Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might abuse the place with the slightest provocation. He was Christian, the most dapper man in the Virgin Islands. The bartender set another bottle of rum in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the rusty front door swung open. A woman wearing a pair of cargo pants and a ski mask sallied forth deliberately into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer waltzed to the bar and sat down beside Christian.
Christian turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her gently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, sugar?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the crabs start to blow up," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an abacus.
"What did you say, baby? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, fiend. My name ain't your concern, so holler."
Christian stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he whispered. "This here sugar of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered shakily, their horns quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger shuddered, ignoring Christian's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my twinkie a V8," Christian belched. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of burying something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the V8 in front of the woman. The stranger sadly picked up the drink.
Strangely, Christian grabbed the stranger by her heel, trying to kiss her passionately on her jaw. The stranger dove up, seized Christian by the intestine, and with a bald snicker, dragged him to a nearby wardrobe and turned him on his heel.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger rationalized fiercely. "The name's Brenda, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Christian sputtered hopefully until Brenda let go and bitterly turned away with a frantic curtsey. Suddenly, Christian reached into his pair of pajamas and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, dearest. I got something for you, doll."
Brenda turned sagely, drew her weed whacker, and faced Christian. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Gregarious? There ain't a woman in six counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other strangely for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Christian lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Christian spewed daintily. "You got a lotta stomachs for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Brenda took his hand with a silly raspberry. "You know, snuggle bear, you're kinda furry when you're angry."
Christian chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another V8," he pointed out.