by Becky Monson
“What face?” I say, grabbing a bag and following suit.
“That defeated face. It’s not even over yet.” She pauses to pick up a random paper towel that is balled up on the counter. She wipes her brow with it. I don’t even let my mind go where it wants to go. Like, where was that paper towel before she used it? Ew.
“Well, I just keep seeing the clock and then looking at what we still have to do. It’s kind of hard not to feel that way.”
“It ain’t over ‘til the fat lady sings,” she says. At least that’s one I’ve heard before. Franky is neither fat, nor a lady, but when he says it’s over, it’s really over.
We frantically work to get the cupcakes frosted and decorated. At least the interns aren’t doing a horrible job with the frosting. It’s not that hard, but most of the tasks I’ve given them weren’t that hard, and they still seemed to have questions or problems. I guess I think what I do is easier than it is.
“Fifteen minutes,” Franky yells out and my stomach sinks. I really, truly, don’t think we are going to make it. I’ve never seen a show where the competitor doesn’t make it in time. At least not in this round. But I’m the first to visibly throw up on the show, why not add this to the list? It might make for more good television drama.
I glance over to see Ryan the carpenter guy rolling my display in. It looks good, I guess. Not spectacular, but the focus is the cupcakes, and with the colorful décor, it will really bring it to life. At least I hope it will.
We magically finish frosting the cupcakes with just ten minutes to spare. We immediately start loading the cupcakes onto the display, careful not to have any topple over. In hindsight, having shelves stacked this way was not my best idea. It’s hard to get our hands in there without getting frosting on the shelf above. We have to stop and do a wipe down a couple of times.
Franky announces that there are five minutes left, and now I’m just telling everyone to get the cupcakes on the display. I don’t really care how it looks at this point, just that they get on there.
Time is called as one of the interns literally puts the last cupcake on the stand. We all stand back from the display. We did it. We freaking did it. I don’t even care at this point if I win. I’m just so happy I have a finished product.
Okay, that’s a lie. I do want to win. I mean, I’ve made it this far.
I stand farther back to take in the entire display and my eyes bug out of my head at what I see. But not in a good way. With all the rounded cupcakes on it, my supposed-to-be awe-inspiring NASA shuttle, has now taken on a whole different shape. It’s, well,phallic.
“Oh, my,” says Patti, as she steps back to see the whole thing. “That right there is a penis, darlin’.” She’s pursing her lips and pointing at our cupcake stand.
My shoulders sink. I’ve just created a seven-foot wiener for the world to see. Well, there goes my chance to win. I mean, seriously. I’ve most definitely lost this battle and probably killed any extra business for the bakery.
Then to make matters worse, before I can scream “Noooooo!” Ryan the carpenter plugs it in and the flashing lights start dancing.
It’s a big, flashing, cupcake-filled penis.
What’s the aura color for wanting to die? Because I’m pretty sure that’s the light I’m sending out to the universe right now. I know I’ve mentioned before when things go wrong that death would be welcomed, but I was just bluffing then, because now I know what it feels like to actually wish for death. It would be so much easier than what I have to endure right now. And there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t fix it or change it. What’s done is done.
We are asked to go back to the greenroom while the judges check out our displays and come to a decision. We should have just stayed in the studio. This will be a quick judgment.
Upon entering the room, Brady turns to me with a cunning smile. “Nice display, Julia.” He snickers, and he and his wife high-five. I was so caught up in my display disaster that I didn’t even pay attention to theirs. I’m sure they think they’ve got this one in the bag. They probably do.
I really hate them.
I walk over to my purse and try to subtly retrieve my phone, not wanting to get caught with it. I power it up, ignoring the many text pop-ups that start coming up. Most of them are from Brown, Anna, and Jared. But I see some from my family members and one from my grandma. Grandma? I didn’t even know she knew how to text. Oh, yes, my grandma was very excited about this, being a fan of the show and all. Imagine her surprise when she sees what her granddaughter created. Awesome.
