Heartbreak Cake (12 page)

“I want it out of this decade, immediately.”

“It’s vintage,” I moan, following her into my bedroom that has been turned inside out since I’ve tried on every dress, skirt, and even a pair of palazzo pants that I dug up.

“Tonight you need to turn it up a notch. You have to make a statement. And that dress…” she says, pointing to my baby doll that I had considered pairing with boots, “is not the message you want to exude to a party full of people who are watching and judging you.”

Rebecca holds up a slinky sequin mini dress and I shake my head.

“Are you kidding? Is that a shirt or a dress? Let’s keep it classy. If I’m going to make a statement, I don’t like what that one is saying.”

“You may be right.”

Rebecca rummages through the pile of clothes. “We need it to say, honest, trustworthy, but still sexy. Nice sexy.” She pulls out a silk white tank top and holds it up against my face. “I think I got it, you ready for this? Prepare to make one hell of an entrance.”

Cue John Hughes mix tape.

***

When I set out a freshly made red velvet cake, its statuesque presence tends to overshadow the cookies and scones, tarts and muffins that sit quietly in their pastry baskets. Standing high at six generous layers, the cake demands attention and easily gets it with its complementing lily white cream cheese frosting.

I often find fingerprints pressed up against the glass where the cake sits and I’m never surprised by the longing glances that come from its corner—it’s a sexy damn cake.

As I step out of my car, the peep toe of my black patent leather heel appears and I catch a glimpse of the burgundy red nail polish that matches the hue of the billowy deep red chiffon skirt that makes me feel like a prima ballerina. We went with the elegant skirt, simple silk white tank top, a clean French braid twist and a pair of gold studs from Rebecca’s treasure chest. We wrapped it all up neatly with red lips courtesy of Coco Chanel.

Thank goodness for friends with Louboutins and Oscar de La Renta to help for a last minute date emergency. Rebecca nearly cried when we were done, and all I could think when I faced myself in the mirror was how I looked like a slice of red velvet cake.

“Good evening. Welcome to Crystal Cove, Miss. You must be here for our event.” Tom Atwood, the valet services manager, says to me politely.

“Tom, it’s me! It’s Indira,” I say brightly, basking in the effect of mascara and a one-thousand-dollar outfit.

“You look like a movie star!” Tom says. He takes my hand and twirls me around. “Wait ‘til Josh sees you…”

“I’m Noah’s date,” I correct quickly and hand Tom my car keys. “Josh and I broke up, you remember?”

Tom bobs his head up and down “Oh, that’s right. I always forget because you were like two sea otters in love. Did you know that sea otters fall asleep holding hands in the ocean? So they won’t let go of each other.” Tom clucks his tongue and hands me a valet ticket. “Seems to me that we could all learn a few things from sea life, don’t you think?”

“You’re as sweet as ever, Tom,” I say, while lifting my skirt off the ground and feeling like Cinderella off to the ball. “I’ll see you later. Should be an interesting night.”

Making my way through the lobby, I nod hello to the two doormen, who ceremoniously pull open the big wooden doors that lead out to the outdoor deck that hovers above the ocean.

It’s breathtaking, I think, as I take in the tea lights strung above the trees creating a Disneyland effect.

For years, I was one of the people behind the curtain that pulled the strings of the smoke and mirror machine that is Crystal Cove. Now as an outsider, I have to admit it really is a magical place, and my Prince Charming for the evening just so happens to be a handsome chef.

There is nothing small-town farm boy about Noah Cavatelli, dressed in a slim-fitted charcoal grey three-piece suit, minus the tie. He looks like the lead singer of a band with his messy sandy blonde hair, tortoiseshell spectacles, broad shoulders and lean build.

“Indira, you are dangerously edible,” Noah says as I loop my arm around his.

“Oh this old thing, I just threw something on,” I say. “I figured I should dress up since my date is the guest of honor.”

“I have no idea how I am going to be able to keep this a platonic and professional evening when you come in looking like this.”

“Who said anything about keeping things platonic and professional?” I say lowering my eyes at him.

“Well I guess no one did.” Noah turns me around to pull me into a close hug, our noses touching like two Eskimo.

“I’m glad you’re here, I’m going to need someone to help me schmooze with all the locals, who actually seem like a tough crowd.”

I look around at all the familiar faces, but also know not one of them will come over and talk to me this evening. “It’s hard to get in with people here, find your niche. And when you do, remember to always tread carefully.”

“Sounds political.” Noah curves comfortably against me at the bar and motions for two drinks from the handsome bartender. “I don’t follow community politics.”

I’m completely bewitched by our flirtation. So much so, I’ve nearly forgotten about Josh, the Farmer’s Market, Valentina, and
The New York Times
—especially since Noah has his hand on my hip and is whispering the recipe for tonight’s dessert softly in my ear.

And just as I giggle at the way Noah is rolling his “R’s” during his description of a late summer cherry bread pudding, I see Josh and Valentina in the crowd, both of them looking like a shiny, beautifully coiffed couple.

“Well, let’s make our way down to the masses, looks like there are a number of people who want to meet you,” I say, taking Noah’s hand and slipping it into mine.

“They want a show? Let’s give them one.”

