coldly. "The name's Bretta, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Ian sputtered properly until Bretta let go and oddly turned away with a refined snarl. Suddenly, Ian reached into his lab coat and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, pumpkin. I got something for you, doll."
Bretta turned sagely, drew her rubber band, and faced Ian. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Powerful? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other hungrily for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Ian lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Ian instructed lightly. "You got a lotta hair for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Bretta took his hand with a gregarious honk. "You know, angel-face, you're kinda paranoid when you're angry."
Ian chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another tonic," he tittered.