by S. E. Babin
“It’s a good thing we had all those practice sessions,” Brandi noted, under her breath, trying to divert her eyes from the chaos around them. Everyone seemed to be losing it, with one exception: Team Spader looked as polished, coiffed, and pulled together as if they did this every day. And why wouldn’t they, when Jessica had her own baking show, and her family regularly appeared on it?
“The odds were stacked against all of us from the very beginning,” she realized.
“Do you think it’s actually not a fair competition?” asked Barbara, looking up from frosting the bars to evaluate their surroundings.
“Ten of the thirteen teams are amateurs, and only one team has experience on camera,” said Brandi. “And speaking of cameras, they’re all pointed towards Team Spader about ninety percent of the time. I think this is a publicity stunt for Baking with Jessie. If there really is a hundred thousand dollar prize, I think the check’s already written out to them. The rest of us are here for comic relief. Just to make a show.”
“Two teams have experience on camera,” Bonnie said, correcting her sister. “Their team, and ours. Have you forgotten that you were one of Hollywood’s hottest child stars?”
“Ha! So I did a few commercials. That was a long, long time ago,” said Brandi.
“But you were such a natural,” said Barbara.
Bonnie nodded. “We hated to admit it, because we were jealous, but you really had something special.”
Brandi sighed. “But I’m forty now.” She didn’t elaborate. That seemed to say it all, in her opinion.
“We both turned forty and survived,” said Barbara. “And isn’t Jessica about your same age?”
“Well, yeah, I guess so,” Brandi said, brightening a little.
“Yet she has her own show,” Bonnie said.
“True,” said Brandi.
“Here comes the camera guy,” Barbara said. “Work your old magic!”
“Oh my gosh. I don’t know,” said Brandi.
“Pull it together! You’ve got this!” whispered Bonnie, just as he sidled up in front of them.
“Tell me about your team,” he said, that old familiar lens pointed right in Brandi’s face.
“Well,” she said, tilting her chin a bit so he’d capture her from her best angle. Barbara and Bonnie were nodding, ever so slightly, subtly cheering on their sister. Brandi swallowed the thick, dry lump in her throat and smiled, trying to conjure up some of that old show-bizzy confidence. “I’m Brandi, and these are my sisters Barbara and Bonnie. We’re making our mom Sally’s famous lemon eggnog bars today.”
“You three look like peas in a pod,” said the camera guy. Brandi resisted her usual inclination to gag when she heard this, and actually took a look at her newly made-over sisters, trying to see them with fresh, non-judgmental eyes. She realized that both were still as gorgeous as they’d been back in high school. “Thank you,” she said. “What a kind thing for you to say!”
“You’re welcome,” said the cameraman. “Remind the viewers watching at home: What’s the name of your team?”
“Team Buefred,” she declared proudly.
“Do you think you three might actually stand a chance of winning this whole thing?”
“Do we think we might win it?” Brandi asked incredulously, but with a show-stopping smile. “We know we’re going to win it!”
“From the smell of these bars,” said the cameraman, inhaling the just-frosted delights on the counter in front of him, “I think you’re right!”
“Great job!” Barbara told Brandi, as soon as they were alone again.
“He stuck around here way longer than he’s been with most of the other contestants,” said Bonnie.
“If you still have any doubt about whether we’re contenders,” said Barbara, “look over there at the evil trio.”
Brandi looked over at Team Spader. They were all glaring their way. Kristina was smacking a wooden spoon against her open palm.
“I’d say they’re a little bit threatened,” said Bonnie.
“Alrighty, folks,” the elf announced. “We have just five minutes to go. If your bars are still in the oven, you may have a problem. Remember: This is a frosted bar competition. They need to be baked, frosted, and displayed in an attractive, festive manner. Any team not meeting these guidelines will be disqualified.”
At this news, half the teams erupted into even more uproarious displays of panic. Of the thirteen teams, four were outright weeping, having given up, and three more were pulling half-baked bars from the oven and slopping frosting on them.
