Later that evening, long after Grayson and the kids had gone to bed, Dallas Jean Lee stormed up and down the veranda.  Her blond curls, stuffed in a messy French Twist, bounced as she stomped her pink kitten heels.  Ignoring the alarming groans from the metal railing, she draped herself over it and glared at the manicured grounds below.  Pulling her feather trimmed magenta dressing ground around her, she pursed her lips and frowned.

By all accounts, the petting zoo protest had been a success.  Tonight’s news casters had jauntily recalled the fundraising aspects of the junior league, showed footage of Billy chasing Dallas down and even gave Adelaide and her psychics, who claimed the place was now evil-free, a clip.  Gobs of money had been raised, Billy had been arrested and a new caretaker was being arranged until the legislative lawyers could figure out a way to turn the petting zoo into a protected area.  There was still work of course–paperwork and logistics and all–but nothing Dallas Jean was interested in.  All she wanted was for the animals to have a good home, and that was happening.  As long as no one forgot, she was ready to move on.  And if they did move on, well, she’d get their attention pretty quick.

But all Dallas could see in her mind was her husband standing in the bed of the truck, beaming as he bellowed, “Saving this petting zoo will be part of my top priorities as mayor!”

Even now, she could still see Norman’s smirking face.  Snarling, she kicked the railing, ignoring the pain that shot up her manicured toe.

“Mom?”  She turned to see her son clutching one of the piglets she had brought home, along with a llama, two goats and the baby chicks.  Larry, Curly and Mo, her three dachshunds,  trailed behind him, their toenails clicking as they scurried down the veranda and bouncing onto their favorite cushion. Their tails thumped against the ground as Dallas Jean pulled out a bag of treats and handed them each one.

“What’s up, sugar?” she asked, smiling at her quiet son, Beau.  How the poor boy survived in this family she would never know.

“What are you doing?”

“Thinking.”  Dallas Jean reached out and stroked her hair.  He let her, and her eyebrows knit together.  “What’s wrong, sugar?  Something bothering you?”

He shrugged.  Burying his nose in the piglet, he asked, “Are you hungry?”

“You want me to fix you something?” Dallas Jean asked.  “How about some cookies?”

Just like his father, his face remained carefully neutral.  “I was thinking a pizza.”

“Well sure, darling.  I can heat you one up.”  Dallas Jean was mildly disappointed.  She loved baking cookies.

“Do you want to go out and eat one?” Beau asked.  “At Roma’s?”

Dallas Jean fumbled for her crystal-covered watch.  “It’s 11.  Are they still open?”

He nodded.  “They stay open until one for karoke night on Thursdays and Fridays.”

“And how would you know that?” Dallas Jean teased.

“Billy’s mom goes,” he replied, his expression perfectly serious.

“Well, let’s go,” Dallas Jean declared, flipping off the patio light and ushering Larry, Curly and Mo inside along with her son and the piglet.  If her almost teenage son wanted to go out in public with her, she wasn’t going to argue about it.

“Are you going to change?”  He looked at her feather-lined satin dressing gown.  “Is that what you’re wearing?”

“Of course not,” Dallas Jean chortled.  She pulled off her dressing gown to reveal a pair of yellow duckie covered pajamas, the edges nearly covering her hot pink kitten heels.  “Just let me grab my purse.  Come along, dumplings!”

Larry, Curly and Mo followed eagerly, their tounges wagging as hard as their tails.  Smothering a grin, her son put the pig on the couch and trailed after his mother.

At 11:15, Roma’s Pizza was bustling with people.  Bad karoke poured out of every crevice as the smell of hot cheese and warm garlic bread filled the parking lot.  Dallas Jean’s mouth watered immediately.

“This was a brilliant idea, darling,” she declared, steering her son inside, her kitten heels tapping against the sidewalk as Larry, Curly and Mo raced alongside.  “Brilliant! What do you want, sugar?”

“Pepparoni,” Beau shouted over the warbling of the junior league’s president’s version of Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats.”

“Well, I had no idea Sherry could sing,” his mother murmured, flinging her hands in the air and bellowing, “Sherry!  Marvelous job, darling!”

