Cupcake (18 page)

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mitt, will you, Dollface? Look at this, yet another exquisite batch of red velvet. Go, us. This process goes so much more efficiently with your help here." I passed Danny the oven mitt and breathed in the aroma of the freshly baked cupcakes. Mmmmm. Waking up. "So I watch Aaron and that other creature for a while; then I panic when I see them stop their stroll. Because the boyfriend was getting down on bended knee, and all of a sudden I had a very bad feeling that was not just about the champagne in my stomach wanting to heave up!"

"Where was Jerry Lewis?" I always remember to ask.

"He has a real name, you know. But what's that matter, because I have no idea where he'd gone. He'd already gotten sick of me and my mooning over Aaron by that point in the vacation, and he went out clubbing with some people he'd met at the hotel bar."

"Good. I love the part where he permanently exits the picture. He used too much hair gel."

"I know! I never wanted to put my hands around his head when we were kissing! No, Ceece, hold the parchment paper like this, wrap a little tighter--right. You just made what's called a cornet to pipe the filling into this tray of cupcakes. Good job, my most excellent apprentice. So where was I? I know. I'm walking on the beach and I see Aaron and you-know-who ... ,"--here Danny and I both stuck our fingers down our throats and emitted a
bleh
sound--"and what's gag-me doing but proposing to Aaron! And I'd

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just had enough. I marched right into that proposal and told Aaron, 'You can't marry that moron, because you belong to me!'"

My coffee kicked in. "And Aaron said he doesn't belong to anyone, he's his own person!"

"Right, and gag-me was like, 'Excuse me, Danny, why are you present every time I'm trying to have a moment with my boyfriend?' and I was like, 'Excuse me, but Aaron's not
your
true love.
I
am Aaron's true love.'"

I thumped my fist to my chest and swooned, "And Aaron was like, 'Danny, you're my true love? Still? Really?'"

"Exactly! Aaron forgot all about gag-me sitting right there on bended knee, under the moonlight and on the beach, proposing to him on New Year's Eve in full cliché mode, with a ring from Tiffany and everything! I mean, how lame is that? I don't know what circles gag-me runs in, but in mine and Aaron's, there is no such thing as a gay engagement ring."

Aaron did not forget how to take care of his true love. Once Blip left the scene, Aaron rubbed Danny's back during Danny's postdeclaration of love Veuve Clicquot heave, then held his hand as they laid on the beach for the post-spew, pre-sunset pass-out nap that Danny needed.

But we don't like to discuss the barfing part of the story in front of the cupcakes. "How expensive do you think the ring was? Seriously, how many carats?" I sampled a taste of the frosting that

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the chest-thumping swoon had caused me to gob on my apron. Outstanding. I've finally mastered making the praline frosting myself, without Danny's help.

Danny said, "Doesn't matter, because Aaron thought the engagement ring was ridiculous too.
And,
Aaron chose me." Danny danced a jig in front of the oven. He really ought to feel more compassion for poor Blip's loss, but apparently Blip proposes to every boyfriend he has (that ring has allegedly seen more action than Cinderella's slipper), so I hope the karma gods will look the other way for Danny dancing a jig celebrating his own joy at the expense of Blip's heartbreak.

I reminded Danny, "Well, not exactly."

"Drink more coffee, sister. Aaron
did
choose me. Only he said we had to take it slow this time. No commitments. No spending the night or other indoor sports, as Aaron's treasured Judy Blume would say--at least not as of yet. We'll go on proper dates. Get to know each other all over again. Start fresh."

"Aaron wants romance! Aaron wants you to unlearn how to take him for granted!"

Danny grinned at me. "Aaron's
getting
romance." Since they returned from vacation, Aaron's getting fresh flowers delivered to his apartment doorstep every morning, he's getting Teddy Pendergrass and Luther Vandross baby-making songs dedicated to him on the R & B satellite radio station for the whole world to hear, he's

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getting Danny wide awake and holding his hand at the ballet--and at the movies, on the subway, strolling through Washington Square Park. He's getting Danny-love loud and proud.

