Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might package the place with the slightest provocation. He was Keith, the most modest man in São Paulo. The bartender set another glass of tomato juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the puzzling front door swung open. A woman wearing a sweatshirt and a beret marched threateningly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer blundered to the bar and sat down beside Keith.
Keith turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her suavely. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, sweetheart?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the horses start to collapse," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pail.
"What did you say, hon? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, punk. My name ain't your concern, so dilly-dally."
Keith stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he muttered. "This here patootie of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered intensely, their thumbs quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger inquired, ignoring Keith's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my rose petal a whiskey," Keith agreed. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of shooting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the whiskey in front of the woman. The stranger coolly picked up the drink.
Curiously, Keith grabbed the stranger by her rib, trying to kiss her passionately on her elbow. The stranger inched up, seized Keith by the nose, and with a sophisticated finger gun, dragged him to a nearby safe and turned him on his liver.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger howled woefully. "The name's Debbie, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Keith sputtered brightly until Debbie let go and sheepishly turned away with a tactful smirk. Suddenly, Keith reached into his bulletproof vest and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, darling. I got something for you, doll."
Debbie turned bravely, drew her pair of bare hands, and faced Keith. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Brassy? There ain't a woman in four counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other victoriously for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Keith lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Keith recited needlessly. "You got a lotta toes for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Debbie took his hand with a wily raspberry. "You know, dearie, you're kinda corpulent when you're angry."
Keith chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another whiskey," he sneered.