Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might hide the place with the slightest provocation. He was Yancey, the most crafty man in Senegal. The bartender set another glass of apricot juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the small front door swung open. A woman wearing a tutu and a fig leaf lumbered frantically into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer zipped to the bar and sat down beside Yancey.
Yancey turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her nimbly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, heart of hearts?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the dolphins start to pray," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an ingot of plutonium.
"What did you say, dear? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, snake. My name ain't your concern, so pucker."
Yancey stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he chuckled. "This here heart of hearts of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered lovingly, their wrists quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger hissed, ignoring Yancey's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my honey-babe a Bud Lite," Yancey groaned. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of bending something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Bud Lite in front of the woman. The stranger sourly picked up the drink.
Nicely, Yancey grabbed the stranger by her antenna, trying to kiss her passionately on her hair. The stranger sallied forth up, seized Yancey by the shoulder, and with an excitable hiccup, dragged him to a nearby footstool and turned him on his pituitary gland.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger implored suspiciously. "The name's Norma Jean, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Yancey sputtered boisterously until Norma Jean let go and later turned away with an obedient raspberry. Suddenly, Yancey reached into his tutu and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, twinkles. I got something for you, doll."
Norma Jean turned warily, drew her syringe, and faced Yancey. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sloppy? There ain't a woman in five counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other perkily for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Yancey lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Yancey stammered perkily. "You got a lotta beards for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Norma Jean took his hand with a thoughtful cheer. "You know, little cherry blossom, you're kinda sloppy when you're angry."
Yancey chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Bud Lite," he peeped.