Aaron's also getting a Commandant who shouldn't be passing judgment on romance clichés, since he himself has turned into positive mush. "Shrimp's staying an extra month in Manhattan, Dollface? Hurrah! Maybe this time he'll grunt more than two words to me and actually let me get to know him."

Danny grinned so wide I knew the time was ripe for a fresh Shrimp pitch. "Shrimp is all about the romance too," I told Danny. "He's picking me up after breakfast time and taking me for a walk to his favorite place he found in Central Park. The Cali surf boy has never seen so much snow before in his life. We're going to have a picnic in the snow and then Shrimp wants to sketch me standing on the red-yellow bridge, with the white frost and iced-out pond behind me. Doesn't he look scrumptious with that tanned face wearing that harsh Siberia winter hat with the flaps over the ears?"

Danny ignored my Shrimp pitch. He passed me a cupcake decorated like Cartman from
South Park,
then sang along with the stereo, rendering a verse of "Kyle's Mom Is a Bitch" by bellowing aloud about how "She's a big, fat, fucking bitch!" When Danny finished his rousing chorus, I scolded him like I was Kyle's mom, just without the histrionics. "You're skipping the Shrimp entree. I want you to tell me you like him."

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"I like him. I don't know him. I've been back from vacation two weeks and he hasn't bothered to spend a minute of time interacting with me other than to compliment me on the cupcake artwork when he comes to pick you up for your playtime between your morning job here and your barista job later in the day. Sounds like Shrimp connected with Johnny and Dante instantly. He's even apartment-sitting for that old crank, Max. So what's wrong with me?"

I don't know what Shrimp's problem with Danny is. Alone with me, Shrimp couldn't be more attentive. But ask him to join me and Danny for our weekly special
Dynasty
viewings from the episodes we recorded from the classic soap channel, and Shrimp sits next to me, his arms crossed, not saying a word, staring straight ahead at the TV like he couldn't be more bored. He doesn't draw or join in on the nonstop cackle-chatter Danny and I share. Ask Shrimp to show Danny his Yvette paintings or his new sketchbook of the uptown places--the Cloisters, Harlem, Saint John's cathedral--that Shrimp and I have been exploring because we're on a quest to find truth in the rumor that there's life not just above Fourteenth Street but above Central Park, too, and Shrimp mumbles "Maybe later."

I had no answer for Danny's question, so I lobbed a different question his way. "Danny, are you going to teach me how to make the naughty cupcakes or not?"

"Are you kidding? I grew up in Connecticut. I might show the artistry to my kid sister, but teach her how to craft the

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lasciviousness? No, you'll have to figure it out yourself. The ingredients are right over there." He pointed to the naughty cupcake-decorating table, heaped with bowls of pink frosting, chocolate sprinkles, and whipped cream. "I'm just not that cool. It would be too weird."

"Then you lured me here under false pretenses. You said you'd teach me."

"You wanted to be lured." From the stand below the baking table, Danny pulled out a tray of vanilla cupcakes with erotic icing designs. He teased, "So do you want to be the person to divert delivery of this batch from the gay
Jeopardy!
tournament in Chelsea to Daddy and lisBETH instead?"

"You know what's weird?" I said, thinking about how when I moved here last summer, we were all single, but things change, we've evolved. The NY bio-fam all rung in the New Year with significant others. "We've all got somebody."

Danny teased again, "We should enjoy it now, because given our histories, and especially Daddy's, surely that will change." He sing-songed again, "Bye-bye, love." He picked up the Cartman cupcake and turned it over onto a plate, destroying the artwork. Poor misunderstood Cartman.

"I know," I said, feeling the happy mood of our morning kitchen space routine turning to knotted stomach anticipation--of what, I didn't know. "There are like mandalas all about it."

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***

THIRTY-FOUR

Truth or dare.

"CC, when are you going to give up your scattershot jobs and give in to a proper culinary school curriculum already?" Silence.

Still being on the outs with Truth, and never one to turn down a Dare, I had no choice but to accept lisBETH's challenge. She dared me to help her inaugurate her New Year's resolution to try a yoga class.

