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“A wager?” Dallas Jean Lee purred, taking enormous bite out of a cinnamon roll.  Cream cheese icing rolled down her chin as she leaned forward, her towel turban bobbing alarmingly toward the cinnamon roll pan. “Tell me, darling.  What are you thinking?”

Clementine Jane leaned forward, the tape recorder hovering under her mother’s nose. Norman peeked through the fingers covering his face and Beau chewed, his expression identical to the polite expression his father wore around difficult clients.  Grayson leaned closer, his eyes locked onto Dallas Jean Lee’s.

“A wager,” he repeated, his lips spreading in a slow smile.  “A little friendly competition between two candidates running for mayor.”

Dallas Jean took another enormous bite of cinnamon roll.

“Mom, is that your third roll?” Clementine Jane interrupted with a hiss, covering the tape recorder.

“Oh no, dear,” Dallas Jean replied breezily.  “It’s my sixth or seventh.  Don’t interrupt, honey.”  Returning her gaze to Grayson, she raised an eyebrow.  “What are your terms?” she asked.

“If I win, you agree to support me as a mayor’s wife,” Grayson replied, his eyes twinkling.  “That means holding teas and luncheons to promote awareness for various causes, attending functions with me, posing for photos, not slandering me in the press…and fewer hairbrained schemes like the petting zoo incident.”

Dallas Jean Lee scowled and took another cinnamon roll.  “I refuse to be fenced in and tied up like a show pony,” she snapped, waving the roll in this face.  Cream cheese icing flicked on his tie and collar.  “Don’t fence me in, Grayson!”

“That’s why I said fewer occasions,” Grayson pointed out, hiding a smile.  “I know you can’t resist stirring up trouble.”

“I don’t stir up trouble,” Dallas Jean Lee pouted.  “I help out unjust situations.  I am a provider of sanity and righteousness in this terrible world of boredom and persecution.”

“That’d be a great quote for the front page,” Clementine Jane whispered to her brother.  Norman wailed as Beau rolled his eyes.

“What do I get if I win?” Dallas Jean Lee asked, licking the icing off her knife.

Grayson bit his lip and Norman wailed, louder.  “I’ll take you to Europe for six weeks and let you buy all the clothes and fancy things you want.  And I’ll never say a word about you being mayor.”

Dallas Jean Lee’s eyes bugged out.  “Are you serious?”

“Dad, you’re not serious?” Beau asked, his face twisted with worry.  “We’ll be destitute.”

“But it’s Europe,” Clementine Jane sighed, her face a dreamy mask identical to Dallas Jean’s.

“I’m serious,” Grayson confirmed.  He stuck out his hand.  “Do we have a deal?”

Wiping the icing off her fingers, Dallas Jean Lee extended a sticky, albeit well-manicured, hand.  “Deal.”

Flipping off the tape recorder, Clementine Jane shoved a cinnamon roll in her mouth, grabbed a coke and threw her backpack over her shoulder.  “I have to get this to the paper!”

Tucking into another cinnamon roll, Beau groaned.  “I’m going to have to change my name or move to New Mexico or something.  You two are crazy.”

“Isn’t it grand?” Dallas Jean beamed, throwing her arms around Grayson and kissing him.  Her towel turban careened forward, spilling over Grayson’s carefully coiffed hair.

Norman coughed, his face purple and contorted. “Grayson, if you’re done here, I’d like to talk to you in your office,” he hissed, his voice strained.  “We must re-strategize your campaign, due to all these new….conditions.”

“We’ll meet for lunch,” Grayson informed him, checking his watch.  “I have to meet with a client in a few minutes.”  Kissing Dallas Jean, he ruffled Beau’s hair and strode towards the front door.  “See you at dinner, everyone.  Beau, do you need a ride to school?”

“Sure,” Beau replied, swigging down his juice.  Grabbing his backpack, he kissed his mother’s cheek.  “Bye, Mom.”

“Bye,” she replied, wiggling her fingers.  Sticking her tongue between her teeth, she smirked at Norman.  “Bye,” she purred.  “May the best woman win.”

Gritting his teeth and growling, Norman stormed out the front door after Beau.  As soon as the door clicked shut, Dallas Jean grabbed the phone and pushed a single button.  Holding the phone to her ear, she drummed her hot pink fingers on the counter.

“Adelaide?” she said into the receiver.  “Three words for you: Cinnamon rolls and politics.  No, the “and” doesn’t count.  Come over and help me and I’ll give you the rest of my cinnamon rolls.  No, I didn’t make them.  They’re from a can.  What’s that supposed to mean?  I’m a wonderful cook.  Stop laughing.  That’s mean.  What do I need help with?  My campaign for mayor.  Yes, I’m serious.  See you in fifteen.”  Humming to herself, Dallas Jean Lee hurried up stairs to get dressed, swinging her formal towel turban around her head like a lasso as her unrestrained blond wet locks flailed wildly around her.

Three hours later, fifty more signs had been painted, the rest of the cinnamon rolls eaten and a TV crew had ambushed Dallas Jean’s front door demanding to interview her.  Posing on her veranda in a hot pink pantsuit, her lush blond curls clipped back with a rhinestone clip, Dallas Jean fluttered her eyes at the camera.  Adelaide stood next to her, her wild red hair fluttering in the wind.

“Dallas, why are you running for mayor?” a journalist asked, sticking her microphone nearly up Dallas Jean’s nostrils.

“Well,” Dallas Jean replied, leaning back.  “It was actually my son’s idea.  We were having pizza the other night and he asked if I would do anything to help on his father, my husband’s, campaign.  He stressed the importance of helping the people in town, in making a difference.  And the best way I think I can make a difference and make my son proud of me, is to run for mayor myself and do things firsthand.”

“Do you not trust your husband?” another shouted.

“Grayson is a remarkable man,” Dallas Jean cooed.  “But you know what they say, don’t you?  If you want something said, ask a man.  If you want something done, ask a woman.”  She simpered as the journalists giggled.

“What will your campaign focus on?” a journalist shouted, waving his microphone from the back.

Adelaide stepped forward, her green eyes sparkling. “Animals, children and the elderly,” she replied, smiling at the murmurs from the cynical reporters.  “In fact, our first issue is a case against loneliness.  Dallas Jean Lee is going to make sure no one is ever lonely again.”

“How?” a reporter gasped.

Dallas Jean Lee smiled.  “Wait and see, folks,” she demurred.  “Wait and see…”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow we have a brand new Christmas ornament confessions, then next week it’s Christmas week at the Pond!  We’ll have letters to Santa from the Babies, Christmas stories and pies and lots of Christmas fun!  Stay tuned!