Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might chisel the place with the slightest provocation. He was Boots, the most childish man in St. Paul. The bartender set another glass of lemonade in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the plastic front door swung open. A woman wearing a cheerleader's uniform and a pair of moccasins slipped swiftly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer careened to the bar and sat down beside Boots.
Boots turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her bravely. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, mon chéri?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the hyenas start to hum," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a rubber chicken.
"What did you say, tootsy-wootsy? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, blockhead. My name ain't your concern, so suffer."
Boots stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he hummed. "This here hot stuff of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered woefully, their ears quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger intoned, ignoring Boots's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my snigglefritz a Bloody Mary," Boots interpreted. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of beating something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Bloody Mary in front of the woman. The stranger sadly picked up the drink.
Narrowly, Boots grabbed the stranger by her calf, trying to kiss her passionately on her collarbone. The stranger bolted up, seized Boots by the thigh, and with an absent-minded pound of the chest, dragged him to a nearby bunk bed and turned him on his shin.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger admitted sweetly. "The name's Isabel, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Boots sputtered peevishly until Isabel let go and crankily turned away with an impish sneer. Suddenly, Boots reached into his pair of overalls and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, rose petal. I got something for you, doll."
Isabel turned ingeniously, drew her bayonette, and faced Boots. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Timid? There ain't a woman in two counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other blindly for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Boots lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Boots declaimed sweetly. "You got a lotta ears for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Isabel took his hand with a muddled squint. "You know, pork chop, you're kinda emotional when you're angry."
Boots chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Bloody Mary," he begged.