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Dallas Jean Lee raised an eyebrow.  Running her tongue over her teeth, she leaned forward over the counter, her towel turban tipping precariously.  When she ran her tongue over her teeth a second time, most people would have recognized they were in dangerous territory.  The smartest move would to turn and run as quickly as possible to a place far, far away as far away from a Neiman’s Marcus as possible.

Norman, however, did not do any of these things.  Instead, he jabbed a finger in the center of her turban.

“That’s right,” he hissed, narrowing his eyes.  “If you don’t back down, I’ll start playing nasty.”

“Really?” Dallas Jean drawled, her tongue racing back and forth over her teeth like an excited cobra swaying to a flute.  “And how’s that?”  She pulled a knife out of the drawer and a tub of icing out of the pantry, cracking the lid and dipping the knife in.  Scooping an obscene amount of icing on each cinnamon roll, she eyed Norman as she iced away.

“I’m not above digging up dirt,” Norman informed her, his beady eyes boring into the tip of her turban as she bent over to ice the cinnamon rolls. “I’m talking old boyfriends…”

“They’re too scared to talk,” Dallas smirked, licking the icing off the tip of her pinkie.  Her eyes narrowed, piercing blue bolts that made Norman shudder.  “As they should be.”

“Your ex- best friend.”

“None of my ex-best friends know they’re my ex-best friends,” Dallas pointed out.

“Old photos, videos, diary entries, incriminating letters…”

Dallas Jean smirked.  “What do you think a lighter is for?  I’m not that dumb.”

“Indescritions, drugs, drinking…”

Dallas Jean cackled and licked the icing knife in one long slurp.  “That’s right, honey.  Take a good look.  I’m a cheatin’, drinkin’, strung out no good harlot popping out crack babies every two seconds and singing karaoke at pizza bars and dragging strange men home to do all sorts of scandalous things with right under my husband’s nose.  Oh yea.  I’m dangerous.”  She fluttered her eyelashes and snorted.

“Old teachers, neighbors, school nemeses, bitter sorority sisters, jaded Junior Leaguers…”

“Everybody loves me,” Dallas Jean replied airily.  “And if they don’t, they’d never say so.  It’d be social suicide.”

Norman grit his teeth as Dallas smiled angelically at him and shoved half a cinnamon roll in her mouth.  “Here’s the thing, Norman,” she mumbled around the enormous chunk of cinnamon roll poking between her lips.  “You can fight me, and you’ll fail.  You know it, too.  So why don’t you make a choice: either spend your energy trying to get Grayson elected, or spend your energy trying to get him to quit.  Because only one of us will win.  And I don’t lose.”  Her bright blue eyes turned hard, her voice laced with steel.  “Got it?”  Picking up another cinnamon roll, she eyed the halfway empty pan.  “I better make another batch,” she muttered, hurrying to the fridge.

Burning with fury, Norman barely noticed as Clementine Jane and Beau thundered down the stairs.  “Cinnamon rolls, all right!” Beau cheered, grabbing one in each fist.  Clementine Jane picked one up and delicately put it on a plate.  Heading to the fridge, she glanced at the poster-covered counter and started.  “Mother!” she shrieked.  “What is going on?”

“Honey, don’t worry, I’m making more,” Dallas Jean shouted through a mouthful of roll, icing smeared around her lips as she shoved another pan in the oven.  “10 is never enough, is it?”

“Not for me,” Beau agreed, shoving another in his mouth. Grayson reached around him, placing three on a plate.  “What is never enough?” he asked mildly.  “Norman, did you get any?”

Norman snarled.

“Cinnamon rolls,”  Dallas Jean bellowed, plopping more cinnamon on her fourth roll.  “One can never have enough cinnamon rolls.  Except Norman.  He isn’t allowed any.”

“That’s not polite, darling,” Grayson reprimanded.  “Norman, would you like mine?  I can wait until the next pan.”

“Excuse me!” Clementine Jane shouted, her shrieks rattling the window.  “Everyone shut up a moment!”

