by Becky Monson
Yesterday was the craziest day with all the preparations for the trip. Beth came in and helped out at the bakery (thank goodness), and Patti and I worked through breakfast and lunch, baking and intermittently getting everything ready for the competition.
I stayed mostly in the back, but I did pop out to the front once to check how everything was going and Lia was there. She gave me some sort of witch’s blessing (at least I think that’s what it was) and told me that if I just “focus on the light that is all around us” I’ll be just fine. I have no idea what that means.
I slide up the airplane window shade to see if the light makes me feel any less nauseated. It only succeeds in making me temporarily blind and gives me an instant headache. So much for focusing on the light. What a bunch of malarkey.
“You doin’ okay there darlin’? You look a little green.” Patti reaches into the pocket on the back of the seat in front of her and fishes out the airsickness bag. “Here. You might need this.” She gives it to me.
“Thanks,” I mutter grimly as I take it from her. It might very well be useful.
“Listen, darlin’, you’re gonna be just fine.” She reaches over and pats the top of my hand.
I let out a large breath that I didn’t even know I was holding. I nod my head and then close my eyes and lay back against the hard, leather airplane seat.
I’m not sure I’ll be fine, but this is happening, so I’d better find a way to fake it.
~*~
You know those drivers that hold signs for people they are picking up? Well, I’ve always wanted that to happen to me. But, of course, there was never a reason for it . . . until now. There is actually a guy holding a sign that says “Julia Dorning” on it as we come down the escalator to baggage claim. I feel so famous.
Would it be weird if I had Patti take a picture of me and this guy with the sign? Probably. I’ll take a mental picture. I’ll probably have to take a lot of mental pictures over the next couple of days.
The schedule goes as follows: Today we go to the hotel, get settled for about two seconds and then a shuttle will take us to a store to purchase supplies. We worked out our list yesterday so that we would be ready to go. Tonight, we’ll try to get some rest. I have a feeling that probably won’t happen. Tomorrow we get up bright and early and the shuttle takes us to the studio. We tape all day tomorrow and then . . . that’s it.
Then it’s home on an early flight Thursday, just in time for me to lick my wounds from losing and start working on Brown’s wedding cake. The rehearsal dinner is that night and the wedding is on Friday.
If I survive this week, I’m pretty sure I’m Superwoman.
On the shuttle ride, I make Patti go over our list for the hundredth time (only a slight exaggeration). I’m sure we’ll leave something off, and I’m feeling a little panicked over it. I could tell Patti was not thrilled at having to rehash it once again, and she tried to soothe me by offering words of wisdom that I’m sure would have been very helpful had I only been able to decipher them.
We check into the hotel, and they weren’t kidding about the two seconds we had to get settled before the studio sent over a van to take us to the supply store. We barely had time to put our luggage in our room before the phone rang to tell us the shuttle was on its way.
Walking through the lobby on our way to the waiting van, I keep my eye out for our competition. There will be three other bakeries represented, and I’m dying to see who they are. Of course, no one is walking around with “I make cupcakes” on their shirt, so it’s a lost cause. I’ll meet them tomorrow anyway.
What I do keep seeing is people from all walks of life and nationalities, carrying these little unicorn stuffed animals that I remember from when I was a kid. They aren’t just carrying them. They are on their shirts, backpacks, headbands . . . everywhere. One guy has a bright blue unicorn tied to his shoulder, so it looks as if it’s perched up there. It’s quite odd.
“My Tiny Unicorn!” I say out loud when I remember the name.
“Huh?” Patti asks as we walk out to the front.
“Those unicorns we keep seeing everywhere? It’s a toy that came out back when I was a kid. I always wanted one, but I never got one.”
We walk outside to try to find the van that will take us to the store. To my left, standing in the taxi line is a guy—a grown man—with a tail, a unicorn tail, actually. It’s fluffy and has rainbow coloring.