The tipsy junior league president beamed and Dallas Jean Lee turned her attention to the confused clerk.  “Yes, he’ll have a medium pepperoni pizza with garlic bread and I’ll have a small house salad with a large super deluxe pizza.  Diet coke, please.  And do you have any canneolis?”

“Some chocolate ones, fresh out of the oven,” the clerk replied.

“Are you going to eat that whole pizza by yourself?” Beau hissed, his eyes wide.

“Of course not,” Dallas Jean asked, looking aghast.  “A few slices are for them.” She pointed to Larry, Curly and Mo, who whined in excitment.  “And never comment on how much a woman eats, dear.  It’s rude.”  She stared at the menu, pursing her lips.   “Perhaps we should get some cheesecake…”

“Mother….” Beau hissed.  “There’s a line!”

“Before he cheeeeeatttttttsssssss,” warbled the junior league president, swirling her ample hips.  As the crowd broke into cheers, she curtsied and tumbled off the stage.  Beau hid his eyes and shook his head.

“”We’ll have four chocolates and three vanilla cannoli, please,” Dallas Jean decided, handing over her card.  After signing the reciept, she eyed the empty microphone and grinned.  “Come along, darling.  We’ll sing before our food arrives.”

“Mom, no. Mom….MOMMMMMM,” Beau hissed as Dallas Jean Lee dragged him through the tables and up to the stage.

“Hello, Corsicana!” Dallas Jean bellowed, flicking on the microphone and beaming.  A metallic screech ripped through the air and the crowd groaned.  “My son and I would like to treat you to our rendition of….”

She looked at Beau.

“Nothing,” he muttered.

Dallas Jean Lee’s eyes glittered.  “His favorite song as a boy,” she declared, throwing an arm around her squirming son.  “George Strait’s “Amarillo by Morning!”

“Oh no,” her son groaned, burying his face in his hands as his mother warbled happily, with Larry, Curly and Mo howling along:

“Amarillo by morning,

Up from San Antone

Everything that I got

Is just what I’ve got on.

When that sun is high in that Texas sky,

I’ll be buckin’ at the county fair.

Amarillo by morning,

Amarillo I’ll be there.”

The crowd laughed and cheered.  Peeking through his fingers, her son relaxed and peeled his fingers off his face.  Taking the microphone from his mom, he sang in a clear, high tenor accompanied by the dachshunds’ howls;

“They took my saddle in Houston,

Broke my leg in Santa Fe.

Lost my wife and a girlfriend,

Somewhere along the way.

I’ll be lookin’ for eight

When they pull that gate

And I hope that judge ain’t blind.

Amarillo by morning,

Amarillo’s on my mind.”

Wrapping her arms around her son, Dallas Jean leaned over and sang with him in the microphone, as Larry, Curly and Mo brayed into the night air;

“Amarillo by morning,

Up from San Antone

Everything that I got

Is just what I’ve got on.

I ain’t got a dime,

But what I got is mine.

I ain’t rich, but Lord I’m free.

Amarillo by morning,

Amarillo’s Where I’ll be.

Amarillo by morning,

Amarillo’s Where I’ll be.”

The crowd leaped to its feet, cheering and applauding.  Bowing, Dallas Jean planted a kiss on her son’s head and he blushed.  Handing the microphone to the sheriff, she bounded off the stage in her duckie pajamas and scurried over to their table.  A clerk brought over their pizzas and Dallas Jean promptly put three pieces on a plate and placed them on the ground for Larry, Curly and Mo.

“So darling,” she said, picking up a piece of steaming pizza, “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“How do you know something’s on my mind?” Beau asked, biting into his pizza.

Dallas Jean raised a manicured eyebrow.  “I doubt you’d get pizza and sing karaoke with your mama if something wasn’t really bothering you.”

He gave her a little smile.  “Yea.”

“Spill,” she ordered, stabbing her salad.

“Well,” he began, “It’s something I think you might be able to help me with…”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a new creative woman tomorrow and a new week of whimsical fun!! Stay tuned!