Michael took his place behind the counter in the sound stage kitchen, which could’ve been plucked from a big suburban home and dropped into the studio. Production staff and crew shuffled around the set, flipping switches, adjusting equipment, pointing and checking lights. So much of working on a show was hurry up and wait. He’d forgotten that decidedly unglamorous fact while he was busy wishing for this life. After his years at The Clubhouse, where he was always busy, standing around on set twiddling his thumbs was mind-numbing.
The director finally arrived, striding in at a brisk clip while his assistant trailed behind him, obviously trying to keep up. The show’s director was a robust man, clearly accustomed to taking charge and having others follow without question. Michael straightened and held out his hand as they approached. The assistant pressed a button on her earpiece and spoke into it as she turned away from them.
“Good morning, Michael. It’s so good to see you back with the network,” the director said.
Michael pumped his hand and returned the greeting. “Great to be here, thanks. I’m looking forward to getting back to work.” Was he, really?
“Wonderful. As we discussed, you’ll talk the audience through your cake design today, using the pieces that we already baked and the ingredients you requested. You should find them assembled and ready to go on the shelves beneath the counter. The appeal of a show like this is the artistry and craft. I doubt most of our viewers intend to work along with you at home to make these cakes, but we’re going to include the recipes on the website, so you’ll need to give at least some instruction. Most of all, though, we want to see your personality. We have a dozen dessert shows on the network, so you’ve got to show the executives what makes yours worth picking up. Don’t be afraid to take chances.”
With a firm pat on the arm, the director was off to finalize the setup. Michael scanned the shelves beneath the counter. There was a prebaked cake waiting for him to pull out of the cold oven, but he was to assemble and mix the batter from the premeasured ingredients waiting for him. The hot stage lights burned above him, and he squinted, seeing only moving figures in the shadows beyond them. The call for quiet on the set went out, and after a count, theme music began. A surprising surge of excitement flew through him at the sound of the music, a piece clearly meant to reflect his rebel reputation with its heavy rock undertones. He’d focused on what he’d lost so much in the last week that he forgot what a rush shooting his own show could be. He didn’t have to fake the wide smile that spread across his face when the music faded and the show started.
“Welcome to Around the World in Thirteen Cakes with Michael Welch. Of course, I’m your host, Michael Welch.” He winked at the camera, finding his rhythm and remembering all the old tricks he used the first time around. “I’m going to take you on a vacation every week. We’ll explore new places and reflect the flavors and cultures we find in a cake that we create together. How does that sound?”
He’d learned on the first pilot how to act like he was chatting with a friend in the kitchen, but it was still strange to hold a one-way conversation with the camera in a room full of people. It came easier this time, but it took a lot of energy to maintain interest without a co-host.
“For our first trip, we decided to stay close to home and take you around sunny, beautiful, Los Angeles, California.” It wasn’t his home, but it would be for the time being. “When you live here, it’s easy to forget how many wonderful things there are to see. Did you watch the Valentine’s Day episode of Sugar Shock? You might have seen a familiar face,” he said with a grin. “If you missed it, be sure to catch it before it’s gone, because it’s a good one. I visited the show with my smokin’ hot girlfriend where we were kindly invited to help judge the semifinalist round.”
Could he still call her his girlfriend?
“Throughout the season, I’m going to amp it up and give you some of my secret recipes for my mouth-watering signature cakes, so be sure to keep watching. Today, we’re going to go with a classic to get you started. I’m going to ease you into things with the most delicious vanilla cake you’ve ever tasted. Think vanilla is boring? Think again, because there is nothing boring about a classic when it’s perfect. Throw away your boxed mixes and get out your pens and paper, because I’m going to take the mystery out of baking from scratch today. Let’s get started.”
He pulled out the bowls, premeasured ingredients, and equipment from beneath the counter and assembled everything in order. “Before you start any cake, make sure you have everything. You don’t want to get halfway through before you discover that you don’t have enough eggs, right? Speaking of eggs, take four of them and mix with two cups of granulated sugar.” He walked the audience through the recipe, adding his own flourishes of personality along the way. “Just bake at three-fifty for about thirty minutes, and there you have it. See? Making a cake is easy as pie. The secret is to make it fresh and to use the best ingredients you can afford. Don’t worry about adding anything, because this vanilla is traditional for a reason.” Before he met Carly, Michael never cared much for classics, but he had definitely developed a taste for them since.
He poured the batter into prepared cake pans and slid them into the cold oven. They would run commercials and then show him pulling a finished cake out of the oven, ready to decorate. They’d use some generic film of L.A. attractions, but he knew they’d show a lot of footage from his stint on Sugar Shock with Carly. Not only would he be forced to watch it again, he’d have to make witty comments about what the audience saw. Using footage that had already been shot by another network property saved the show a tremendous amount of money. He’d trek to more exotic locales if the show was picked up.
