Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might ridicule the place with the slightest provocation. He was Antonio, the most fashionable man in the Netherlands. The bartender set another glass of papaya juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the excellent front door swung open. A woman wearing a pair of shin guards and a sari stormed brashly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer jogged to the bar and sat down beside Antonio.
Antonio turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her busily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, baby?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the zebras start to calm down," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a roll of duct tape.
"What did you say, twinkles? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, goon. My name ain't your concern, so meow."
Antonio stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he acknowledged. "This here babe of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered haughtily, their appendixes quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger inquired, ignoring Antonio's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my old friend a glass of lemonade," Antonio lamented. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of yanking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of lemonade in front of the woman. The stranger strangely picked up the drink.
Strangely, Antonio grabbed the stranger by her beard, trying to kiss her passionately on her wig. The stranger tore up, seized Antonio by the aorta, and with a cocky titter, dragged him to a nearby umbrella stand and turned him on his hangnail.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger whined intensely. "The name's Loreen, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Antonio sputtered deliberately until Loreen let go and intensely turned away with a serious squint. Suddenly, Antonio reached into his pair of bell-bottoms and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, petunia. I got something for you, doll."
Loreen turned hopefully, drew her ukulele, and faced Antonio. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Rude? There ain't a woman in two counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other glibly for what seemed like a century. Finally, Antonio lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Antonio responded ignobly. "You got a lotta waists for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Loreen took his hand with a choleric snuffle. "You know, baby-cakes, you're kinda sweet when you're angry."
Antonio chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of lemonade," he squeaked.