We get in the van and once the door is shut, Patti clicks her tongue, disapprovingly. “Now that’s just not right.” She bobs her head over at the guy with the tail. “He’s about as confused as a fart in a fan factory.”
Wait a second. I think I understood that one. Maybe I’m starting down the path to becoming fluent in Southern sayings. I may not need that Rosetta Stone after all.
“Uni’s,” the driver says, matter-of-factly. He’s a skinny kid. Twenty-one at the most. He has that know-it-all look about him. It reminds me of Jooonathon.
“What’s that?” I say, confused.
“They call themselves Uni’s. It’s a My Tiny Unicorn convention. They have them every year.”
Patti and I look at each other with confused expressions.
“People really come to a convention for a unicorn toy?” I say as we pull away from the hotel.
“Oh, yeah. From all parts of the world, actually. It’s pretty crazy,” the driver says. “The men call themselves Unibros and the ladies go by Tinysisters. It’s quite the cult following.”
“I had no idea.” I sit back in my seat. I suddenly feel like I’m sheltered in the two-mile radius of Denver that I barely ever venture out from. My knowledge of what goes on outside of it is limited at best. Maybe staying in a bubble isn’t the worst thing. You don’t tend to see grown men wearing tails in my little corner of the world.
“So are you excited for the competition?” young driver dude says. I ask him his name. It’s Jordan.
“Well, I’m not sure about excited. More like nervous,” I say and laugh slightly, rubbing my sweaty palms on my jeans.
“Aw, you’ll be great,” he says, glancing quickly at his rearview mirror. He smiles at me with an oversized toothy grin.
“You probably say that to everyone,” I say and give him a half-smile.
“Don’t sweat it. The judges aren’t half as scary as they are on TV,” he says, looking forward at the road. I was starting to get nervous that he was glancing in the rearview mirror too much and not focusing on the driving.
“They aren’t?” I say, surprised. “How do you know?”
“I’m one of the interns at the station. I work with the production team for the battles.” He bobs his head up and down, sort of like one of those bobblehead dolls.
“They make the interns shuttle us around?” I ask, slightly dumbfounded. Okay, that was a dumb question. Of course that’s what the interns do, the boring work.
“Well, we do more than that,” Jordan says, sounding a little defensive.
“Yes, of course you do more than, uh, that,” I say, trying to recover and doing it horribly.
“Whatcha got on the judges?” Patti pipes in from next to me on the bench seat in the van.
“Oh, well, they’re cool,” he says, bobbing his head up and down again.
She shakes her head. “I was lookin’ for more info than that.”
“Oh, well . . .” he trails off.
“So I take it you don’t know much ‘bout them, do ya? Haven’t worked with them much?” she asks, and I nudge her for being rude.
“No,” he says quickly, “I’ve worked with the judges a bunch. That’s like, a big part of my job.”
“So tell us what they’re like,” she says, her eyes staring intently into the rearview mirror.
Jordan hesitates, slightly. “Okay, well you know Josef?”
“No, that’s why we’re asking ya,” Patti says. I nudge her with my arm again. Where did the Southern hospitality go? Oh, right, she never had it.
“Right. So Josef, h
e seems super mean on the show, right?” He glances at us through his rearview mirror and we both gesture that we know. “Well, he’s not. Like, at all. He’s actually one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet. And with the history that guy has, he’s like pastry royalty.”
It’s true. Josef Dehne comes from a long line of bakers and confectioners in Austria. The shop he runs is world-renowned, with only two locations, one in Austria and one in New York. I’ve been to the one in New York. I ordered a cream cake. I seriously started to tear up after the first bite. It was that good.
“I can’t give you too much info, but I’ll tell you to stay away from making any red velvet. He doesn’t like it.”
I knew that tip already. His disdain for red velvet is obvious on the show, yet so many competitors think they can change his mind. News flash . . . they never have. I’m not a fan either, so that won’t even be a temptation for me.
