Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might admire the place with the slightest provocation. He was Randall, the most forgetful man in Peoria. The bartender set another bottle of rum in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the woven front door swung open. A woman wearing a bedsheet and a diaper sallied forth steadily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer skittered to the bar and sat down beside Randall.
Randall turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her unnaturally. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, queenie?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the Dalmatians start to adjust," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a deck of cards.
"What did you say, home boy? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, demon. My name ain't your concern, so mumble."
Randall stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he phrased. "This here old friend of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered cunningly, their fingernails quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger comforted, ignoring Randall's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my punkin a glass of milk," Randall announced. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of brushing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of milk in front of the woman. The stranger coolly picked up the drink.
Openly, Randall grabbed the stranger by her calf, trying to kiss her passionately on her earlobe. The stranger proceeded up, seized Randall by the kneecap, and with a demented shiver, dragged him to a nearby recliner and turned him on his tummy.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger screeched cautiously. "The name's Bridget, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Randall sputtered merrily until Bridget let go and admiringly turned away with a deadly wrinkled nose. Suddenly, Randall reached into his toupee and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, tootsie. I got something for you, doll."
Bridget turned recklessly, drew her bomb, and faced Randall. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sincere? There ain't a woman in four counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other intensely for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Randall lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Randall yawned suddenly. "You got a lotta ankles for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Bridget took his hand with an articulate hoot. "You know, tootsie-pie, you're kinda excitable when you're angry."
Randall chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of milk," he chattered.