I send Anna, Brown, and Jared a quick group text.
Just made giant penis for national television. Would like to die now.
I hit send and turn it off. That was probably against my contract, but at this point, who cares? It’s not like they will even understand what I’m referring to. Oh, but they will when they see the show. Everyone will. Even my poor, dear grandmother, not to mention Jared’s mom, Bobby. I somehow failed to remember that lovely fact until right now. There goes my endorsement as future daughter-in-law.
And what about Jared? Will he be disappointed and say this isn’t the kind of exposure that I should be getting for the bakery? Will he look at me differently? My stomach drops at the thought. I wish I would have never done this stupid show.
“It’s gonna be all right,” Patti says soothingly as I sit down next to her on the couch. She puts a hand on my leg in an attempt to stop it from shaking. It doesn’t work.
“Is it? Because I’m thinking it’s seriously bad, in so many ways.”
She stifles a giggle, trying to cover it up with a sniff of her nose.
“Really? You think this is funny?” I’m not a woman of violence, but I wouldn’t mind slapping Patti right now.
“Well,” she sniffles and her body shakes next to me, trying to hold the laughter in, “it’s kinda funny, if ya think about it.”
I close my eyes and lean my head back against the bright red leather couch. This situation is so not funny. And I don’t see it being funny in the near future. Or even the distant one for that matter.
Jordan comes in the room. “It’s time for your interview with the producers, Julia.”
Oh, crap. I forgot I had to do that. I grab Patti’s hand. “Come on, you’re coming with me.”
She gives me a perturbed look, but gets up and follows me anyway.
~*~
Tears are literally streaming down my face. It might be that I’m super tired, or that it’s been a really, really long day, but I’ve actually brought myself to tears. Tears of laughter. So okay, maybe this whole phallic display thing is funny right now. I know I thought it was no laughing matter before, but hearing the story out of Patti’s mouth for the interview with the producers, and watching them rock with amusement, well, it became contagious, and I could no longer hold it in.
We’re all trying to catch our breath at this point. It’s difficult because one of us will look at the other and then start laughing again. I’m pretty sure this will not be a very useful interview for the actual show.
After trying unsuccessfully to answer the follow-up questions, one of the producers calls it good and Patti and I go back to the greenroom to await our fate.
We wait for what seems like an eternity, but when I glance at the clock, it has only been thirty minutes. Still, that’s a long time to wait for this part of the show. Plus, this should be a no-brainer for the judges. I made it super easy for them. It’s pretty obvious who the winners will be, the stupid, annoying Cool Cakes. They think they are so great with their non-penis display. Whatevs.
“They’re ready for us,” Jordan says as he holds his earphone to his ear. I think he thinks it makes him seem more important than he is. It doesn’t.
I look at Patti, and she nods her head, silently saying “Let’s do this” with her eyes.
I was actually silently saying “Let’s make a run for it,” but I’m pretty sure she didn’t catch that.
We walk back
into the studio and take our places in front of the judges, as we have done three other times today.
The vomit butterflies are back, but I’m pretty sure I can keep it together. I’m just going to envision being done with this. In with the thoughts of being home and seeing Jared, out with the thoughts of wiener-shaped cupcake displays.
The judges all have stern expressions. That’s essentially the only look they ever have when it’s time to announce who wins. They probably practice so that they don’t give anything away. Honestly, the winner is so obvious here, there’s no point in them trying to cover it up.
“Bakers, in the first round, you were judged on creativity using the secret ingredient, which today was astronaut food. For the second round, you were asked to make three cupcakes that were judged on flavor as well as décor. And for the third and final round, you were asked to make one thousand cupcakes and an original display. The winner of Cupcake Battles will get ten thousand dollars and have their cupcake display featured at the 55th anniversary of NASA.” He glances first at Cool Cakes and then over at us.
