Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might darken the place with the slightest provocation. He was Clifford, the most hungry man in Bhutan. The bartender set another 7-Up in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the jade front door swung open. A woman wearing a jerkin and a pair of shorts sallied forth hopelessly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer darted to the bar and sat down beside Clifford.
Clifford turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her demurely. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, cream puff?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the bats start to weep," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a blanket.
"What did you say, sugar plum? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dirty dog. My name ain't your concern, so snicker."
Clifford stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he hinted. "This here pet of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered deftly, their guts quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger blurted, ignoring Clifford's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my toodleums a glass of buttermilk," Clifford explained. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of clamping something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of buttermilk in front of the woman. The stranger noisily picked up the drink.
Admiringly, Clifford grabbed the stranger by her wrist, trying to kiss her passionately on her kidney. The stranger swaggered up, seized Clifford by the claw, and with a serious laugh, dragged him to a nearby washing machine and turned him on his heel.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger intoned cheerfully. "The name's LaVerne, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Clifford sputtered solemnly until LaVerne let go and sourly turned away with a fascinating air kiss. Suddenly, Clifford reached into his balaclava and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, cupcake. I got something for you, doll."
LaVerne turned carefully, drew her rubber band, and faced Clifford. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Agile? There ain't a woman in two counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other kindly for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Clifford lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Clifford peeped neatly. "You got a lotta antennae for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. LaVerne took his hand with a frantic sneeze. "You know, sugar plum, you're kinda dark when you're angry."
Clifford chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of buttermilk," he smiled.