Save the Cake - Sample Chapters

Chapter 2

If I were to estimate the number of times that Reyna Bakery has made deliveries to this particular country club alone, I would have guessed that we were here at least once a month, and every week around the Christmas season. That's how we became friends with the security guards. 

"Ma'am Eloisa!" they called out, milling around the van like bees in leather shoes, office slacks, and short-sleeved cotton barong shirts. They found parking spaces, carried the cakes, and opened doors for us, even when I insisted that it was OK for them to let us do the work for them.

One of the guards watched us as we placed the cake layers on a low table. "Ma'am, this looks like an expensive cake," he commented. "Was it hard to make?"

"Don't talk to Ma'am like that!" the guard at the door called out. "These people have worked hard for days!"

"Weeks," a third guard added. "Do you know how many weeks these customers have to order in advance?"

The doorman curtly told his co-workers to quit gossiping and leave us alone.

Monica stood beside me, her eyes forming little slits as we inspected the cake layers for dents and cracks. "They're right. Paul wouldn't shut up about how much the Belmontes paid for this cake."

"Let them judge," I replied. "They're not the customers here."

If there was one thing I could say that the cake-based reality shows do right, it's the five to ten seconds which come between joining the major partitions of a large statement cake.

"Stressful" did not even begin to describe the situation we were in at the clubhouse. I had to make sure that the layers lined up together as evenly as possible, so nothing came out crooked.

"Careful, careful," I chanted, my heart pounding against the walls of my chest. "Let's not mess this up."

"You're beginning to sound like Paul," Monica replied. 

I couldn't afford to slack off now, not with all of these cake layers hovering on top of each other. "One last check," I called out. 

The two of us walked around the cake, checking every angle to see that everything was lined up correctly.

"No defects," Monica confirmed.

I finally managed to breathe.

Monica and I were about to leave the clubhouse when Denise Blancaflor came up to us.

"Eloisa Reyna Carreon! What are you doing here?" She waved her manicured hands in the air.

"Big cake delivery," I answered, wiping my hands over the apron that I wore over my T-shirt and jeans. "It's for Odette Belmonte's cotillion."

"I see. Wait, what happened to your hair?"

"I cut it off. I was in a style rut."

"Oh, okay. It looks good on you, though!"

Denise and I had known each other back when she was still Denise Lichauco, a frizzy-haired eighth grader who was my schoolmate at Woodrose Academy. She was no more than an inch taller than me, but seeing that she was wearing straight hair and leather sandals today, I would say that we were around the same height.

"I just remembered the cotillion was tonight." She lifted her sunglasses over her forehead. "My cousin is supposed to dance at that one."

"Which cousin are we talking about?"

"The cousin who goes to Brent."

"You have a lot of cousins who go to Brent."

She giggled.