“So what about the gal, uh, whatsherbucket?” Patti asks, cluing Jordan onto the fact that Patti does not watch the show all that much. In fact, I’m pretty sure she only just started watching when she found out we would be on it.
“Ah, Ginger,” he says dreamily.
Ginger Preisser is quite attractive with her flowing, curly red hair and her big pouty lips. If the competitors are male, drooling and flirty comments ensue. Ginger runs a famous cupcake bakery in San Francisco. I’ve been there, too. What can I say, my vacations tend to revolve around food. Maybe I didn’t order the right thing, but I wasn’t that impressed with the cupcake I had. It was good, don’t get me wrong. But it was nothing close to the level of the cream cake I had at Josef’s shop.
“What do we need to stay away from for her?” Patti prods.
“Well, she’s not a huge fan of coconut.”
“Really?” I’m surprised by that. She never seems adverse to it on the show.
“Yeah, it’s one of those things that Josef makes her fake because coconut is a dessert staple. But if you notice, she never raves about coconut.”
Crap. My coconut-almond frosting is out then. I wasn’t sure if I’d get a chance to use it, but I was hopeful.
“Any info on the guest judge?” Patti asks. I shoot her a look, trying to convey with my eyes that I think she’s pushing it.
“Oh, I can’t tell you anything about that,” he says. He seems pretty set on not answering that one. Patti won’t be able to rudely Southern that answer out of him.
It gets quiet for a minute or so. I notice we’ve gotten off the interstate and are driving through a more urban area.
“Okay, I will tell you one thing about the guest judge.” He gazes at us through the rearview mirror.
We both look up in full attention. I’m feeling a little bad that we’ve (well, mostly Patti) coerced him into telling us things. It almost feels like cheating.
“Go ahead,” Patti eggs him on.
“Think far, far away.” He winks at us through the mirror.
Patti and I stare at each other, searching for answers. Far, far away. That could mean so many things. I abandon my thoughts of being rude and cheating and start to nudge Patti to see if she can get him to say anything else, but as soon as I start, we turn into a strip mall and I see the supply store. We’ll have to see if we can get more on the way back.
Time for us to focus on the supplies. This is one of those things that will make or break us. If we forget something important, we are in trouble. I start sweating just thinking about it.
Jordan parks the van and Patti and I get out. He tells us he will wait in the van for us and that we have about forty-five minutes.
Upon entering the supply store, I stop and gawk for just a moment. This is a baker’s dream, right here. We don’t have anything like this in Denver. I could spend hours here, seriously, hours. It’s like a large warehouse with rows upon rows of everything I could ever want.
I’m abandoning my fantasy of marrying Jared on the beach. I want to get married here, right between the bakeware and the cake decorating aisles. I’m in love.
Unfortunately, there is no time for wrapping myself up in one of the vast colors of fondant on display in the front. We have shopping to do. I’ll have to come back here, though. It’s now on my bucket list: come back to the large, bakery supply store of my dreams and spend hours basking in its glory. I don’t actually have an official bucket list, but if I did, that would be on it.
Patti and I race around trying to find everything we need. It’s hard, but I keep my mind focused on the task, although I do get slightly sidetracked when I see the huge selection of pastry molds.
At just under forty-five minutes, we finish up our list and head to the front to check out. We were able to find everything on the list, although that nagging feeling in the back of my mind is telling me we forgot something. It’s kind of like that feeling you get when you pack before a trip, the thought that keeps eating and eating at you during the entire drive to the airport. You forgot something important. You forgot something important. You forgot something important. Until you board the plane and realize that there’s nothing you can do about it now. That’s when you remember. You forgot underwear.
We check out and Jordan helps us load the van with our supplies, and then we head back to the hotel. The drive back is not a chatty one, and I’m not sure how to get us back into the conversation we were having before. Patti must not feel like trying to push Jordan any further because she’s quiet and thoughtful in the seat next to me.
