She’s totally charismatic on her television show, and just look at those cakes! I’d love to get my hands on all three of them.”
James eyed his pudding cup. “I know this is a healthy dessert, but I’d much rather have a slice of that ten-layer chocolate fudge cake Paulette made for us a few nights ago. She’s a nasty piece of work, but she’s almost tolerable when she’s baking.”
Paulette described the smooth, buttery frosting while deftly stepping directly in front of Ruth’s more diminutive figure. As she watched the camera zoom in toward the nutmeg-flecked icing, Gillian asked, “How does one create ten layers? They must be thin as a fingernail; delicate as a butterfly wing.”
“It’s pretty incredible, actually,” James said. “I saw her remove three cake pans from the oven. After they had cooled, she overturned the cakes from the pans and stacked all three layers on top of one another other. She then started measuring from the bottom to the top with a ruler. She’d stick a toothpick into the cooked cake every half inch or so and then swivel it around and repeat the process.” He gestured at the screen. “The cake was about the same height as that eggnog cake on TV, but it looked like a porcupine with all the toothpicks sticking out of it.”
“Let me guess,” Lindy said. “The Diva then cut the cake layers using a serrated knife, right?”
James shook his head. “Incorrect. She used dental floss. It slid right through the cake and each layer looked absolutely even.”
“Mighty clever.” Bennett cast an admiring glance at the television.
As the five friends watched, the camera focused on Paulette’s head and shoulders as she took a bite of her cake and smiled in satisfaction. “Scrumptious! Now, why would you want to live a life that doesn’t include cakes such as these? Forget spending your money on diet food or weight loss centers. They’re just going to suffocate you with rules and restrictions. Enjoy life. Instead, run out to the bookstore, buy my latest release, Holidays with the Diva of Dough , and forget about the gym and the nutritionist. Do you want to be skinny and miserable or do you want to be happy and eat cake?”
The audience burst into spontaneous applause and the camera returned to the studio anchor desk. “Following the conclusion of the Good Morning segment,” the anchorwoman stated mechanically, “Madame Martine signed copies of her new cookbook and then left the studio. In the parking lot adjacent to the Fix ’n Freeze location where the show had taken place, Ms. Martine was cornered and, according to witnesses, harassed by Ruth Wilkins’s three sons.”
The camera switched to a street scene and James recognized the lavender front door belonging to Milla’s cooking school. A woman clutching two of Paulette’s books against her ample chest stood on the threshold, doing her best to look appropriately shocked and outraged.
“They blocked her path!” The woman declared as though a grievous crime had been committed. “Those three boys! And they were yellin’ all sorts of off-color stuff at Madame Martine. I’m a God-fearin’ woman, so I won’t repeat any of the ugly words they said, but one of them told the Diva she should get out of town. They were definitely threatenin’ her!”
“She ain’t lyin’ either,” a man standing nearby raised his voice in agreement. “The biggest one, the Wilkins boy who plays nose tackle for the Hokies, he told Miss Paulette that she was gonna pay for messin’ with his mama’s business. Said it’d be her fault if they couldn’t finish up at school ’cause no one was gonna wanna make appointments after the word got ’round that it’s okay to eat cake.” The man shrugged. “Shoot, that Paulette woman just said what we all wanna hear anyhow.”
“Poor Dr. Ruth,” James murmured as photographs of her three sons wearing football pads, numbered jerseys, and fierce scowls were displayed for the viewing
James eyed his pudding cup. “I know this is a healthy dessert, but I’d much rather have a slice of that ten-layer chocolate fudge cake Paulette made for us a few nights ago. She’s a nasty piece of work, but she’s almost tolerable when she’s baking.”
Paulette described the smooth, buttery frosting while deftly stepping directly in front of Ruth’s more diminutive figure. As she watched the camera zoom in toward the nutmeg-flecked icing, Gillian asked, “How does one create ten layers? They must be thin as a fingernail; delicate as a butterfly wing.”
“It’s pretty incredible, actually,” James said. “I saw her remove three cake pans from the oven. After they had cooled, she overturned the cakes from the pans and stacked all three layers on top of one another other. She then started measuring from the bottom to the top with a ruler. She’d stick a toothpick into the cooked cake every half inch or so and then swivel it around and repeat the process.” He gestured at the screen. “The cake was about the same height as that eggnog cake on TV, but it looked like a porcupine with all the toothpicks sticking out of it.”
“Let me guess,” Lindy said. “The Diva then cut the cake layers using a serrated knife, right?”
James shook his head. “Incorrect. She used dental floss. It slid right through the cake and each layer looked absolutely even.”
“Mighty clever.” Bennett cast an admiring glance at the television.
As the five friends watched, the camera focused on Paulette’s head and shoulders as she took a bite of her cake and smiled in satisfaction. “Scrumptious! Now, why would you want to live a life that doesn’t include cakes such as these? Forget spending your money on diet food or weight loss centers. They’re just going to suffocate you with rules and restrictions. Enjoy life. Instead, run out to the bookstore, buy my latest release, Holidays with the Diva of Dough , and forget about the gym and the nutritionist. Do you want to be skinny and miserable or do you want to be happy and eat cake?”
The audience burst into spontaneous applause and the camera returned to the studio anchor desk. “Following the conclusion of the Good Morning segment,” the anchorwoman stated mechanically, “Madame Martine signed copies of her new cookbook and then left the studio. In the parking lot adjacent to the Fix ’n Freeze location where the show had taken place, Ms. Martine was cornered and, according to witnesses, harassed by Ruth Wilkins’s three sons.”
The camera switched to a street scene and James recognized the lavender front door belonging to Milla’s cooking school. A woman clutching two of Paulette’s books against her ample chest stood on the threshold, doing her best to look appropriately shocked and outraged.
“They blocked her path!” The woman declared as though a grievous crime had been committed. “Those three boys! And they were yellin’ all sorts of off-color stuff at Madame Martine. I’m a God-fearin’ woman, so I won’t repeat any of the ugly words they said, but one of them told the Diva she should get out of town. They were definitely threatenin’ her!”
“She ain’t lyin’ either,” a man standing nearby raised his voice in agreement. “The biggest one, the Wilkins boy who plays nose tackle for the Hokies, he told Miss Paulette that she was gonna pay for messin’ with his mama’s business. Said it’d be her fault if they couldn’t finish up at school ’cause no one was gonna wanna make appointments after the word got ’round that it’s okay to eat cake.” The man shrugged. “Shoot, that Paulette woman just said what we all wanna hear anyhow.”
“Poor Dr. Ruth,” James murmured as photographs of her three sons wearing football pads, numbered jerseys, and fierce scowls were displayed for the viewing
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