“Five… Four… Three… Two… and quit what you’re doing!” yelled the elf. “Step back from your workspaces. The Edelweiss girls will be coming through to collect your trays of bars. While this portion of the event will be televised, participants will not be allowed to be present. This is a blind taste test. Sit back, relax, and enjoy a cup of hot cider while you wait. Six of you will be going on to the next round. Seven of you will be going home.”
* * *
Sixty excruciating minutes later, the elf was back. His pointed ears were drooping and his curly toed shoes had flopped a bit. He looked out at the crowd, frowning soberly. “Our judges have made their decision, and their decision is final. To pass this round, contestants needed to deliver holiday-themed bars of a certain caliber, presented with a certain degree of finesse. It’s our grave disappointment to announce that only four teams made the cut.” He shook his head sadly, giving everyone a moment to gasp and groan.
When the crowd had hushed down, he continued. “In fourth place, for their reindeer poop bars, are Betty Crocker’s Cousins. Please stand up.”
Three elderly ladies, who Brandi recognized as the owners of the Little French Bakery on Monroe Street in Madison, shakily rose to their feet. “Thank goodness we renamed them from peanut butter crunch bars to that,” one of them said, laughing nervously.
“Don’t tell anyone, but we’re not really related to Betty Crocker,” another added.
“We assumed as much,” the elf said dryly. “In third place, for their pepperminty fudgetastic bars, are the Sweet Treat Guys. Would you please stand as well?”
Two gentlemen representing Milwaukee’s most famous bakery stood up.
“In second place, for their pistachio cranberry bars, is Team Spader,” the elf announced. Jessica, Kristina, and Samantha immediately jumped to their feet. They drew hearty applause, as the most famous faces in the crowd.
Brandi, Barbara, and Bonnie all looked at each other. “Is it possible?” Brandi whispered.
“Anything’s possible,” whispered Bonnie.
“And in first place,” said the elf, to the breathless room, “for their zesty lemon bars with eggnog frosting, is Team Buefred. Ladies, please stand.”
All three sisters sprang to their feet, unable to keep from screaming in excitement.
“If your name has not been called,” said the elf, “you must exit our kitchen immediately. This is a very tough competition, with a very serious prize. Only the best of the best shall advance to the next round.”
The gymnasium cleared out and the crew got to work rearranging the layout, so the four remaining teams would be ready for their faceoff later that evening.
“I’ll see you all back here at five o’clock tonight,” said the elf.
“What will we be making?” asked one the Sweet Treats Guys.
“Obviously, I can’t tell you that. The element of surprise is the most important ingredient of all,” said the elf.
* * *
Back at Brandi’s house, the women got comfortable lounging in front of the Christmas tree, enjoying some raclette and wine, and listening to holiday music. Naturally, they began speculating about what kind of cookie they’d have to make in the next round of the competition.
“It would be great if it was something really basic and traditional, like gingerbread cookies,” said Barbara. “We have the most practice with cookies like that.”
“Then again,�
� said Bonnie, “Mom was pretty good about giving us creative ideas. Remember those lavender lemon drops, for instance? It might be nice to do something along those lines.”
“I don’t think we ought to use lemons again,” said Brandi, “but I do like that lavender idea.”
“Is it Christmasy enough, though?” asked Barbara. “Those judges are harsh!”
“Good point,” said Bonnie. “Maybe we’d better play it safe.”
“I think now’s the time to get creative. Go big or go home!” said Brandi.
“This is all so nerve-wracking!” Bonnie declared.
“The most excitement I’ve seen in years,” agreed Barbara.
“I hate to ask, when things are going so well,” said Brandi, “but do either of you ever hear from Dad?” She topped off their wineglasses.
“Last I saw of him,” said Bonnie, “was about two years ago. Mom had just gotten sick, and he wasn’t dealing with it very well. ‘I’m going back to LA, or better yet, Cozad,’ he told me. He had it in his head that if he and Mom went back to live in the moldy shack in Hollywood, or that old motel off the highway in Nebraska, they’d be happy again, and she’d instantly be healthy.”
