Campaign Chaos Pt. 01

Like many an American town, the idyllic suburb of Davidson, Maryland, an affluent community equidistant between Baltimore and Washington, D.C., looked to its residents each year to determine who among them would constitute the tony village's "Town Council." Although mostly a ceremonial body -- the true local "power," to the extent there was any, was exercised by the Anne Arundel County Board -- the Davidson Town Council afforded residents an opportunity to have a say in issues as disparate as neighborhood beautification and where the next town dog park might be located.

Better said, in a village populated mainly by wealthy, type-A, overachieving suburbanites, election to the Davidson Town Council was a subtle source of bragging rights -- a small but symbolic token of one-upmanship -- a pseudo-altruistic stage upon which to say "look at me!" And no one in Davidson craved a spotlight, loved to boast, reveled in her superiority or silently screamed "look at me" more than Mrs. Danielle Marie Parnell. At 43, the 5' 3" stunning mother of three, through the blessing of great genetics and an unsurpassed dedication to fitness, had a body that rivaled women half her age. What's more, her flawless face, a perfect amalgam of Kerri Russel and Miranda Kerr, was a genuine vision of beauty. Danielle Parnell was spectacular -- and she knew it.

The suburban uber-MILF, who along with her physical beauty excelled professionally as the managing partner of SmythKnight -- one of the world's largest and most prestigious law firms -- loved nothing more than the sight of her own glorious reflection. What made her equally happy however was the impact that her physical beauty, reflected and actual, had upon every man and boy who laid eyes on her -- the losers. Despite internally craving their attention Danielle was outwardly disdainful of even their merest glances, and delighted in loudly and publicly shaming any man that she "caught" staring too long. Whether at the office, her children's athletic, school or other events, or at one of the many benefits and social outings where she always made an impact, the fetching Mrs. Parnell reveled in emasculating the undeserving and feckless men around her.

The true icing on the cake though was the humiliation that their wives, girlfriends or daughters would suffer as Danielle castigated their husbands, sons and boyfriends. Perhaps if the pathetic haus fraus, soccer moms and other assorted cows took better care of themselves they wouldn't be rendered invisible by her beauty -- but, she thought to herself, they didn't and they were.

Not surprisingly, it was the joy brought on by Mrs. Parnell's stunning beauty and the opportunity to flaunt both it and her extraordinary intellect at the day's planned Town Council debate that brought a smile to Danielle's gorgeous face as she stepped from the driver's seat of her brand new 2016 Mercedes AMG GT S. Laughing on the inside, the self-satisfied alpha-lawyer reveled in the similarities between herself and the super-car from which she had just alighted -- each in her mind, sophisticated with a spectacular body and beyond the reach of most any man.

As the self-appointed Queen Bee of almost all things Davidson, Mrs. Parnell had grown tired of having to seek the Town Council's approval for issues as simple as having the driveway of her home paved in Belgian brick. The idea of supplicating herself to the likes of Emily Duncan, -- that slovenly town district attorney and wife of a hardware store salesman -- or to Rachel Miras -- the officious "hobbit" who served as the local PTA president -- was unappealing to Mrs. Parnell on the best of days. That those two nobodies supported the council's recent decision to reject the Parnell family's application to install a six foot tall hedgerow along the entirety of the property line separating their yard from the road was the last straw.

From the public outdoor stage that sat a mere 100 yards from where she had just parked, Danielle was determined, during the evening's planned political tête-à-tête, to unwind that perceived injustice, and undo its witless and unattractive perpetrators by winning herself a seat on the council and, through her beauty, wiles and intellect, to sway the governing body's pathetic and easily manipulated male majority to see things her way. That during the impending debate she would have the opportunity to employ her unrivaled oratory prowess to publicly humiliate Mrs. Duncan and Mrs. Miras -- both of whom she considered no match for her intellectually -- was mere icing on the cake. Danielle smiled to herself as she pictured Davidson's gathered men and boys laughing as her skill as a public speaker rendered her two ineloquent "opponents" completely tongue-tied.

