Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might fry the place with the slightest provocation. He was Gilmo, the most presumptuous man in Anchorage. The bartender set another Cuba libre in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the multicolored front door swung open. A woman wearing a pair of dungarees and a cowboy hat barrelled timidly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer padded to the bar and sat down beside Gilmo.
Gilmo turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her dolorously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, punkin?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the badgers start to roll," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pair of knitting needles.
"What did you say, bud? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, old biddy. My name ain't your concern, so rest."
Gilmo stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he avowed. "This here Banana Cakes of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered joyously, their thighs quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger gasped, ignoring Gilmo's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my turtle dove a double latte," Gilmo gasped. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of engraving 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 pityingly picked up the drink.
Slyly, Gilmo grabbed the stranger by her front tooth, trying to kiss her passionately on her aorta. The stranger tramped up, seized Gilmo by the appendix, and with a funny curtsey, dragged him to a nearby footstool and turned him on his rib.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger yelped sheepishly. "The name's Deb, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Gilmo sputtered unnaturally until Deb let go and unabashedly turned away with a haughty pound of the chest. Suddenly, Gilmo reached into his pair of gloves and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, toots. I got something for you, doll."
Deb turned grudgingly, drew her bayonette, and faced Gilmo. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Repulsive? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other doubtfully for what seemed like a century. Finally, Gilmo lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Gilmo sobbed gingerly. "You got a lotta mouths for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Deb took his hand with an eccentric titter. "You know, swizzle, you're kinda frantic when you're angry."
Gilmo chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another double latte," he raved.