“That makes no sense,” said Barbara.
“No, it doesn’t,” said Bonnie, “but Dad was kind of a loonie bird. Once Mom got too weak to rein him in, his quirkiness really seeped out. He broke Mom’s heart when he left, but I know the only reason he did it was because he was couldn’t stand back any longer, watching her wasting away.”
“He was acting really strangely towards the end,” Brandi agreed, remembering how one of the last times she’d seen her father he was wearing a floppy, flowered gardening hat, even though it had been the middle of winter.
“He wasn’t loonie,” said Barbara. “He was just confused.”
“Sorry,” said Bonnie, “but I’ve never been one to sugarcoat things. Except cookies, of course.”
“Poor Mom. And poor Dad. It’s especially hard to think of him alone this time of year,” Brandi whispered, the wine and exhaustion of the day getting to her. Her eyes began to well up with tears. She’d always been Dob’s favorite, and it hurt her to picture him living back at that sad little hut or the rundown motel, alone. Probably still wearing that hat. She hiccupped and chugged the rest of her wine.
“I tried calling the motel a few months back, but the name Dob Buefred didn’t mean a thing to them,” said Bonnie. “I couldn’t find any sign of him in LA, either.”
“Maybe he’s living somewhere nice… like a beach resort in Mexico?” Brandi suggested.
“Possibly,” said Bonnie, frowning skeptically.
“We need to find him,” Barbara said. “As soon as this competition is over, let’s start looking for him.”
“I agree!” said Brandi, raising her empty glass of wine. “To finding our father!”
“And bringing him back home to Wisconsin for Christmas!” Barbara added.
“To live with…” Brandi trailed off, waiting for one of her sisters to jump in. All three women looked down.
“So, anyway. It’s after four o’clock,” Bonnie announced. “We’d better get back to the competition.”
“You ready for this?” asked Barbara.
“Yes,” said Brandi. “Are you two?”
“Absolutely,” declared both her sisters.
* * *
When the three sisters arrived back at the gymnasium there were news crews from all over Southern Wisconsin waiting outside. The parking lot was packed with spectators and reporters.
“This feels so surreal,” said Bonnie.
“Are you Team Buefred?” asked a reporter, attempting to start an interview.
“Yes, we are,” yelled Barbara. “Woohooo!” she added.
“You’d better get inside,” yelled one of the spectators. “The other teams are already in there!”
Brandi pushed her way through the crowd and into the gym, with Bonnie and Barbara right behind her. The big, wire caged clock on the wall inside said it was almost 4:40.
“Welcome, Team Buefred,” the elf announced. “You made it just in the nick of time. Another five minutes and you would have missed check-in.”
“Yikes,” Bonnie said under her breath. “I don’t even remember learning that rule. We’ve got to be more careful.”
Just then the New Glarus high school band came marching through, playing Don’t Stop Believin’, and a kid dressed as a macaroon went pedaling by on a unicycle.
“I’m trying not to get overwhelmed by all this fanfare,” Bonnie admitted to her sisters.
“Would you look at them,” Barbara said, nodding over at Jessica and her family. They had changed from turquoise accessories to red, fur-trimmed outfits and Santa hats. They’d even added red and green streaks to their hair.
“It’s kind of sad how they have to try to distract from their poor baking skills with a costume change,” Bonnie remarked, loud enough for them to overhear.
“Round two starts in just a couple of minutes,” the elf announced. “Take your places.”
“Does anyone know how many more rounds there are?” Brandi asked the Betty Crocker ladies, who were to their left.
“They won’t say,” said the nearest one. “Probably at least two more. It’s anyone’s guess. I heard rumors that we could be up all night. I had five cups of coffee, just in case.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the elf. The room immediately hushed. “Like last time, you’ll have just five minutes to collect your ingredients for this round, but instead of sixty minutes total, this time you’ll have just forty-five minutes total. Time starts as soon as I announce what the mystery cookie will be. And… it’s… frosted butter cookies! Go!” he yelled.