They’d splice together the baking, decorating, and travel portions of the show after filming. He pulled the already baked, cooled, and ready-for-decorating cake from the oven and faced the camera. “Let your cakes cool before you attempt to decorate. The last thing you want is to pour time into baking the perfect cake only to have the frosting melt all over it.” He leveled the cakes and positioned one on a turntable before slathering the top with a generous layer of buttercream frosting. After setting the second cake on top, careful to line them up, he quickly applied the second layer of frosting, leaving a clean canvas for his masterpiece.
“Carly and I were lucky enough to celebrate Valentine’s Day early this year, back on the set of the show where we met. When most people think of L.A., they think of movie stars, sunshine, and television. When I think of this beautiful city, though, love is all that comes to mind. It’s where I met Carly, and while we fell in love hundreds of miles away in Dallas, we’ve had some wonderful times here.”
He carefully blended red gel coloring into a bowl of white icing until it was a gorgeous shade of pink. “I’ll share a little trick of the trade with you. When you fill a piping bag to decorate a cake, use a glass to hold it. That way you’re much less likely to end up with a sticky mess all over your countertops.” He opened a disposable piping bag into a glass and spooned the icing inside. As he piped perfect hearts over the smooth white surface of his cake, he wondered what Carly was working on.
Probably something a lot like this, something beautiful and important to the person who’d ordered it, something she’d put her unmistakable mark of quality on. Was she thinking of him? Did she miss him and wish they were working on the wedding together?
“And, boom, there you have it. A special cake for an unforgettable Valentine’s Day. Find Around the World in Thirteen Cakes online at the Cuisine Network for recipes, special offers from our sponsors, and video from today’s show. Thank you for watching, and be sure to follow us on Twitter. Here’s hoping that you bake your cake and eat it, too.”
The scene ended, and the staff photographer swooped in to light the shot of the cake. They’d post it on the show’s website along with a recipe, but the cake would probably be thrown away as soon as they were finished with it. It had been handled by too many people since coming out of th
e oven and making its television debut. Like so many other things in his life, it looked great, but it was all for show.
Chapter Thirteen
Carly hummed to herself as she squeezed a perfectly uniform scalloped edge along the sharp lines of a cake she was making for a couple’s tenth anniversary party. Led Zeppelin’s IV filled the workroom, and she nodded her head along with the hard-driving rhythm of “Black Dog.” No more Pachelbel for a while, not until she could make it through one day without turning into a weepy mess at the thought of weddings and romance.
Sequoia Rivers ducked her head through the doorway, softly offering a greeting and pulling Carly’s attention away from the cake.
“Carly? I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear me.” She grinned as she nodded toward the small stereo. “Now I see why. I love Led Zeppelin.”
“Hey, Sequoia. What’s up?” With any luck, she’d soon be able to see Sequoia without thinking of Michael.
“I came in so Layla could show me the cupcake bar setup, and I wanted to stop by and check on you. Were you able to do the sage smudge cleansing in your apartment?”
Carly and Lily had done the cleansing, from one end of her apartment to the other, concentrating on the corners where negative energy tended to accumulate. They’d giggled through the cleansing, using the ritual more as an excuse to get together than anything else, but part of Carly wanted to believe it would work. If there was anything that could lighten the negativity holding her down, some way to open her up to possibility, then she would try it.
“I did. Thank you for thinking of me.”
“Girl, I think of you all the time. It breaks my heart that you lost your love in the midst of my elation, and I want you to be happy.” Sequoia settled on the stool next to her and cupped Carly’s hand between hers. Sequoia’s eyes were wide, sincerity shining through. This was too much, really. Carly had created this lie, and it was her responsibility to live with the fallout once it disintegrated. Sequoia’s unswerving sympathy was both unearned and undeserved.
“I’ll be fine, Sequoia. Please don’t worry yourself with me when all you should be thinking about is your wedding.” Carly pulled her hand away and sat up straighter. Pasting a bright smile on her face, she tried to look like a woman who was well on her way to recovering from heartbreak.
“Do you think the cleansing helped?”
Sequoia looked so hopeful that Carly found herself nodding. “Definitely. I didn’t realize how bad I felt until it lifted.”
“That negative energy can be so oppressive.” Sequoia nodded sagely. “I hope it helped to clear the path to happiness.” She pulled her oversized tote bag off her shoulder and rummaged around inside. Carly briefly wondered if Sequoia could actually fit in it and smiled to herself.
Sequoia pulled out an elaborately decorated deck of cards and pushed her bag across the table to make space. “Would you mind? I’d love to read your cards.”
First the sage smudge, now tarot card readings. What was next? A juice cleanse and a vow of silence? As much as she’d like to dismiss Sequoia’s beliefs as quackery, she was curious and found herself agreeing despite her misgivings.
Sequoia smiled beatifically and spread the cards in a neat row. “Awesome. Let’s do a simple reading, then. Pick six cards.”
Carly plucked six cards from the line, and with each, Sequoia told her what they represented. “How you feel about yourself now, what you want most at this moment, your fears, what you have going for you, what’s working against you, and outcome.” She flipped the cards over to reveal the faces, and smiled, her eyes glittering with possibility. “This is good, Carly, really good.”
