Cake by Renay Zamora

She was in the process of smoothing her signature vanilla bean buttercream on a perfectly level eight inch round torted cake when she heard the familiar ‘ding’ of an incoming email. She set the angled spatula down on a worn stainless steel work table and wiped her hands on her food coloring-stained apron and pressed the spacebar. When she saw it, she thought it was a joke. Maybe her husband, who was working upstairs in his studio, was yanking her chain.

She sent him a hasty text.

“Don’t be an ass!”

He was confused and responded with multiple question marks.

She forwarded the email to him with a ‘REALLY?’ in the subject line. And while it might’ve been funny, she knew he never would have had the heart to do something like that to her. She just couldn’t believe it was real.

But it was real. The email was from a producer, inviting her to come out to Los Angeles on an all-expenses paid trip to be a featured cake artist for a national television show. As a cake decorator, that was the pinnacle for her – the credential that could set her apart from the others. For some, this might kind of opportunity might seem unattainable but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. She knew one day, when she was good enough, she’d have her chance.

And she knows cake.

As a child, she would watch her mama pipe perfectly-spaced shell borders and graceful icing lettering on custom cakes for extra pocket money. In their small town, her aunt was a well-known Wilton instructor, teaching basic cake decorating classes at the local craft store. And her second cousin traveled abroad to study under the best pastry chefs in Europe and learned how to make botanically-correct gumpaste flowers before anybody in the States even knew how to pronounce the word “fondant.” Cake was all around her everyday and, whether she knew it or not, it took hold, germinating inside her.

But royal icing roses seemed trivial compared to the calling she felt on her life. Music, or rather singing, was her dream. It was her medium – in her mind, she painted pictures with her voice. And when she sang, she would feel this tingle that radiated from the base of her skull up to the crown of her head and down her spine, as if electricity was running through her. When it was good, it was like an out-of-body experience and sometimes it would take her a moment or two to remember where she was after she sang the last note. There was nothing quite like the feeling of creating something out of nothing but the air in her lungs and the vibrating cords in her throat and she lived for those moments.

But life had other plans – some pretty twisted ones, if you asked her – and she gave up on her music dream over a decade ago. After the birth of her second child, she started following in the footsteps of the women in her family, making a name for herself as a cake decorator. At first, it was sheet cakes, just like her mama used to make. She soon graduated to layered and tiered cakes, learning how to use plastic dowels to support and stack them so they wouldn’t lean or implode (she wouldn’t make that mistake again).

When she began using fondant, her world changed: It was like a blank canvas, smooth and white, just waiting for her to create something out of nothing. Now, five years later, she could replicate Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” on sugar paste with food coloring and vodka, pipe string work that looked like it floated in mid-air, mold figurines out of chocolate and sculpt cake and buttercream into works of edible art that defied gravity. When she worked on a cake, she could feel that familiar tingle again, like when she used to sing; that electrical current of creation. A new dream emerged in her thoughts: I could be good at this.

It was a common occurrence when she delivered cakes for people to stop what they were doing, take their phones out and snap pictures, exclaiming, “That’s not a cake!” She was featured in magazines and began receiving calls from international celebrities to make their birthday and event cakes. With every new order, came more referrals, more interest, more accolades. And now, as the opportunity to prove herself on a global stage presented itself, she was excited, but afraid: Excited about what this could do for her burgeoning business, but afraid of looking foolish. That paralyzing feeling of self-doubt crept in and a part of her thought that maybe she really wasn’t that good.

But she remembered the years she spent waiting to be noticed. Now here it was. Not in the form in which she had originally envisioned, but here, nonetheless. She realized that the dream never died, it transformed. She was still creating something out of nothing; Instead of song, now it was cake.

She typed her response to the television producer:

“Thank you so much for the opportunity to be on your show. This has been a dream of mine for a long time. I look forward to working with you.”

She waited a moment, savoring the moment, and then pressed Send with her index finger. Actually, she poked it. And then did a little dance.

“I’m living the dream,” she thought to herself.

The weeks seemed to fly by and, before she knew it, it was time to leave. Looking out the airplane window, she had every confidence in her knowledge and skill but the thought of not knowing what to expect, the unknown of what she was walking into shook her a bit. It was like being the first one to go off to college, not having a clue as to what the hell is going on. Like most things in her life, she had definitely not planned for this, but she knew that it was an experience that not many people have in life and she embraced it enthusiastically.

When she landed at the airport, she experienced the V.I.P. treatment – the driver held a placard with her name on it – and was taken straight to the set. She walked onto the backlot and met the producer whose email had set all this in motion. He escorted her into the building. It was all so overwhelming but she was trying to take it all in.

“How was your flight?” he asked.

“Good, good,” she replied. Young people with headsets raced past her as she walked into what looked more like a warehouse than a film set.

“Do you need anything?” he responded. “Water?”

She spied backdrops and props, people on cranes and black curtains everywhere.

“Sure, thanks,” she said and nodded. He was talking to her, but it was all a blur, like he was talking underwater.

The producer guided her into a non-descript, utilitarian room and excused himself, saying he would be right back. She waited, standing in the same place he left her, not sure what to do. Minutes later, he returned with another woman in tow and introduced her.

“I’d like you to meet your Team Captain,” the producer said excitedly. “She’ll be the face of your team.”

She shook the woman’s hand as she introduced herself. Wait a minute, what did he say?

“I’m so excited you’re going to be part of my team,” the lady added. “I’m really looking forward to working with you.”

She blinked. Is it hot in here? she thought to herself. Where’s that water…

“Let me show you to the kitchen where you’ll be working,” said the producer in an upbeat voice, as he guided her toward the staging area with his hand placed lightly on her lower back.

It was becoming clear to her now… She was there to be make someone else look good. Her heart and stomach felt as if they had changed places in her body and her eyes started stinging. She smiled through the crushing gut-punch awareness that there would be no spotlight. Not for her, anyway.

“Living the dream,” she said under her breath as she followed them.