I glance over at the displays, my lit-up phallic display sitting next to Cool Cake’s presentation. Theirs is just a large table with varied layers, and a revolving solar system as the center focus. It seems like some sort of display for a science fair. And this is what is going to win? Nice.
“This decision was one of the hardest for the judges. But one of you stood out as the winner. And the winner is . . .”
I immediately shift to my left and hold out a hand to Cool Cakes to congratulate them. Meanwhile Patti is awkwardly hugging me from behind. Honestly, I’m not that downtrodden from it all that I need a hug right after I’ve lost. I’m just happy to be done. I made it to the final round. That’s something to be proud of.
Mr. “Cool Cakes” Brady is not returning the handshake. Wow, what a sore winner. I’ve heard of these kinds of people, but I’ve never met one. Until now, that is.
“We won!” Patti spins me toward her, grabbing both of my hands with hers and jumping up and down, her big blonde hair bouncing around.
“Patti, I think the chemicals in your hair spray are getting to you.” I move to look at the Somethings and they are hugging each other, but not in a happy way. I turn back to Patti. “Wait. We won? But, but, how?”
“Julia,” Ginger says, and I shift toward the judges’ table. I’m not entirely sure what just happened. I think I might be dreaming. “This was a tough decision for us, but at the end of the day, your cupcakes had the best flavors overall.”
“And your décor really captured what I was hoping to have at the celebration,” Stephen pipes in. “Your display may, um, need a little tweaking,” he says, his cheeks reddening as he says it.
“I . . . I . . .” I have no words. I don’t even know what to say. We won. We freaking won CupcakeBattles, and with a phallus-shaped display, no less.
Patti grabs me and hugs me tightly. “We did it!” she says as she squeezes me.
We did it. I can’t believe it.
CHAPTER 13
“You really aren’t going to tell me?” Jared asks, as he leans against the counter in the back of the bakery.
The rest of the trip was a whirlwind. There were interviews and pictures and a celebration dinner with Patti where she got a little tipsy and told me personal stories that I’ll never be able to scrub out of my brain. They are burned there forever.
I had no time to do anything when I got home from the flight this afternoon but come to the bakery and start on Brown’s cake for the wedding tomorrow. I also had to see with my own eyes that my store hadn’t burned down while I was gone.
“No, I’m not telling you.” I grab a damp rag and try unsuccessfully to towel-whip him on the leg. He’s too fast. Or I suck at towel-whipping. I used to get Lennon pretty good, back in the day. I’m probably a little rusty.
“You know I can tell just by the look on your face,” he says, a knowing grin peering through his lips.
“Maybe I’m just an amazing actress,” I say, giving him my best smirk.
He laughs heartily at that, a little too loudly. Hmph. So apparently, I’m a horrible actress.
“Come on,” he chides, grasping me around the waist and turning me, pushing me up against the counter. He leans in and kisses me. It’s tender and loving, and for a split-second, I almost forget about having to make Brown’s cake or whatever the heck we were just talking about.
“Okay, fine,” I say as he kisses down my neck. That’s my biggest weakness and damn him for using it against me. “I won.”
The neck kissing stops abruptly (dang it), his eyes quickly move to mine. “I knew it!” he yells loudly. He wraps his arms around me in a tight hug, lifts me up, and spins me around.
“Yes, I won,” I say when he ends the spinning. “But you can’t tell anyone, and I can’t tell you the details, but just know there was a phallic display involved, and it’s going to be incredibly embarrassing when it airs.” I close my eyes, picturing my display and feeling a slight pit in my stomach.
“Yes, I got your text. Although I’m now putting two and two together.” He starts chuckling.
“It’s not funny!” I say as I grip the damp rag again and towel-whip him.
“Ow!” He yells out and grabs his leg where the end of the towel hit him. Yes! I’ve still got it. He moves to take the towel to get me back, but I ball it up and throw it across the room and then I grab him and kiss him, hoping he would rather kiss me than get me back. It works.