Of course, any glee the town's male population would get from Mrs. Parnell exhibiting her intellectual superiority over her witless co-candidates would pale in comparison to the spell those same men and boys would fall under while basking in the glory of Danielle's physical beauty. A devilish smile crossed the lusty lawyer's gorgeous face as she imagined the contrast between, on the one hand, the pasty, rumpled Emily Duncan and the squat, homely Rachel Miras -- each no doubt sporting some horrible, boxy poly-blend suit, comfortable shoes and dime-store haircut -- and, on the other hand, the tan, fit, magnificent face and body that smiled at her from the mirror each morning and that today was bedecked in towering heels and a most fashionable and form fitting power suit. She almost felt sorry for them . . . until she replaced that thought with the reality of how truly pathetic she knew they were . . . the peasants.

To lay the groundwork for her campaign victory, the relentlessly sexy suburbanite, beginning some six weeks or so before today's scheduled debate, had launched a stealthy but effective charm offensive against Davidson's male contingent. Simply put, she returned the glances of the town's men and boys with a smile, appeared interested in their tiresome conversations and even went so far, on rare occasions, to lay her perfectly manicured hand upon a forearm or shoulder and let it linger there for best effect. What's more, to emphasize her superiority over other women, she always made a point of conducting these false flirtations in front of the target's wife, boyfriend or mother.

"Really Mr. Duncan," she would coo to Emily's husband as Mrs. Duncan looked on, "I had no idea that the hardware business was so interesting."

"My gosh Billy," the sexy alpha-mom smiled at Mrs. Miras' eldest son when she saw him with his mother at the community pool, "aren't you becoming quite the young man."

"Why Mr. Hess," Danielle coquettishly whispered to Rebecca Ross' handsome husband, the only man who genuinely stirred Mrs. Parnell's genuine desire, "that uniform looks very good on you. Have you been working out even harder than usual?"

Needless to say, while Davidson's men and boys took to the more approachable Mrs. Danielle Marie Parnell like fish to water, the bucolic burb's female population wasn't so easily swayed. They knew exactly what the comely counselor was up to but, despite that knowledge and to their eternal frustration, there was not a thing they could do about it due to their being completely intimidated by the domineering diva. Of course, her ability to render Davidson's women collectively impotent only stoked the fire of the imperious Mrs. Parnell's ego even further. She genuinely thrived on their fear -- the halfwits -- and reveled in her own superiority.

With that superiority first and foremost in her mind, and as she made her way from her fabulous new Mercedes, across Davidson Park, to the raised outdoor platform that would soon be the sight of the late summer evening's town council debate, Mrs. Parnell found herself face-to-face with a gaggle of the very women she held in such disdain.

Namely, in addition to her so-called "competition" of Rachel Miras and Emily Duncan, the group included Nicole Silver -- a statuesque 5' 8" redheaded lawyer with a face that favored Nicole Kidman and a shapely but extraordinarily fit body that reflected equal parts Nordic heritage and Soul Cycle -- and Katherine Wray, a Tennessee native and former high school and college track star, who, with a passion for running that spanned the fifteen years since her Stanford graduation, had maintained her endless legs and all-around fabulous body in spectacular form.

Mustering up her best fake smile, the emerald eyed vixen reluctantly acknowledged her "lesser" neighbors with thinly disguised contempt.

"Good evening ladies," she began first addressing Emily and Rachel, "I just wanted to wish the two of you luck and to tell you how much I'm looking forward to working with . . . well . . . one of you . . . on the council."

"What's that supposed to mean, Danielle" interjected an agitated Mrs. Silver who had always been annoyed by Danielle's patronizing tone particularly because Nicole too was a Washington, D.C. based attorney, albeit without the professional plaudits that Mrs. Parnell had managed to garner.

"I'm so sorry Nicole," condescended the imperious Mrs. Parnell, relishing the opportunity to again humiliate the athletic if buxom redhead, "but you see there are only two seats open on the town council this term, the one that I'll be winning and the one that Edna and Raquel here will be vying for . . . do you understand now?"

And then, flashing her perfect smile and with a gleam in her eye worthy of Maleficent, Davidson's most self-satisfied narcissist turned on one of her sky-high, 4.5" high, black and white, leopard-print, calf hair, Christian Louboutin Iriza d'Orsay pumps, made unmistakable by the designer's iconic red leather soles, and, looking over her shoulder as she strode away, quipped, "it seems I've tarried too long ladies. Best of luck battling for the spot of top loser . . . looking at those suits it's a position of which you're both quite worthy."