***

I used to be a great chess player, I was the queen of the spelling bee in elementary school, and, in college, the debate team was my playground.

This was all B.C. (Before Cake)

After years of making pretty pastries, handing hankies to teary brides and thinking about flowers and flour, I misplaced my edge, and it’s probably in a jar of lemon curd.

But as I sit at the dinner table, canoodling with Noah, his arm draped around my shoulder while he explains how he made the mint-blackberry compote sauce for the lamb, I know I’ve got a smirk on my face.

All eyes are on us. Or more importantly, Valentina and Samantha have been whispering furiously to one another and shooting eye daggers in our direction.

I have a strong urge to holler, “Check mate bitches, check mate.” Instead, I just smile at Noah, who may just win an award for being the sweetest date I’ve had since…well, since Josh.

“I’ll be right back, I’m going to check on the kitchen and make sure everything is going okay without me,” Noah says, looking over his shoulder at the wait staff who is still milling around the dining area waiting for the food to start to come out.

“Go, go, I understand,” I say swatting him away. “I’ll make my way over to the bar and get something until you return. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re a pro. I’ll be right back,” he says and gives my hand a squeeze before dashing into the crowd.

Sitting at the table alone, I realize it may be a good time for me to go say hello to some of the staff I haven’t seen in months. More specifically, Olga, who always has a stash of chocolate behind the concierge desk. Setting my napkin on the table, I get up and walk past Josh who is talking to a group of servers. We meet each other’s eyes and I quickly look the other way, not wanting him to see what I’m feeling. And just as I turn the corner into the lobby, I feel someone grab my arm roughly.

“That’s quite a show you’re putting on,” I hear a snide voice say. A snide Italian voice. I turn around to find Valentina looking angry and slightly out of breath.

“Thanks. I would say the same about you this morning at the Farmer’s Market. I didn’t realize you had become such cozy friends with Samantha. Seems like a great friendship.”

“Well, I can trust that she won’t sleep with my husband,” Valentina shoots back quickly.

“I’m pretty sure Samantha isn’t sleeping with her own husband, so yes, you are safe with her. And for the record, Valentina, I didn’t break up your happy marriage. I think you did that all on your own. But here’s what I don’t understand, why do you think it’s a great idea to tell everyone your husband cheated with me? Now you’ve embarrassed him and made yourself look like a scorned housewife. I don’t get it. I feel like I’m in an episode of one of your
telenovelas
. Are you going to slap me in public or shall we wrestle in the fountain?”

“I just want everyone to know who you really are. Valentina’s voice rises above the sound of the jazz band and a few people look over at us, and I smile and laugh, hoping people will just think we are having an animated conversation. “I’d like to help them see who you really are before they hire you for a wedding.”

“I suggest you stay away from me and my business. Don’t let my good nature and guilt confuse you. I will not let you do this to me or Pedro.”

Valentina laughs as if I just told her the funniest joke she’s ever heard, and it really does feel like I’m on the set of a tacky soap opera. God, I hope I can be Joan Collins, because if I’m not, Valentina is going to break me.

“All I want is for everyone to know how ridiculous it is that you’re putting together weddings. It’s…
come si dice?
” Valentina says, grasping to remember the word.

“Irony. It’s called irony.”

“Yes, do you see it?”

“Not really. House-wrecking is not my hobby. I was in love with Josh, and you were not here, but then you were. I know that I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I promise you, I am done with all of this.”

“Josh will never pick you over me,” she says rather loudly.

“Well if you are so confident about that, then why are you here? And why are making a spectacle of yourself?” I say this quietly and calmly hoping that she will understand my plea for discretion, for all of us. But she steps closer to me looking menacing, and I close my eyes tightly, hoping I can somehow magically disappear from where I’m standing.

“Ladies, care for some chilled bubbly? Always fun for special occasions.”

Perfectly timed as usual, I think, as Josh swoops in, saving us both from ourselves.

He hands each of us a champagne glass. “Can you please keep it down? People are starting to notice. Now try and look pleasant and as if you like one another, can you do that?” Josh takes a sip from his own glass and beams at us both. “You two are making a scene. I don’t want this in the press, and I am not sure at this point how much people have already heard.”

“She started it,” I say like a sullen ten-year-old.

“
Scusa amore
,” Valentina says, looking flushed and gorgeous.

“Now let’s wait here for a bit and pretend that this is totally comfortable,” Josh says as all three of us stand there quietly sipping on our sparkling wine.

“This is your fault,” I say to him bitterly, taking a swig from my glass and gulping it down like it’s sweet lemonade.

“I know.” He waves at someone in the crowd and tips his glass in their direction.

“Well, it’s also your fault. You knew he was married,” Valentina says through her fake smile.

“You are such a hypocrite,” I grumble.

“Hey everyone. Dinner is being served, so let’s head back,” Noah says breathlessly, taking my hand and then taking in the sight of us, each of us looking somber and stressed. “What did I miss?”

Chapter 11

Dressed in a black leotard and tights, the dance instructor ties a hip scarf covered in coins around her waist and walks noisily to the front of the room to face a dozen women of all shapes and sizes.

“Alright ladies, let’s work off that extra piece of cake I know you had this week,” she says, stretching her toned arms over her head.