Heartbreak Cake (22 page)

This year, without Simon here to save us, Pedro and I sat grimly in traffic on Pacific Coast Highway until we arrived at Crystal Cove. Coming down the slope of PCH and seeing the hotel pop up against the scenic California coast, was still an amazing sight. It always seemed like the ocean here glimmered like diamonds and that the sun shone brighter.

With the sun beginning to dip, the sunset was turning the world around us a shade of coral, with blue skies and puffy white clouds.

“It’s amazing here,” I say out loud. Pedro just grunts and turns into the driveway and we park in employee parking, like we used to.

We unload the car and pack our dolly up with our boxes. We stoically make our way to the line where the vendors are waiting to get checked in. We can hear the crooning of a wedding singer inside the ballroom belting out, “Your Body is a Wonderland.”

“I can’t believe we have to be here for two days,” Pedro mutters. “How much John Mayer will we have to stomach?”

“More than we ever wanted.” We both laugh as we join the line that’s forming outside the door, and I keep my eyes down, hoping we can make it safely inside without bumping into anyone we know.

Just as we get to the front of the line, we are stopped by an impeccably dressed assistant whose nails are painted with pink glitter. He also has a pair of hot pink glasses to match.

“Name and company?” he says with just enough bitch in his voice to make him seem important.

“Pedro Sanchez and Indira Aguilar, Cake Pan Bakery.” As soon as I say my name he looks up from the clipboard and gives me the smarmiest grin. He recognized my name. He takes a minute to not so subtly check me out from head to toe, and his gaze settles on my face where I can visibly see him decide if I’m pretty enough to fit the bill of adulteress.

“Sooooo glad you’re here, Indira and Pedro. Everyone has been waiting for your arrival,” he coos at me. “They will be tickled pink sprinkles to see you,
I am sure
.”

“We’re not doing a show, we’re hosting a demo,” Pedro says, not understanding that Mr. McBitchQueendom, as I’ve just coined him, is talking about me. He’s obviously been reading the gossip blogs.

“Can we go set up? Neither one of us has time to deal with your attitude, Pinkie,” I say sharply. Then remember how Rebecca warned me to stay pleasant.

“Now, now, I don’t think you should be calling anyone names, Hester Prynne.” He yanks open the door and gives me a surly scowl. “Walk down the aisle, turn left on hallway six and you’ll see all the wedding cake decorators and bakers. I’m sure they’ll welcome you with open arms.” Pinky curtly calls up the next vendor just like we’re yesterday’s news to him.

Pedro grabs the dolly and heads down the hallway that will take us to the Sea Cliff, Crystal Cove’s biggest and most luxurious ballroom.

“Hurry, Indira! We still have to set up. I’m worried about the stove they provided for us. I will need to calibrate it if they don’t, which no one ever does.” Pedro pushes open the backdoor to the Seacliff, and I’m instantly in love with the beauty of the Pink Sprinkle. It’s a wedding. A beautiful, supersized wedding.

Instead of one bride, there are hundreds. Hundreds of beautiful women dressed in bridal couture looking radiant. Servers clad in their black and whites are lined up against the wall waiting patiently for guests to come in so they can pass the canapés and pour flutes of champagne.

And the smell! I inhale deeply and close my eyes.

It’s the inside of a florists shop with every type of flower on display. Their colorful hues fill the room in an explosion of happy colors: peonies in pink and peach, zinnias in a flirty yellow, the sweet smell of lavender, mini marigolds in tiny crystal vases placed on every table, and the roses. They are everywhere from what I can see, because what in the world is a wedding without roses?

“Pedro, It’s amazing! I had no idea it looked like this. No wonder Simon loved coming. It’s elegant, classy, and everything that doesn’t suck about weddings. It actually makes me proud to be a part of this industry.”

I twirl around, enchanted, and when I see a cellist and harpists sit down and start to play the beginning chords to “Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman,” I sway, wanting to waltz.