The “you forgot something important” keeps nagging at me in the back of my mind. Actually, it’s more in the frontal lobe of my brain. Just digging right in. I try to push it away, but when I do that, the “what the hell are you doing here?” thoughts creep back in. I think I might need some therapy for my thoughts. They are out of control.
Glancing around as we drive down the interstate in L.A., (at an alarmingly fast rate, I might add—what is it with California and the crazy fast driving?) I’m once again having a hard time believing I’m here. I’m going to be taping a television show tomorrow. Me. Julia Dorning. I thought moving out of my parents’ basement and buying a bakery was stepping out of my comfort zone. Being on a cupcake baking competition for millions of people to see really takes the cake. Or rather, the cupcake.
Back at the hotel, we find a bellman to load our stuff and take it up to our room. We weave our way through the jumble of My Tiny Unicorn fans, or essentially cult followers. They have assembled themselves in the lobby and appear to be getting ready for some sort of group outing. Perhaps they are traveling together to find the end of the rainbow. It did just rain a few minutes ago.
I get a head nod from a Unibro, or maybe it’s a Tinysister. It’s hard to tell. I want to say “Oh, I’m not one of you,” but I decide I’ll just leave it.
We get back to our room and start checking off everything we have and putting things strategically in bags so that we’ll be able to easily unload them for the taping tomorrow.
Before we know it, it’s nearly ten at night, and we realize we need to wind down and try to get some sleep. I’m not sure if it will happen. I feel riled up, but I know I need to try.
Right at ten o’clock on the dot, my phone rings. It’s Jared. He’s in Charlotte still so it’s one in the morning for him. I’m not surprised he’s still awake. Jared likes staying up late, which makes it hard for me when he’s home in Denver and wants to hang out late at night. I think he forgets I have to work so freaking early in the morning.
I grab my phone, go out to the deck, and shut the door behind me so I can have some privacy and so Patti doesn’t have to hear me. She’s reading a book, which she “made darn sure” had nothing to do with cupcakes or baking of any kind. I think it’s all getting to her as well.
“Hey,” I say after pushing talk. I take a seat in one of the chairs. It’s a breezy night, but it feels great. The fresh air feels good on my skin.
“Hey,” he says back. “How you holding up?”
“Oh, you know. Just peachy
.” Oh, gosh, did I really just say “peachy”?
He chuckles. “Jules, you will survive this. I promise.”
I let out a sigh. “Well, I’m glad you’re sure. I’m not so confident.” My shoulders slump. I didn’t realize how much tension I was holding in them.
“Well, I’m proud of you,” he says.
“Thanks,” is all I say. The warm butterflies start spinning around in my stomach. “How are things for you? Any better?”
He sighs. “Not really, but they will be,” he says, not very confidently. It sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself, like if he says it out loud, it might come true.
“I wish you would talk to me about it. Maybe right now would be a good time. It would get my mind off of tomorrow.”
“I don’t even want you to think about it right now, Jules. Just push it out of your mind. You have more important things to think about. Really, it’s all fine.” Again, I can hear something in his voice that makes it seem like that’s not how he truly feels.
“Okay,” is all I say. He’s probably right. I should just focus on the task at hand. This major, crazy, out-of-character, outrageous, task at hand. And now my shoulders are tense again.
“Anyway,” he says, shifting the conversation with his tone, “you want some advice?”
“Sure,” I say flatly.
“Don’t let that German judge push you around. And if worse comes to worst, you could pull your shirt down a little and show some cleavage. That might get him on your good side.”
“He’s Austrian, and that’s fabulous advice. I’ll definitely be using that on national television,” I say, sarcastically.
“Fine, don’t take my advice. I’m just trying to help.”
“Of course you are. I never doubted that. The cleavage is a good idea. Maybe I’ll get a date out of this.”
“Whoa, whoa. Let’s not take this too far,” he says, a teasing tone in his voice.
I love to tease Jared, even when he’s far away. Too far away.
“I wish you were here.”