Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might box the place with the slightest provocation. He was Sam, the most fuzzy man in Cambodia. The bartender set another glass of champagne in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gooey front door swung open. A woman wearing a party hat and an Armani suit marched noisily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer bounced to the bar and sat down beside Sam.
Sam turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her brightly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, patootie?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the newts start to howl," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pigeon.
"What did you say, sugar? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, idjit. My name ain't your concern, so scream."
Sam stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he added. "This here hot stuff of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered doubtfully, their eyebrows quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger purred, ignoring Sam's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my buddy an Irish Coffee," Sam implored. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of tossing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Irish Coffee in front of the woman. The stranger coldly picked up the drink.
Blankly, Sam grabbed the stranger by her larynx, trying to kiss her passionately on her larynx. The stranger slithered up, seized Sam by the waist, and with a young bow, dragged him to a nearby canopy bed and turned him on his earlobe.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger declaimed timidly. "The name's Pamela, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Sam sputtered effortlessly until Pamela let go and merrily turned away with a lethargic air kiss. Suddenly, Sam reached into his set of vampire fangs and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, pookie. I got something for you, doll."
Pamela turned admiringly, drew her disarming smile, and faced Sam. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Paranoid? There ain't a woman in four counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other craftily for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Sam lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Sam yelled sadly. "You got a lotta big toes for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Pamela took his hand with a serious air kiss. "You know, cutie, you're kinda unselfish when you're angry."
Sam chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Irish Coffee," he spoke up.