“That wasn’t polite either,” Beau observed.

“Mother, are you running for something?” Clementine Jane asked, gesturing to all the posters.

“Mayor,” Dallas Jean replied, grabbing a spoon and digging into the icing.  “I love cream cheese icing,” she said aloud to no one in particular. “It’s just amazing.”

“You’re running for mayor?” Clementine Jane shrieked.  “I’ve got to get this down for the paper!  No one say a word until I get back!”  Abandoning her cinnamon roll, she raced up to her room for her tape recorder.  Dallas Jean inched closer to the cinnamon roll as Norman’s snarl twisted his face more. As Clementine Jane’s feet thundered back down the stairs, Dallas Jean slid away from the roll, her face the picture of innocence.

“Dad, doesn’t this bother you?” she asked, panting as she held the recorder up to his chin.

“No,” Grayson replied mildly.  “If my wife wants to run, I support her.”

“As your political advisor, I’d advise you not to state that publicly,” Norman hissed, dodging the tape recorder as Clementine Jane swung it towards him.  “Are you worried about the campaign?” she asked.

“What’s there to be worried about?” he smirked, eyeing Dallas from across the kitchen.  “My client is a respected lawyer, while his opponent is a crazed housewife known for crazy ideas and ill-thought, usually illegal plans.  We trust that the people will see who the real leader is.”

“This is why you don’t get any cinnamon rolls!” Dallas Jean shouted through a mouthful of Clementine Jane’s cinnamon roll.

“When do the next ones come out?” Beau asked, eying the oven hungrily.

“Five minutes,” Dallas replied.

“How can you eat all that pizza last night and eat four or five cinnamon rolls?” Grayson asked, puzzled.  “You must have inheirted your mom’s appetite.”

“Mom ate more than I did last night,” Beau tattled.

“Don’t judge me!” Dallas Jean shouted.  “I’m harmonal!”

“Print that,” Norman hissed to Clementine Jane.  “You heard it!  Print it!”

“Mom, why did you decide to run?” Clementine Jane asked, shoving the tape recorder under her mother’s nose.

“It’s was Beau’s idea,” her mother replied.  “And a fabulous one too.”

“Don’t drag me into this,” Beau replied as his sister whirled towards him.  “I just said you should support Dad in his campaign by doing good things for the community.”

“Family strife!” Norman bellowed.  “She’s splitting up the family for her own selfish desires!”

“Mom’s right, you don’t deserve cinnamon rolls,” Beau admonished.

“Three more minutes,” Dallas Jean whimpered, pawing at the oven door.  “Come on, Babies!  Come to mama!”

“She’s a food addict!” Norman hollered.  “She can’t concentrate on the campaign because she’s too busy eating!  She doesn’t care about health in children!  She doesn’t care about diabetes or obesity!  Print that!   Print that!”

“Dad, what do you think of this?” Clementine Jane asked, thrusting the tape recorder in her father’s face.

Grayson stood, licking his fork.  He took a long sip of orange juice, his face calm and dignified.

“Personally, I think we should finish breakfast before discussing politics,” he replied, setting his glass on the counter.  “I think we should remember we’re a family, no matter what aspirations or careers we pursue.  Additionally, I feel that we should set family standards on press matters.  And thirdly…” he looked across the counter at Dallas Jean and winked.  “I think we should have a wager.”

Norman groaned and slapped his hand against his head.  “We’re doomed,” he moaned.

The cinnamon rolls dinged.  Taking them out of the oven, she pulled out a fresh tub of icing and began to slather it over the rolls.  Beau licked his lips as Norman shook his head, wallowing in self-pity.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, sugar,” Dallas Jean cooed.  Her tounge waggled over her teeth faster than the knife through the icing.

Grayson smiled at his wife.  “You’ll love it, darling,” he said.  “I was thinking…”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow we have a new bit of Christmas whimsical fun and next week, all sorts of magical mischief!

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