Each of Emily and Rachel first looked coyly at the rather drab and unsophisticated outfit worn by the other before their collective gaze focused on the departing prima donna who, hips swaying in a form-fitting, black, wrap-around Giorgio Armani skirt fastened at the hip by a very stylized large button, veritably cat-walked her way through the gathering crowd as she headed for the stage. In stark contrast to their unfashionable and somewhat mannish skirt suits, Danielle's couture skirt was topped by a matching, fitted, black, bolero style jacket that in turn covered what to any causal observer's eye was a black and white, animal print blouse that encircled the nape of Mrs. Parnell's neck before plunging to reveal a barely discernible cleft atop her ample but appropriately covered bust-line.

Amid the palpable dejection of her unceremoniously humbled neighbors, Nicole Silver -- who would be moderating the evening's debate -- was the first to bring voice to what each of Emily, Rachel and Katherine was thinking.

"How dare that little trollop treat us that way," the buxom redhead fumed, "with her Edna and Raquel nonsense and that 'do you understand now Nicole?' dig. What I understand is that someone needs to teach that little tease a lesson she won't soon forget."

"Do you really think this suit makes me look like a loser," queried the crest-fallen Emily Duncan, "I know it's a bit baggy but I've always kind of liked it."

"Of course not," Nicole raged on, "you look fine. Don't you see, that's just her playing mind games with you . . . trying to embarrass you so that you don't perform at your best. She gets in your head so that you're worried about how you look or how to beat Rachel rather than how to defeat her. She's the one who needs to be embarrassed!"

"That's easier said than done," offered Katherine Wray. "Just look at her over there," the fetching runner continued -- pointing at a preening Mrs. Parnell as she cozied up to a group of Davidson's male residents who were beginning to assemble for the debate, "she's got those fellas hangin' on her every word."

"And she's always so cool under pressure," offered up Rachel Miras in a defeated tone. "There's nothing we can do to make Little Miss Perfect come unglued. We should just round up our kids, get up on that stage, get this thing over with and head home. After all, it's only the town council and," she looked sympathetically at her friend Emily before she spoke next, "at least one of us will still get a chance to be on it. Good luck tonight Em."

With that, and despite the increasing exasperation of one Nicole Yanika Silver, Emily Duncan along with her son Calum and Rachel Miras with her son Billy and daughter Sarah in tow, headed for the stage. Apropos of Davidson Maryland being the embodiment of Norman Rockwell's America, each candidate for town council would be joined on stage by her children who, after being introduced to the crowd of nearly 500 of Davdison's finest that now populated the rows of white, wooden, folding chairs that had been set up on the park's vast green just for this occasion, would remain on stage seated behind their mothers. In addition to the aforementioned Duncan and Miras progeny, Danielle was followed onto the stage by her own three children -- Will, the oldest, Anna, her middle child, and Maria, the youngest Parnell.

And so the debate began. Mrs. Silver explained both the format and the rules, the former of which afforded each candidate first to make a brief uninterrupted presentation before answering series of questions that Nicole would spread equally among the three women and the latter of which specified the time permitted for both answers to those questions and the rebuttal of the other candidates to those answers. Based on names drawn from a hat, Rachel Miras went first and, true to Mrs. Parnell's plan, floundered horribly due to a combination of self-doubt and her arrogant neighbor's intimidation. From tripping over her son's foot as she approached the podium, to tripping over her own words during her introduction, Mrs. Miras made a disastrous first impression. One small solace was the soft applause, more as a sign of sympathy with her plight than confidence in her candidacy, which she received from the crowd as she returned to her seat.

Next came Emily Duncan who, in order to clarify her plans for the council had prepared a PowerPoint presentation that was projected onto a large screen that sat center-stage. Unfortunately for Mrs. Duncan, and despite her son Calum's best efforts that afternoon to facilitate its repair, the laser pointer that she sought to employ to walk the audience through her slides instead, due to the strength of the laser itself, cut a rather large hole in the screen causing it, as well as any likelihood of Emily's success, to go crashing to the stage's floor. To make matters worse, the near Vaudevillian scene elicited peals of laughter from the gathered crowd led most vociferously by the imperious Danielle Marie Parnell and her son Will. Mrs. Parnell couldn't believe she had wasted any time charming Davidson's men in light of the predictable implosion of her two "competitors."

