The Wedding Cake
I can explain everything. I work at a bakery, and my boyfriend, you see, he’s been kinda under the weather for a while and with his being cooped up and all, I decided I needed to bake him something special, something on my own. I whipped up the batter and added all sorts of his favorite things to it: chocolate chips, mini peanut-butter cups, and other interesting things. When my boyfriend’s cake came out of the oven, I set it on the cooling rack. I was a little lumpy in one spot but that’s okay. My boyfriend will still like it.
I went about my business with my fellow bakers getting other cakes baked, cooled, frosted and decorated. That day we had three weddings, two bar mitzvahs and a birthday party for a celebrity. We were hopping.
A few hours later when I had a few minutes to myself, I decided to frost my boyfriend’s cake. I went to cooling rack. My cake was gone.
“Mavis, do you know what happened to the white cake here?”
“Oh, it went into one of the wedding cakes, the second tier I think.”
I was horrified. “Whose cake?”
“Um, I think it was for the Wilson/Abernathy wedding. Why?”
“Nothing. Hey, look, it’s almost time for my lunch break. Do you mind if I take off?”
“Nah, see you when you get back”
“Thanks.” I raced out the door, hopped on my bike and rumbled off to the Maxwell Hotel, where the wedding reception was due to start any moment. I had to do something about the cake because…. well, I would be in big, BIG trouble if I didn’t.
I parked in back next to the hotel’s kitchen dumpsters and tried to make myself look like I belonged there. I slipped in the back door and looked around. There were some lockers to one side and a blue shirt with the hotel’s name patch on the front was draped over the back of a chair. I grabbed it and put it on. Then I walked into the kitchen. A busboy was busily loading plates into the dishwasher.
“Hey. I need to put some final touches on a wedding cake.”
The bus boy motioned his head towards the door. “It’s already on the floor.”
Great. “Thanks, man.” Just what I was afraid would happen. As I walked toward the kitchen door, I noticed an empty plastic container and lid on the counter. I slid it off the counter and under my arm.
I headed to the ball room. I heard a mic-d voice speaking followed by a lot of laughter. I poked my head through the door and saw that a man in a tux, probably the best man, was chortling on about the lucky couple. Good. They were all focused on the front. The cake was to the side away from the dais. I eased myself over to the cake and started looking around.
There! I saw a familiar lump in the side of the second tier. I popped the lid off the plastic container and picked up the cake knife. I started cutting into it. Then I heard a thunk. Gotcha! I starting lifting a wedge of cake out of the tier when all of a sudden I heard clinking. I looked up. Everyone in the room was staring at me and tapping their forks against their glasses.
The lucky couple were heading over my way. The groom had a confused look on his face, while his new wife looked like Bridezilla ready to pounce.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
Suddenly, out of my mouth came the worst eastern European accent. “My babushka… she always say ‘Is bad luck for the bride and groom to make the first cut. I do it for you. Is okay?'”
The groom smiled and nodded his head. The audience muttered in agreement and began clinking their glasses again. I was afraid the bride would not buy any of this but after looking around at the crowd, she nodded her head towards me.
I quickly scooped the piece I had just cut into a the container and was heading towards the door before I even had the the lid tightly in place.
I raced through the kitchen, out the back door, and was on my bike faster than a fart. I was soon heading down the street and back to the bakery.
Before I got there, though, I pulled over to curb and tossed into a trash can the container with the cake slice and the file I had baked into it.
I’ll take my boyfriend another cake next week on visiting day.
ljg (c) 2013