A bar in uptown New Orleans, right around the cocktail hour, which in the City That Care Forgot, can begin some time after lunch and go straight through to what would be closing time in a normal town.

So this man, Jerry, walks into the bar and orders a Cajun martini. The bartender, Cheryl, adds an extra dash of hot pepper gin, then drops in a whole jalapeño pepper, more for looks than anything else. He likes them hot, but he also likes to be able to drink them.

“So you’re a little early, huh, Jerry?”

She wipes down the bar while she talks. Her light brown hair has a bit of a blonde streak in it now, and there is something different about her lips. They looked fuller, but it could be a trick of the dim bar light, or one of those makeup secrets all women know from birth.

“Nothing to do. Slow day.”

“You could go for a run. Read a book.”

“Give it up, Cheryl.”

She smiles. “Hey, no charge.”

He has downed half of his fiery cocktail. The gathering coals inside his head have cooled a bit, but Cheryl of the suddenly pouty lips ignites a slow burn in a place that is beyond the coals of cognition.

Some guy punches a button on the jukebox, and Satchmo and Ella suffuse the room with “You Can’t Take That Away From Me.” Jerry drains his martini and taps on the rim with a pen he finds on the bar. Cheryl is right there with the tap, and removes the empty glass.

“Could I please have another?”

She puts a fresh drink on the bar without saying anything. Ella and Louis say they may never, ever meet again on the bumpy road to love. Outside, a streetcar clangs on its way to the end of the line. Jerry sips his second martini. He wants to talk to the hot bartender, but she is at the other end of the bar, pulling draft beer and joking with tourists. Ella and Louis are now silent, and Cheryl’s easy laughter makes the tourists light up. They will drink more beer and leave a big tip. Cheryl is like that.

She comes back to Jerry’s end of the bar, collects some used glasses and wipes the bar down, then pours a Scotch and water for a regular and makes change. He gulps the rest of the martini, then considers biting into the jalapeno, just to get a response from her. His mouth would go on fire, and she would have to bring him a glass of water, or maybe a glass of milk, to put out the flames.

Louis Prima and Keely Smith are now singing about “That Old Black Magic.” Cheryl is standing with her back to him, slicing lemons, and looking spectacular in a pair of black jeans. She cracks a block of ice next to the blender, but the jagged shavings fail to neutralize the blue-hot embers. Louis tells Keely that only her kiss can put out the fire. Jerry considers ordering another drink instead of setting himself on fire with a hot pepper.

Cheryl turns around suddenly. Jerry decides against the third martini, and drops some bills on the bar.

“So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Cheryl. I mean, unless you want to change your mind.”

“Go home, Jerry. Divorce court opens at 9:00, maybe we’ll get lucky and get it over fast.”

“Sure.”

He smiles at her, then walks out to catch a streetcar that is fortunately not named Desire.