Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might roll the place with the slightest provocation. He was Clifford, the most pert man in Sapporo. The bartender set another Sangría in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the damp front door swung open. A woman wearing a tattoo and a dog collar darted sternly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer jumped to the bar and sat down beside Clifford.
Clifford turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her daringly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, pookie?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the worms start to meditate," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a doily.
"What did you say, twinkie? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, gossip. My name ain't your concern, so rejoice."
Clifford stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he concluded. "This here Boopsie of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered impatiently, their legs quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger judged, ignoring Clifford's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my dearest a glass of fruit punch," Clifford hissed. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of pulverizing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of fruit punch in front of the woman. The stranger needlessly picked up the drink.
Gracefully, Clifford grabbed the stranger by her big toe, trying to kiss her passionately on her paw. The stranger whirled up, seized Clifford by the thigh, and with an ambitious clenched fist, dragged him to a nearby wardrobe and turned him on his skull.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger suggested threateningly. "The name's Connie, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Clifford sputtered breathlessly until Connie let go and gruffly turned away with an annoying flinch. Suddenly, Clifford reached into his Eton jacket and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, Banana Cakes. I got something for you, doll."
Connie turned valiantly, drew her lariat, and faced Clifford. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Excitable? There ain't a woman in four counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other uneasily for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Clifford lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Clifford requested repeatedly. "You got a lotta pride for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Connie took his hand with a brave guffaw. "You know, baby-cakes, you're kinda heavyset when you're angry."
Clifford chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of fruit punch," he intoned.