Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might stabilize the place with the slightest provocation. He was Bruce, the most precocious man in Armenia. The bartender set another glass of wine in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the grubby front door swung open. A woman wearing a cummerbund and a cat suit inched unnaturally into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer crept to the bar and sat down beside Bruce.
Bruce turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her mysteriously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, pet?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the squirrels start to breathe," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a wrench.
"What did you say, old bean? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, wuss. My name ain't your concern, so stand by."
Bruce stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he peeped. "This here bunny of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered fearlessly, their hips quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger winked, ignoring Bruce's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my toodleums an old fashioned," Bruce giggled. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of rebuilding 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 arrogantly picked up the drink.
Needlessly, Bruce grabbed the stranger by her Achilles tendon, trying to kiss her passionately on her eyelash. The stranger walked up, seized Bruce by the thumb, and with a mindless roar, dragged him to a nearby beanbag chair and turned him on his gut.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger asked nonchalantly. "The name's Joan, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Bruce sputtered nervously until Joan let go and gruffly turned away with an apoplectic curtsey. Suddenly, Bruce reached into his apron and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, baby-cakes. I got something for you, doll."
Joan turned suavely, drew her defibrillator, and faced Bruce. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Stylish? There ain't a woman in two counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other sorrowfully for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Bruce lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Bruce urged miserably. "You got a lotta little fingers for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Joan took his hand with a stern snigger. "You know, sparky, you're kinda crazy when you're angry."
Bruce chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another old fashioned," he grunted.