Her arm curled around her pie plate protectively, Dallas Jean beamed at Mrs. Maisy and Adelaide.

They stared back at her in a mixture of horror and fascination.

“It’s finally happened,” Adelaide muttered, shaking her head.  “Why didn’t the powers tell me about this?  If only I had been able to predict your demise, your ruin, your slide into insanity…”

“You don’t even know what my plan is!” Dallas Jean protested, popping the last bit of peanut butter pie into her mouth.

“Dallas, the last time you got that look in your eye, you drove your car through the window of the party store to protest their balloon festival”–

“The balloons were falling in the ocean and killing the dolphins!”

“Or there was the time that you were so concerned about water waste that you fried your neighborhood’s sprinkler system…”

“They’re still not over it,” Dallas Jean grumbled, starting on her butterscotch pie.  She picked up a clean fork and beamed.  “But this plan is brilliant.  It’s not like the others.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Adelaide moaned, burying her fingers into her temples.  “I can practically see Norman’s dreadful face smirking at us now…”

Dallas Jean snarled.  “There’s no way I’m letting him win!”

“Girls, all this bickering is quite fascinating,” Mrs. Maisy interjected, her feet tapping impatiently against the floor.  “But I’d love to know what your plan is, dear.”

“Me too.”  Adelaide eyed Dallas Jean.  “Dallas, put down the pie and tell us what your plan is.”

“Don’t mess with my pie,” Dallas Jean growled, pulling the plate closer to her chest.  Tossing her fluffy platinum hair behind her, she wiggled her hot pink fingernails, her eyes flashing.  “Mrs. Maisy is right.  Anything you make with your hands and give away is love, right?  I mean when you think of someone your mom, what do you think of?”

“Insanity,” Adelaide replied.

“Chicken pot pie, hugs and kisses, soft pink cardigans,” Mrs. Maisy answered.

Dallas Jean pointed a rhinestone-encrusted nail at Mrs. Maisy.  “Precisely.  Now, what do all old people and children want?”

Mrs. Maisy looked dumbfounded.  “Candy?”

“A nap?” Adelaide suggested.

“No, no, no!” Dallas Jean shook her head, the platinum curls flying. “Children and elderly want to feel loved, secure, important.  They have a small little world and want to know that it’s stable, that everything is right in it.  They need affection, care.”  She leaned forward, her blue eyes glittering more than the diamonds twinkling on her fingers.  “They need pie.”

Adelaide raised her eyebrow.  “You lost me.”

“Me too, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Maisy replied, her wrinkled face creased like a bewildered basset hound’s.

“What’s the most comforting place in a house?” Dallas Jean asked, leaning over so far her hot pink silk shirt brushed against her butterscotch pie.

“Bed,” Adelaide responded, hiding a yawn.

“The kitchen,” Mrs. Maisy crowed.

“Right!” Dallas Jean cheered.  She wiggled her fingers as she spoke, her fingers glittering with at least half a dozen diamond rings.  Dallas Jean never believed in subtly.  “So add that all up and what do you get?”

Mrs. Maisy blinked at her.  Adelaide chewed on her lip.

“We open up a pie center!” Dallas Jean bellowed, flinging her arms out.  Her bosom collapsed into the edge of her butterscotch pie and forks and napkins flung onto the floor.  “We open up a little cafe where children and the elderly can meet and chat over pie.  Then, they go to a room next door and play with puppies and kittens up for adoption.   Then the kids and elderly get a friend, the animals get a friend, and everyone gets pie!  It’s brilliant!”

Mrs. Maisy’s withered lips stretched into a grin.  “It certainly is dear.  I know my favorite thing to do is be with my grandchildren.  And some aren’t lucky enough to have grandchildren nearby, or even grandchildren at all.  Pie and puppies would make it even better.”

“The logistics of this are going to be ridiculous,” Adelaide muttered, tapping her chin.  “I’m going to have to do a tarot card reading for the health inspector to keep him from squawking…”  A slow smile spread over her face.  “But it’s brilliant.  It truly is.”

Dallas Jean beamed and picked up her fork.  “I’m glad you think so.”  Glancing down, she narrowed her eyes.  “Who took a chunk out of my pie?”

“You did,” Adelaide replied, pointing to Dallas’ chest.  The center of her shirt was smeared with butterscotch and whipped cream.

Dallas giggled and twirled her fork.  “That just entitles me to a new piece then!  Let’s talk logistics, shall we?”  With their heads bent over their pie, the ladies began to work.

Meanwhile, across town, Norman was seething.  He stared at Dallas Jean’s laughing face, frozen on the television screen as a group of reporters giggled around her.  Locking his jaw, red veins snaking across his temple pulsed and throbbed as his face deepened to scarlet.  The press loved Dallas Jean.  The public loved Dallas Jean.  His candidate for mayor loved Dallas Jean.

Norman did not love Dallas Jean.

He wanted nothing more than to see her fail, to see her forced to stand by Grayson smiling and waving in a demure suit–none of that bright or sequined stuff she wore now.  But it seemed like he was in the minority.  Everyone else loved Dallas Jean.  He had gone to his friends at the police station to dig up dirt and had come up with only smiles and goodwill.  There were no bitter ex-boyfriends, no tales of wild parties or shoplifting at local boutiques.  Dallas Jean was as clean as a first snow.

Norman ground his teeth and snapped a pencil against the edge of his desk.  No one was that clean.  He had to find something.  Staring at Dallas’ wide grin, he tapped the broken end of the pencil to his teeth.

And then he laughed.  Smiling, he picked up his phone and punched a number he knew well.  Tapping the broken pencil against the desk, he waited.

“Hello, Clementine Jane,” he drawled.  “This is Norman.  Listen, I’ve got a scoop you don’t want to miss.  You want to come to my offices downtown?  Say in an hour?  Perfect.  See you then.”  As the red seeped from his cheeks, the smile spread across his face.

Dallas Jean didn’t know what was in store for her.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow we have a new Creative woman of the Pond!  Then a week of more whimsical fun!  Stay tuned!