“Indira, pull yourself together. You’re acting like one of those women who tries on wedding dresses on her day off.”

“That’s not very nice, Pedro. I’m sorry, but this is just so pretty and romantic. I mean look at it! They’ve done an amazing job of making this feel like the magic of a wedding. You've got to give Crystal Cove credit. They are really good at creating magical weddings.”

“Keep your voice down, we’re going into the snake pit,” he says quietly before making a quick left on aisle six, and suddenly my happy endorphins take a plunge as I step into the wedding cake aisle to see the familiar faces of our world.

But as we walk slowly down to our booth, not one of them bothers to acknowledge us.

“Don’t let this upset you,” Pedro says, who slows down and walks alongside me, which I know is his way of showing solidarity.

“Thanks,” I whisper to him. “I haven’t even noticed that everyone hates me.”

Pedro nods, and we both walk up the steps to the center stage. Weeks before, we were both excited to be taking the stage in the Seacliff Ballroom. Not only would the spotlight be shone on us as a baking business, but it also meant a lot for both of us to come back to Crystal Cove and be in this room. But now, we both climb the stairs with unease, knowing everyone is looking at us in disappointment and judgment.

“You showed up. We were all taking bets, but here you are,” Valentina trills just below the stage where she stands holding hands with Josh.

***

After my 12th birthday, my mom and Mrs. Pasqual stopped being best friends. I suspect my father told my mom what he had done because after my birthday party, the whole neighborhood turned against Mrs. Pasqual.

No one spoke to her. No one invited her to block parties. She was kicked out of the weekly potluck dinners held by the wives of our cul-de-sac. Her daughter, Annie, was my best friend, but I stopped talking to her because how could I ever look at her mother again when all I could remember was the way she had whispered, “Iggie,” in her breathy voice.

Annie and Mrs. Pasqual eventually, quietly moved away and a normal, nuclear family moved in. And all was right with the community again. But I never did forget Mrs. Pasqual.

I was always very wary of women like her. Earthy, vibrant, feisty women who wore lots of jewelry. They were the picture of what a mistress looked like. Not like me. Not one who always has flour in her hair or who finds herself singing Christmas carols in the middle of summer.

“Valentina and Josh, wonderful to see you both,” I sing song from the stage. “Looking happily married tonight. Hopefully, you can convince everyone else, because I’m not buying it.”

I glare at Josh, who looks away uncomfortably, and I give a hard stare at Valentina, who continues to surprise me with her blatant pestering.

“Indira,” Pedro hisses at me.

“I’ve got work to do,” I say to Josh and Valentina. “As you know, we are the keynote speakers, so we’re preparing our demonstration. As much as I’d love to chat with you regarding this wonderful little sponsored article I read on Wedding Belles, I am much too busy. Perhaps, afterward?” While my voice is friendly, my eyes throw daggers at both of them. And there’s an anger inside me that makes me worry I may not be able to keep my promise to Rebecca to “lay low.”

Waving them both off dismissively, I can feel people staring at me, and I look up and give them the same rebellious stare that I had just given Valentina.

I think of Mrs. Pasqual and how she stopped meeting everyone’s eyes on the street, in the supermarket, and at soccer games. She had lost her ability to fight when everyone turned against her. And I understand how she felt now. But I also realize that I still have plenty of fight in me.

***

I slice a ripe banana into chunks and toss them into a vanilla custard batter with a teaspoon of nutmeg and five tablespoons of sugar, and I gently fold them together using my hot pink rubber spatula with leopard rubber handle. I hear Melinda Lee from Cake Pop Lollishop talk about her new line of crème filled cake pops, and I want to tell her I had her lemon meringue pops at a wedding party I was at, and they were amazing. But I say nothing. I just keep mixing my custard, keeping my head down, and hoping that I can get through the next two days without telling everyone what I think of them.

