Someone in the audience shouted, “I’d like some of that there cake right this minute!” and more requests followed.
Paulette issued a tinkling laugh that sounded extremely false to James’s ear and pointed at the lemon meringue cake. “People often reserve meringue cakes for the warmer months, but I love this cake in the winter because the stiff peaks of meringue remind me of miniature mountains covered with a layer of fresh snow.” She pivoted the cake so that the camera could focus on the slice she was cutting. “Look at the interior of this gorgeous confection. The lemon cake is so moist that it will feel like a cloud inside of your mouth. Next, the tart sweetness of the strawberries will make you close your eyes and moan. This cake is like mistletoe. The object of your desire cannot resist you if you offer them a slice of this heaven.” She handed the cake wedge to the show’s host. “You find me a person who would rather eat a bran muffin, and I’ll show you someone who is, quite simply, afraid of experiencing pleasure.”
Ruth shook her head in vigorous disagreement. “That’s an unfair-”
“And if you’d rather your sweet packed a little punch, then might I suggest my Eggnog Cake with Butter Rum Frosting?” Paulette completely ignored the nutritionist’s protest and, unfortunately, so did the show’s host. “And I don’t use rum extract. I use the rum that comes from a large bottle with a handle! Yes, mes chéries , dark rum and plenty of it, so if you’re on the wagon, stay away from this cake!”
The audience tittered appreciatively. Paulette began to cut slices of the eggnog cake while emphasizing that it could be made at any time of the year, as the batter didn’t actually contain an ounce of eggnog.
“Though eggnog happens to be my secret vice,” Paulette whispered into the microphone attached to her apron. “I can drink gallons of the stuff. Especially when I’m whipping up one of my triple-tiered chocolate mousse cakes. If I’m drinking eggnog, then I can’t drink the cake batter!” The audience laughed harder and issued a hearty round of applause.
“She really knows how to work a crowd.” James couldn’t help but be impressed.
Lucy nodded. “That’s why I was excited to meet her. 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 audience.
“Those pictures made them look like thugs!” Lindy exclaimed. “This is silly. Boys always try to look all sorts of tough for their sports photos. The media is trying to influence public opinion against the Wilkins family!”
“Welcome to the twenty-first century,” Bennett muttered darkly.
The final video clip showed two of the Wilkins brothers pounding on the passenger window of Paulette’s rental car. The third had his arm around his mother as she shouted at her other sons to stop, Ruth’s normally radiant face eclipsed with anxiety.
The members of the supper club watched with growing dismay as the largest brother abruptly shoved his handsome face, twisted by anger and humiliation, against the glass separating him from Paulette. As the footage had been captured from behind the car, it was impossible to see what the Diva of Dough’s reaction was to the young man’s wrath, but when he dragged his index finger slowly against the exposed skin of his throat, all of the supper club members gasped aloud.
“Oh my,” Gillian breathed. “That young man needs to learn how to control his baser emotions.”
“Too late for that.” Bennett reached for a second helping of pudding. “Those boys are already in a whole heap of trouble.”