Page 29 of The Golden Spoon
I’d left while he was still sleeping, slipping through the halls in my stockinged feet and sneaking back to my room so that I had plenty of time to get ready for filming. Just as I’d thought, the scratches from his sharp whiskers had left a ruddy rash across my cheeks and chin. I’d attempted to cover it with makeup, dotting it on with a sponge until I was satisfied that there was nothing that could be seen. I reach up and touch my chin. In the harsh light of the tent, I worry that my face is starting to peel. Still crouching I pull out a shiny measuring cup, angling it so that I can see my reflection distorted in the bottom. I can see some redness but nothing as bad as I’d feared. I shove the cups away and breathe heavily. I worry that by leaving without a word this morning, I may have hurt his feelings. Maybe Archie thought I was the one abandoning him. The possibility knocks me sideways. Suddenly I can hardly handle not talking to him, telling him how much I loved our evening, that I don’t regret a second of it and I can’t wait for many more dates and to see the places he’d promised to show me out in LA. I look over at him, bantering with Pradyumna about cocoa powder. I try to catch his eye. I want him to acknowledge me so I can reassure myself everything is okay. Then, just maybe, I can still get into my baking flow. But he remains stubbornly focused. I try to let it go for now, to go back to my own bake. I rush to the refrigerator for some heavy cream, then back to my station. As I lean down to pull out a mixing bowl, Archie’s voice drifts over to me from Pradyumna’s table.
“I’ll leave you to it then. Enough distraction.”
There is some shuffling around my table, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I feel the heat of the camera lights on my scalp. I stand up, smiling widely in anticipation. But when I pop up at my table, it isn’t Archie standing in front of my table, it’s Betsy Martin. She leans over the ripped-up sponge, looking down over her nose, inspecting it with a look of disapproval on her face. She says nothing for a moment, and I nervously fill in the gap with an explanation.
“I used silicone molds. I’ve never done that before. I didn’t realize that they would get so sticky.”
She frowns. “Can you tell me about the flavors in your cake?”
I swallow.
“Yes, of course. It’s a raspberry cream cake. Vanilla and raspberry swirls were my favorite candy flavor as a child.”
“So just last year,” Betsy smirks. I smile my nicest smile, but inside I’m fuming that she’d made a joke at my expense. If Betsy approves of the flavor pairing, she gives nothing away.
“And what are you using for your raspberry flavoring?”
“One of the sponges has freeze-dried raspberry pieces,” I say, my voice rising to a squeak at the end. Her lips press together. I feel like I should offer her something more. “And I’m making a raspberry jelly, actually, to place between the layers and the buttercream. It’s in the freezer firming up.”
It’s a lie. I haven’t even considered it until now, but I can’t let her look at me like I am some silly kid who hasn’t thought things through.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “That’s a surprising choice with this weather, but a good idea. Will be hard for a jelly to firm up in time.”
“Oh, I think it will all come together,” I say, smiling and hoping there is no fear in my eyes to give me away.
She gives me a knowing smile. “Sometimes we must do what we can to keep our mistakes a secret, don’t we?”
The words slice through me like a knife. I stop fussing with my cake and look up at her. Does she know about me and Archie? She holds my gaze a moment longer and then turns abruptly from my table.
“Forty-five minutes left!” she calls out sharply.
Archie glances my way, but his expression is unreadable. Before I can even react, he turns away and whispers something in Melanie’s perfect ear. I try to push away the feelings of jealousy that bubble up as he pulls back and they smile at each other. I think of the way he looked at me last night. “You’re a star, Hannah,” he’d said. “I can’t wait for you to realize it too.” I want to show Archie that I do realize it. I want to be a star. I’m ready for my ascent, and nobody is going to stop me. Suddenly I know exactly what I have to do.
BETSY
The anger has been brewing inside Betsy since her meeting with Francis. She can feel it percolating, bubbling up through her veins, threatening to come out. She hopes she can contain it. She can’t afford any further humiliation today. She’s already had a run-in on the way to the tent this morning. Melanie had sidled up to her as they walked, shoving that damn clipboard under her nose.
“We want you to come up from the back of the tent today with one of your own cakes as a way to introduce today’s challenge.”
“But I haven’t baked a cake,” Betsy dismissed her.
“Don’t worry, we’ve had one made.” Betsy looked down at Melanie over her nose. “By a professional.” Betsy had said nothing, which gave her the confidence to continue.
“How would you feel about that? Walking up the center aisle with one of your beautiful cakes?”
It wasn’t so much the idea that bothered Betsy but the way it was presented, as if she were a child being cajoled. As though she needed hand-holding.
Betsy had stopped short, causing Melanie to nearly trip in an effort to stay on pace with her. “I’d feel just fine about it if itweremy cake. But I feel like the audience might find it all a bit gimmicky. The spotlighthas always been on the bakers, not on me.” Melanie had paled at the tone of her voice, which pleased her. “But what do I know? I’m not the one keeping the whole show together, am I?” Betsy had started walking again, briskly so that Melanie had to rush to keep up, sputtering out some sort of apology.
Now Betsy can’t tell if the mood has changed or if it is just her own sour feelings infiltrating her perception of everything. The contestants seem more tense than usual, less perky and optimistic. She hopes it doesn’t translate to the screen. It would be annoying to have to edit out all their worried little faces, try to force some cheer into it. It never plays as well when it is fake. Archie clasps his hands in front of him, waiting to begin judging. He doesn’t look at her. Is it because he suspects she knows what he’s done? Or perhaps he can just feel the bad mood radiating from her like a toxic gas and thinks it better to keep his distance? Either way, she prefers him like this—quiet, subservient. If there were any unwanted noise from him, she thinks she might explode.
The bakers bring their cakes up to the front table. There has been a shift in the energy of the four of them. There always is around halfway through the week. It won’t be shown on camera—we like to keep it light and heartwarming—but in person Betsy can feel it. They are becoming more competitive, more ruthless. It’s only natural when the stakes are so high. They may squeeze each other’s hands as they wait for the verdict to be read out at the end of each day, but it’s all an act. Each desperately wants the others to lose.
Four cakes stand in front of her on the judging table. Betsy begins at the far left with Hannah’s. It is a tall layer cake coated in a thick light pink buttercream that is expertly decorated with drips of white chocolate running down the sides. The frosting cannot conceal that the cake inside is lumpy and misshapen, the top layer bulges giving it away. A mound of raspberries is piled a bit haphazardly on top, but otherwise it is professionally decorated, the piping lines neat as a pin.
Hannah looks down, embarrassed. “I’m sorry! I wanted to do much more with the decoration, but I ran out of time. I hope it’s not awful!” Betsy finds Hannah’s false modesty a bit tedious, but you do have to give the girl credit—her technical skills are truly unparalleled this year.
She cuts two thick slices and slides them onto both her and Archie’s plates as Hannah anxiously twists her hair around a finger. The number of layers is truly remarkable, eight at least, in alternating pale pink and white, all the exact same width, with a thin layer of bright jelly. The cake is held together with thick piped buttercream flecked with raspberry pieces.
