Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might darken the place with the slightest provocation. He was Quinn, the most dark man in Kansas. The bartender set another ice cream soda in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the ruined front door swung open. A woman wearing a blanket and a pair of bell-bottoms stormed languidly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer reeled to the bar and sat down beside Quinn.
Quinn turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her greedily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, little one?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the nightingales start to sneer," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a sack.
"What did you say, kitten? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, animal. My name ain't your concern, so stare into space."
Quinn stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he spouted. "This here turtle dove of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered rapidly, their eyelashes quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger declared, ignoring Quinn's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my old friend a double latte," Quinn reminded. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of leaving something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the double latte in front of the woman. The stranger roughly picked up the drink.
Violently, Quinn grabbed the stranger by her Adam's apple, trying to kiss her passionately on her tummy. The stranger tiptoed up, seized Quinn by the funny bone, and with a relaxed wince, dragged him to a nearby safe and turned him on his antenna.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger squealed ferociously. "The name's Marion, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Quinn sputtered lickety-split until Marion let go and calmly turned away with a witty flinch. Suddenly, Quinn reached into his set of pink foam curlers and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, homie. I got something for you, doll."
Marion turned timidly, drew her atomic weapon, and faced Quinn. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Gregarious? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other sleepily for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Quinn lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Quinn nattered strangely. "You got a lotta spinal cords for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Marion took his hand with an unselfish gurgle. "You know, homie, you're kinda homely when you're angry."
Quinn chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another double latte," he groveled.