Once the mess of Emily Duncan's cataclysm had been cleaned up and Mrs. Duncan had sheepishly returned to her seat next to her son Calum -- who not only felt awful about his role in his mother's humiliating meltdown but knew that arrogant Will Parnell's bossy show-off of a mother would soon be making things even worse for her -- Danielle Marie Parnell strode very confidently to the podium. Smiling like the Cheshire cat, the emerald eyed beauty panned the audience of Davidson's good citizens and, employing merely for sport a confidence building trick she had learned as a high-school debate champion, imagined the men and women of the gathered throng in their underwear -- the losers. Little did she know that the tables would soon be turned with the added benefit for her audience of their not needing to employ any imagination.

"Good evening my friends," began the imperious uber-MILF sporting a sparkling if insincere smile.

"I'm delighted to see you've all taken the time tonight to help inform yourselves about a most important community decision . . . who will join the Davidson Town Council."

Looking back with a considerable amount of disdain at the two women now seated uncomfortably behind her on stage, the haughty suburban sexpot continued, "I had originally planned to share with you in my allotted introductory time some details about myself, my impressive career, my sophisticated worldview and why . . . in light of that . . . I am the natural choice for your votes. That said, seeing how more of your time than expected has been wasted by my co-candidates vying to determine between them who is the least incompetent alternative to fill the second available spot on the council, I will try to keep my words brief."

And then, standing majestically before "the people" in her 4.5" black and white, leopard-print, calf hair, Louboutins, tight, black, wrap-around Armani skirt and a matching fitted, black, bolero style jacket that opened to reveal a black and white, animal print blouse that coyly framed the mouth-watering cleft atop her pert but ample cleavage, Danielle Marie Parnell began articulately to enumerate her many accolades and accomplishments. The stark contrast of her boundless confidence, arrogance and sex appeal with the temerity and pratfalls of Mrs. Duncan and Mrs. Miras stirred the loins of every man and boy watching. With her luscious mane of brown hair -- made resplendent in the evening's twilight with its spectacularly sun-kissed blonde highlights -- set atop her beautiful face in a severe but sultry bun, and her emerald eyes framed by a pair of tortoise-shell cat eye glasses, Mrs. Parnell was every inch a school boy's -- and grown man's -- sexy teacher fantasy, and she knew it.

What she didn't know was that one of the boys sitting right behind her on stage -- Rachel Miras' 18-year-old son Billy -- had made his reputation as Gonzaga High School's most notorious prankster by taking down arrogant teachers for sport. Whether it was filling pompous Coach Smith's gym shorts with itching powder and then leading the laughter while he scratched himself silly, pulling the fire alarm just as Mrs. Kayser -- Gonzaga's sexy trigonometry Nazi -- was just about to launch a pop quiz and then delighting in her being read the riot act by Principal Whiting for trying to stop students from leaving her classroom or melting Muenster cheese on the space heater of that self-same Principal Whiting's office and then spreading a rumor that she had uncontrollable flatulence -- Billy Miras new a thing or two about humbling self-important adults.

But this time it was different, this time it wasn't going to be just for sport, this time it was personal. It was bad enough that stuck-up nerd Will Parnell's bossy show-off of a mom made a habit of disciplining Billy and his friends every chance she got, but tonight the town tease had gone too far. Tonight that Parnell woman had messed with Billy's mom -- and that changed everything -- that was not going to stand. It was time to take this snob down a peg or two he thought, but how?

And then, as if the heavens heard his plea, what looked like a silver pen fell from the lap of Mrs. Emily Duncan -- who only moments ago had likewise been made to look the fool by Mrs. Parnell -- and rolled to a stop at young William Miras' feet. It was the laser pointer that Billy's friend Calum, who was sitting shamefully on stage next to his own mom while the self-important Mrs. Parnell droned on, had in an unsuccessful attempt at repair, turned from a laser pointer to a laser paper cutter. Picking it up, it was as if a light bulb turned on over Billy Miras' head. If the pointer generated enough heat to cut through paper it could certainly create enough warmth to cause the usually unflappable Mrs. Parnell to sweat a bit.