It didn’t look good, more like warriors, a devil, and a dead guy, but Carly waited for the explanation. Sequoia set them out in the order that she chose them.
“The chariot. It means that you feel like everything is a battle right now, but don’t worry because good news is on its way.” She pointed to a creepy card and Carly cringed, sure it was bad news. “This one is judgment. What you want now more than anything is to close this chapter in your life and move on.” Well, that was pretty accurate. Moving on from the agony of losing Michael before she realized she wanted him would be heavenly. “The next card is for your fears, and we have the devil. You’re afraid that a passionate desire is out of control. You think it’s addictive and bad for you, which may or may not be true.” And that would be her wild attraction to Michael, she supposed.
“Now we have what you’ve got going for you, and it’s a good one, justice. You can expect a karmic reward for good deeds you’ve done in the past, even when it seems like you don’t deserve favor. As for what’s working against you,” Sequoia said as she pointed to the fifth card, “we have the world. Don’t worry, that doesn’t mean that the world is against you. It means that fear holds us back from opportunities. Only you can decide if you let it.” A truer statement had never been made. “And finally, the outcome card.” Sequoia pointed to the sixth and final card, and Carly cringed. It was a guy hanging by his feet, clearly dead or at least seriously injured. “This is the hanged man. You can stop holding your breath, because it doesn’t mean that you’ll end up like this guy. It represents a time of passage in your life, when you have to decide what or who must be given up. It points to self-sacrifice being necessary for your happiness, and that’s never easy.”
Amazed at how insightful a deck of cards could be, Carly watched as Sequoia tucked them back into their box. “Thank you. That was weird, but also kind of soothing.”
“I hope it’ll help you in your search for answers. I think the important thing about tarot is how you personally interpret your reading. It’s an art, not a science, and every card can mean different things for different people.” Sequoia pulled Carly into a hug. The actress pulled back, leaving the space between them scented with patchouli, and held her by the shoulders. “I’m telling you this with peace and love. I don’t know what happened between you and Michael, but you’re meant to be together. I hope you find your way back to one another.”
Determined not to cry over her fake relationship in front of the woman unknowingly responsible for bringing them together, Carly slipped from her grasp. “We’ll see. Whatever’s meant to be, will be.”
“Sure, but we also have a hand in our own destinies, don’t you think?” Sequoia pulled her bag over her shoulder and stood. “Sometimes we have to go after what we want, rather than waiting for the universe to provide it.”
Of course Carly didn’t expect the universe to drop Michael back in her lap, but what could she do? “You’re right. Thank you for the reading, and for everything.”
“Any time. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
Outside of giving her the courage to tell Michael how she felt, there was little Sequoia could do for Carly. What she’d dismissed as kookiness at first had shown itself to be the way Sequoia lived her life and defined her personal code. After spending time with her, Carly could see that Sequoia was a genuinely caring person much more enlightened than she was.
“Thanks, Sequoia. And I want you to know that your wedding is our top priority. I’m not going to think about Michael or our problems when I’m working on your cakes.” To her surprise, she was sincere. Sequoia’s beliefs were close to her heart, and Carly respected them.
“Don’t worry about me. You need to spend some serious time thinking about what you want and how to get it. Make that your wedding gift to me, okay?”
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. The kindness and positive energy must be getting to her. “Okay,” she managed.
What she wanted was for Michael to come back, to confess his unexpected but complete love and devotion to her, and for them to bake the Grainger-Rivers wedding cakes side by side. Her mother always shook her head at such silly fantasies, saying, “If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.” Instead, she’d suggest ways in which Carly might make her dreams come true, rather than sitting around hoping for things to
work out. Perhaps it was time to saddle up, lasso her troubles, and wrestle them to the ground.
• • •
“So, why can’t you call him?” Lily sipped a diet cola and watched Carly pack from her perch on the vanity stool in Carly’s bedroom.
“I don’t have his phone number, and the only person I know who has it is freaking Rusty Grainger, who would probably wonder why I didn’t have my boyfriend’s cell number.” Carly searched her closet for the jeans she wanted to pack. Sequoia was right; she couldn’t wait for the universe to hand her happiness. This was crazy, but living the rest of her life knowing that she’d let love slip from her grasp without even trying to go for it was worse.
“What are you going to do when you get there?” Lily sat up as though she were settling in for a juicy soap opera.
Carly blew the hair off her forehead and pulled the jeans off the hanger. “Honestly? I have no idea. I hope that we’ll see each other and then it will come to me. If it seems like he’s on a completely different page, then I’ll figure something out, make something up about the groom’s cake or something.”
“You already know what I think. Two people don’t look at each other like you do unless there’s something between them. Surely you didn’t imagine everything.”
“I don’t think so, but he’s a lot more comfortable with stuff like that than me. I might show up and get laughed out of the place. Wait, scratch that. If I get any hint that he’s not that into me, I’m going to bail on the plan. Sorry if that seems like a waste of your miles, but I can’t stand the thought of sticking around to face rejection.”
Love Connection Page 27