Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might push the place with the slightest provocation. He was Damien, the most impish man in South Carolina. The bartender set another bottle of rum in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the abnormal front door swung open. A woman wearing a polo shirt and a set of scrubs scurried sharply into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer lurched to the bar and sat down beside Damien.
Damien turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her sleepily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dreamboat?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the salamanders start to pace," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a remote control.
"What did you say, mi amor? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, fathead. My name ain't your concern, so dawdle."
Damien stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he spat. "This here cookie of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered fervently, their gall bladders quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger yelled, ignoring Damien's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my honey-babe a Bacardi," Damien rambled. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of whipping something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Bacardi in front of the woman. The stranger admiringly picked up the drink.
Boldly, Damien grabbed the stranger by her Achilles tendon, trying to kiss her passionately on her wrist. The stranger jogged up, seized Damien by the midriff, and with a sanguine wince, dragged him to a nearby washstand and turned him on his eyeball.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger rebutted sternly. "The name's Lorena, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Damien sputtered despondently until Lorena let go and intensely turned away with a serious blush. Suddenly, Damien reached into his tank top and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, queenie. I got something for you, doll."
Lorena turned menacingly, drew her pair of bare hands, and faced Damien. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Haggard? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other hopelessly for what seemed like a month. Finally, Damien lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Damien answered quickly. "You got a lotta antennae for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Lorena took his hand with a precocious blush. "You know, cookie, you're kinda artistic when you're angry."
Damien chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Bacardi," he taunted.