“So now are you going to tell me what’s been going on with you?” I ask, hoping that I don’t ruin his mood with the question.
“Well, I could. Or I could do this.” He kisses me tenderly.
I should probably pry more, but he’s in the best mood I’ve seen in a while. Why ruin it?
After more kissing and no baking, I finally kick Jared out of the bakery so I can get this wedding cake done before the rehearsal dinner tonight.
I’m about ninety-nine percent sure that’s not going to happen. Brown will not be happy.
~*~
“Where’s Betsy? Has anyone seen the bride?” the wedding planner yells frantically over the laughing and talking of the bridesmaids. Time for wedding number one. Brown’s wedding. We are in the bridal suite, doing last-minute hair and makeup.
I barely finished the cake in time for the rehearsal dinner, but I made it. Patti and Debbie are all set to bring it over today and add the finishing touches. Thank goodness for them.
By the end of the rehearsal dinner last night, all the lack of sleep and overused adrenaline had hit me hard. My mind was a muddled pile of goo at that point, and I’m pretty sure I made a fool of myself one or two times. Of course, I probably would have done that without the muddled brain. It’s what I’m known for, after all.
I stare into the full-length mirror in the bridal suite and look myself over. I’ve been completely overdone. My hair is twisted up, curls everywhere. I have makeup on every millimeter of my face. My eyes are done in smoky colors that really do bring out my muddied, green-colored irises. I’d say that I might try the smoky-eyed makeup on my own, but I already know that’s a lie. I’m wearing a plum-colored chiffon, one-shoulder draped dress and a pair of shoes I’m pretty sure I’m going to face-plant in. Brown made me wear them last night at the rehearsal. No one else had to wear them, just me. I’m apparently the only one in the group (or the world, as Brown said) who doesn’t wear obnoxiously tall shoes on a regular basis, so I needed the extra practice.
“Anyone? Has anyone seen Betsy?” The wedding planner looks absolutely frazzled. The shirt on her business suit has come un-tucked. And her chignon is less, well, chignon-y. I’ve never planned a wedding, but losing track of the bride would probably be pretty stressful, especially an anxious bride like Brown. I mean, she was freaking out on me, so I can’t even imagine what she’s put that disheveled soul through.
“I’ll go find her,” I say to the poor thing. I’m the only who’s still no
t primping, anyway. I don’t primp. I don’t like staring at the mirror for long amounts of time. Eventually I start to see things I don’t want to see, like fine lines and sun spots. It’s best to avoid the mirror as much as possible.
I walk out of the room and into the hall, feeling the cool breeze of the air-conditioning. There is so much body heat crammed into that suite, it’s hard to believe my makeup hasn’t sweated off.
Going purely on a hunch, I walk down the hall (more like clomp, in these ridiculous shoes) and out the glass door that leads to the back of the hotel.
That’s when I smell it. Cigarette smoke.
“Brown? Brown, I know you’re out here,” I say as I search around, peering behind tall bushes and trees that are scattered around the grounds.
“Over here,” she says, and I see a hand wave at me from behind a large maple tree about twenty feet away. The large trunk hides her completely.
“Brown, are you smoking?” I say as I walk over to her, careful not to fall in these ridiculous shoes.
“Shhh! Would you shut up?” she loud-whispers when I get closer.
I round the tree, coming face to face with Brown, and the first thing I notice is that she’s stunning in her form-fitting, white lace dress. Her hair is pinned up, similar to mine, but seems so much prettier on her. Her makeup is perfect, of course. It’s not much different from her normal everyday wear, just a little more striking.
And to complete the look? A cigarette hanging out of her mouth.
“Brown! What are you doing?” I reach up to snatch the cigarette from her, and she bats my hand away in a ninja-fast move. “You’ve made it so long! Why mess it all up today?”
“Oh, Julia,” she rolls her eyes, “it’s just one cigarette. You know, to take the edge off. I’m not messing it up.” She blows the smoke out of the side of her mouth, away from me.