“Can you believe our luck?” hissed Barbara. “We’ve got this! No one could ever beat us on butter cookies!”
“See ya,” yelled Brandi, taking off running for the mini store.
The remaining teams had wised up, each sending just one shopper and leaving their rest of their teams back to get started preparing their work spaces.
This time it was just Brandi, Jessica, one of the Betty Crocker’s Cousins, and one of the Sweet Treats Guys. Brandi watched as two of her competitors darted from corner to corner of the tent, collecting their ingredients, while another competitor ran straight to the back of the tent, reappearing a moment later with all her ingredients conveniently nestled in her Santa hat, that was now doubling as a grocery bag.
“Did you see that?” Brandi said to Betty Crocker’s Cousin, just as the elf was announcing that they were down to two minutes remaining. “All Jessica’s stuff was ready to go! She simply scooped it up and took off running with it.”
“You must be mistaken, Dearie. Now please excuse me. We’re almost out of time!”
Brandi collected her final ingredients with seconds to spare, feeling the swoosh of the tent flaps closing behind her as she sprinted back to the gymnasium. It wasn’t until she’d plunked all her ingredients down onto the counter that she realized the Sweet Treats Guy hadn’t made it back from the tent in time.
“I’m very sorry to announce,” said the elf to the crowd, “that another team has been eliminated. Will the remaining Sweet Treat contestant please kindly remove yourself from the competition and join your partner outside. Too bad, so sad. As for the rest of you, you have thirty-eight minutes remaining.”
“I hate to take pleasure in others’ misfortune,” Bonnie whispered to her sisters, when they had a moment to breathe a few minutes later, after she’d put the pan was in the oven, “but this is great! We’re in the final three!”
“Yes,” Brandi whispered, “but the odds are still stacked against us. Jessica’s ingredients were waiting for her, all in a little pile in the back of the tent. I’m telling you, this contest is rigged!”
“All we can do is our best,” said Barbara. “At this point, I don’t even care if we win. I just want to make the best cookies we can make, in Mom’s honor.”
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Brandi and Bonnie nodded in agreement, and despite that the clock was ticking, all three stopped what they were doing and went in for a hug.
“Are you three squandering your precious few remaining minutes and having a group hug?” asked a cameraman, shoving a microphone in Brandi’s face.
“Yes,” she said, smiling apologetically. “I guess we are.”
“I’m impressed!” he said. “This competition seems to be getting to the other contestants, but you three look like you’re totally in control.”
“We are doing pretty well, aren’t we?” said Barbara, beaming.
“You sure are,” he told them, before moving on to the Betty Crocker ladies.
“Eight minutes to go,” announced the elf, just as Bonnie pulled the cookies from the oven.
“They look great, but I’m afraid they’re never going to be cool enough to frost in time,” said Barbara, nimbly moving the cookies to a cooling pan.
“We can only do our best,” said Brandi, while she fanned them with her apron. “And if it makes you feel any better, both other teams’ cookies are still in their ovens!”
Sure enough, the other remaining teams were both in a panic. “I accidentally poured too much food coloring into the frosting, thanks to my jittery hands. Our cookies will look ridiculous!” Brandi overhead one of the Betty Crocker ladies wailing. Kristina and Jessica’s team, on the other hand, appeared to not even be speaking to one another. They were all glowering at the oven, seeming to think this might help it bake faster.
“Take one more taste of the frosting,” Barbara said, passing it to her sisters. It was Sally’s famed peppermint stick buttercream frosting, and even in the midst of all this drama, that old familiar flavor made Brandi choke up a little.
“It’s perfect,” she whispered.
Bonnie nodded. “Don’t change a thing.”
“Alright. It’s frosting time,” said Barbara. “All those catheters I’ve put in people over the years have certainly given me a steady hand!”
It was true. When Barbara was done working her magic, each cookie had a perfect dollop of frosting on top, and a teensy sprinkle of crumbled peppermint candies dusting the center. Every cookie was exactly, precisely the same, and together, arranged elegantly on their tray, they looked like something out of a magazine.