"I like your little man," lisBETH whispered to me as she bent over in Down Dog position. Shrimp oddly can't ignore Danny enough, yet he easily accepted lisBETH's odd-job offer. After a week in her apartment installing new blinds and repainting her living room, Shrimp's rather taken with her. He wants to paint a canvass of lisBETH and Myself standing back-to-back. He'll call

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it
Hostile Takeover.
That Shrimp had the very idea to create the painting is a good sign, I believe--it means he's considering staying in NYC even after Max returns. That lisBETH would never agree to pose for such a painting is a Reality not factored into the idea.

LisBETH's idea for us to take a yoga class together could have used some Hot Nude Yoga brand of inspiration. A class with hot naked guys, even if they were off limits to us, would have to be more interesting than the Upper East Side Yoga for Uptight Stressmonger Wenches that lisBETH had dragged us to. I did appreciate that even though lisBETH and I share little besides DNA, we were both total yoga spazzes. Our genetically disposed terrible balance had us fumbling and falling through half the postures, though we were outstanding successes at not suppressing our giggles.

"SHHH!" hissed the yoga mommy behind us.

I ignored the Frowning Pretzel. "Shrimp likes you, too," I whispered to lisBETH. "When am I gonna meet
your
man?" LisBETH and Frank have a romance conspiracy going on; neither will cough up details of how their vacations with their love interests went, other than to say "Fine" and then change the subject.

LisBETH whispered, "Soon enough. I'm not ready yet to introduce him to my family pathology."

If I were a thick-eyebrowed, big-haired, shoulder-padded character on an eighties soap, my suspicious mind would have me

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poised to start a diva catfight here, or at least tantrum-throw my yoga mat in my sister's face:
So. LisBETH.
(The BETH part spewed extra dramatically.)
Are you telling me you haven't yet told your boyfriend about the illegitimate love child-sister who unexpectedly charged into your life, because you're embarrassed by your father's long-ago indiscretion?
But I am only an eighties soap character in cupcake-baking time
Dynasty
reenactment episodes with Danny. (He plays good guy/gay guy Steven Carrington and I play Steven's spoiled princess sister Fallon, the sometimes good girl, sometimes bad girl.) The real world, real time CC wondered if she hadn't met Frank's lady friend for the same reason she hadn't met lisBETH's beau--they could accept her in private family time, but full disclosure with new significant others? Not there yet.

Or maybe my mind stretched into paranoia along with the lotus pose that brought with it dreamy visions of Carringtons and their Denver oil money, which only seemed to buy them grief and truly horrible outfits to go along with their fantastically horrible dialogue.

In lulling voice the instructor at the front of the class said, "Concentrate on the quiet. Remember your deep breathing. Focus your center."

Speak English?

Obstruction of the Quiet (yet another excellent band name)

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lost the instructor her contemplative focus. "What's that beep?" she asked. She looked directly at me from the front of the room. "I
know
someone didn't bring a cell phone into this class!" Her not-so-lulling tone suggested I was a kindergartner in her class and not a fully-evolving eighteen-year-old spreading her effulgent yoga wings.

I unspread my arms and returned them to my side to pull my cell phone out of my pants pocket. A text message flashed on the screen from Shrimp, and my heart rate shot up even higher than the level my pre-yoga espresso shot had accomplished. Shrimp does not approve of the cell phone, says his one major goal in life is to be accessible to mind and body but not to technology. Luckily, he does believe in the power of the haiku, and he's not above hijacking Johnny Mold's cell to text a daily love poem to me. I hoped Shrimp's latest installment would be a haiku'd announcement of his intention to ground a stick into the Big Apple; at the very least, I hoped it would be as sigh-worthy as the previous day's haiku:

Cyd charisse dances

Cc espresso prances--

City does not sleep.

But the latest installment did not herald Shrimp's adoration. The haiku was a first--about Himself, instead of love for Myself.

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Snow falls on flap ears

How long before the wave break?

Shrimp out of water.

"That's a first," lisBETH said as we placed our shoes back on our feet in the lobby area of the yoga studio. "I didn't know it was
possible
to be kicked out of a yoga class. Thank you for hastening our departure out of that misery. Check yoga off the New Year's resolution list."