My heart is heavy, and I try not to show Pedro how much this is affecting me, but my lip trembles, and I feel like breaking into frustrated tears in the middle of whipping my custard into point peaks.

“Don’t let them see you get upset, Indira.” Pedro pulls out a tray topped with eight-ounce mason jars lined with graham cracker piecrusts and sets them down on the stainless steel workstation.

“No one has said anything to us, Pedro. How can this not faze you? Did you see Frankie from Crystal Cove? We were at his son’s baptism, and now he won’t even look at us.”

I cringe when I hear a peal of laughter, and from the corner of my eye, I can see a crowd of people flocked around the Crystal Cove pastry department. Josh, I might add, looks miserable, which does make me feel a bit better about things.

“They don’t know the whole story,” Pedro says. “I do. I know how this happened, and I know who you are. None of these people care because they are so caught up in what it looks like from the outside. But no one knows the truth.”

“I can’t blame them. I would do the same.”

Pedro presses the crust firmly against the jar and I wish that Simon was here. He would be able to fix this. He would walk over to someone tell them to “bugger off” in his charming way, and next thing I know, we’d all be drinking whiskey at the hotel bar as if nothing had ever happened.

“Come. Fill these with the banana custard and then go get us some champagne. We deserve it,” Pedro says.

“You’re going to drink while we work?” I raise an eyebrow at him as I scoop custard gently into each jar.

“If we can get through this night without much drama, I think we’re going to be okay. We just have to show this group that they can’t run us out of town. We won’t let them.”

We both turn around and watch everyone talking just like we would be if none of this had happened. All of our friends are here. Carol Nixon spent hours sobbing on my shoulder after she left her husband. Now she won’t even look at me.

“I can’t believe how fickle this town is. To think they can turn on you,” I snap my fingers, “just like that. And look at how everyone fawns over Valentina. They love a celebrity.”

“Get out of here,” Pedro says, tossing his kitchen towel at me. “And if you see any of those little cheese balls? Just grab a tray.”

“Aye Aye captain.”

With my head bowed down, I walk quickly out of our aisle, trying not to trip over myself since I know everyone is watching me. I couldn’t be more thankful that I decided to put on my good butt jeans. How can you be an appropriate man-stealing harlot without good butt jeans?

You can’t. “Hey you!”

I’m startled by a tug that spins me right into the arms of a delighted Noah Cavatelli.

“Where you off to? I just got here.”

I lean in and give him a warm and lingering hug, knowing perfectly well that everyone is watching the show.

“You do know that you’re talking to the enemy?” I whisper into his ear, making it look to everyone watching us that I’m nibbling on it.

“You? You’re a puppy, not the enemy.”

“Well, you know that. And I know that. But everybody here thinks I like to eat married men for breakfast.”

“You like banana tea bread covered in chocolate ganache for breakfast.”

Noah looks up and waves to Pedro, who taps his watch to remind me we still have a class to teach.

“I’m on the clock, but would you like to join me for a glass of champagne?”

“What are we celebrating?”

“My public hanging,” I joke, and he leans over and kisses my nose.

“I’d love to join you, then. Nothing like a good public hanging to really put things in perspective, don’t you think?”

Noah takes my hand and intertwines his slender fingers into mine, and we walk slowly out of the aisle. And just as we pass Sweet and Sassy, a boutique cakery from Venice Beach, I hear the owner say loudly, “I wonder if he’s married.”

“Wow, people are being nasty.”

“I’ve been scarlet-lettered, except I don’t get to wear really cool velvet cloaks or look like Demi Moore.”

“This is so silly. This is why Americans are considered puritans. In Italy, having an affair is not seen like this. People don’t respond the same way. Sure, no one likes it, but it’s just viewed differently. It’s sex. It’s companionship. Wives get mad, slap a few people, and then get even by sleeping with her husband’s best friend. Balance is set back into the world and everyone goes back to their lives.”