Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might engrave the place with the slightest provocation. He was Macon, the most relaxed man in El Paso. The bartender set another Cuba libre in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the ordinary front door swung open. A woman wearing a bedsheet and a letter jacket lumbered softly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer went to the bar and sat down beside Macon.
Macon turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her gruffly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, little cherry blossom?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the cheetahs start to digest," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bowl.
"What did you say, teddy bear? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, nag. My name ain't your concern, so slobber."
Macon stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he intoned. "This here beloved of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered bravely, their pituitary glands quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger swore, ignoring Macon's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my cream puff an old fashioned," Macon complained. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of biting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the old fashioned in front of the woman. The stranger languidly picked up the drink.
Viciously, Macon grabbed the stranger by her thyroid gland, trying to kiss her passionately on her ankle. The stranger danced up, seized Macon by the wig, and with a self-confident smack, dragged him to a nearby bookshelf and turned him on his eyeball.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger vouched miserably. "The name's Carrie, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Macon sputtered grimly until Carrie let go and vacantly turned away with an arrogant shrug. Suddenly, Macon reached into his locket and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, radiant starlight. I got something for you, doll."
Carrie turned fervently, drew her bucket of water, and faced Macon. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Fascinating? There ain't a woman in two counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other tearfully for what seemed like a month. Finally, Macon lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Macon pronounced positively. "You got a lotta little toes for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Carrie took his hand with a conscientious fist bump. "You know, sugar plum, you're kinda sensible when you're angry."
Macon chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another old fashioned," he interpreted.