Red Velvet Revenge (30 page)

In a small bowl, mix together the cocoa powder, margarine, vanilla, and agave nectar. Beat until it is smooth. Spread on top of cupcake with a rubber spatula.

Vegan Vanilla Cupcake

A vanilla cupcake with a soy milk base and an organic vanilla frosting.

Preheat oven to 350. Whisk together soy milk and vinegar in a large bowl and set aside until it curdles. Add the agave nectar, oil, and vanilla extract to the soy milk mixture and beat with an electric mixer until foamy. In another bowl, sift together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Add to the wet ingredients and beat until no lumps remain. Pour into cupcake liners until they are ⅔ of the way full. Bake 18–20 minutes until a knife inserted comes out clean. Cool on wire racks.

Vegan Vanilla Frosting

In a small bowl, mix together soy milk, vanilla bean paste, and margarine. Slowly beat in the sugar until frosting is smooth. Spread on top of cupcake with a rubber spatula.

Cake Pops

A cake and frosting confection dipped in candy coating and served on a stick.

In a large bowl, crumble up the cake into very small pieces. Using a rubber spatula, stir in the frosting until it is well mixed; it should be the consistency of truffles. Roll the cake frosting mixture into walnut-sized balls and place on a cookie sheet coated with wax paper.

Once all the cake has been rolled, put it in the fridge to harden a bit. Melt the candy in a double boiler or a microwave according to the manufacturer’s instructions.

Take the cake balls out of the fridge and dip the end of a lollipop stick into the melted candy. Slide a cake ball about half an inch down onto the candy-tipped stick. Now dip the whole cake ball into the melted candy, tapping it very gently on the side of the bowl to get rid of the excess.

Stand the cake pop up by pushing the non-cake end into the foam block. If you’re decorating with sprinkles, sugars, or coconut, now is the time to do it, as the candy will harden fairly quickly. Repeat until you’re out of cake balls and melted candy.

“No, I’m not feeling it,” Amy Pierson said. “Do it again and this time try to give it that southwestern city-girl flare. This photo shoot is for
Southwest Style
magazine, after all.”

Angie DeLaura looked at Melanie Cooper as if to ask if she could please hurl a cupcake at the bossy butt in the couture suit. Mel gave a slight shake of her blond head in the negative. She didn’t want to move too much and have Amy yell at her again.

It was mid-October in Scottsdale, Arizona, and although the sun was hot, the breeze was cool, keeping the inordinate amount of make-up Mel had on from melting off her face. She and Angie were outside their bakery in the small patio area, posing for a picture to run alongside the piece that had been written about them for an upcoming issue of
Southwest
Style
, the premiere magazine about urban living in the desert.

What Mel had assumed would be a staff photographer snapping a picture of them behind the counter in the bakery had turned into a full-on spread, featuring Mel and Angie in poofy retro fifties skirts, with crinolines, and starched cotton blouses with pearls.

Because Scottsdale’s heyday had been the fifties and because the bakery was decorated in a retro fifties style, Amy Pierson, the magazine’s art director, had decided to run with the fifties theme, and thus Mel and Angie found themselves outfitted like June Cleaver on stilettos.

The make-up artist had teased Angie’s long brown hair into an updo a la Audrey Hepburn, while Mel’s short blond locks had been styled in waves reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe. They were tricked out in an ultrafeminine chic that made them positively unrecognizable.

“My head itches,” Angie whispered.

“My feet hurt,” Mel returned. The high heels they had put them in were arch crampers, and Mel longed for her beat-up Keds, her comfy jeans, and a simple T-shirt.

“Okay, ladies, let’s see those smiles,” the photographer said. He was a young guy named Chad, who happily snapped away while Mel and Angie stood frozen, trying to look like they were having the time of their lives, surrounded by tiers and trays of cupcakes.

Fairy Tale Cupcakes, their bakery in Old Town Scottsdale, was in the heart of the tourist district, which was one of the many reasons for their success. They did loads of special orders but their walk-in traffic kept them steadily busy with drop-ins who wanted to fortify themselves with
a cupcake or two before, during, and after a day of doing the tourist thing.

Mel observed the crowd gathering to watch and hoped that Marty Zelaznik and Oz Ruiz, her two bakery employees, were inside preparing for the crush once the magazine people departed.

The magazine had asked Mel to design cupcakes that would reflect the Southwest, so she had used bright fondant to create cupcakes devoted to cactus flower blossoms. Each cupcake sported a flower, so magenta prickly pear blooms blended with white and yellow saguaro flowers in several tiers of cupcakes that were festive and lovely and very southwestern.

Mel wasn’t entirely comfortable with the look she and Angie were using to represent the bakery. But given that the magazine had a national subscription rate of several hundred thousand, she was determined to do whatever it took to get in print. The coverage would go a long way toward making Fairy Tale Cupcakes the place to buy cupcakes in the Valley of the Sun.

Chad snapped away, stepping closer and then backing away, dropping to one knee and then climbing on a chair, all to get the shots he wanted. Mel smiled until her face hurt and her eyes began to cross. Angie was making small whimperlike noises in the back of her throat as Chad paused in front of them.
Snap. Snap. Snap.

“No!” Amy said, peering over his shoulder to study them. “I’m still not feeling it. Chad, let’s discuss. Maybe it’s the lighting.”

“Relax, ladies, but don’t move too far,” Chad said as he went to confer with Amy.

“‘Every girl on every page of
Quality
has grace, elegance, and pizzazz. Now what’s wrong with bringing out a girl who has character, spirit, and intelligence?’” Angie muttered to Mel.

Classic movie buffs, they had played this game with their friend Tate Harper since they were kids. Mel was about to identify the movie when a voice from nearby said, “‘That certainly would be novel in a fashion magazine.’”

Mel and Angie both turned to look at the man.

“
Funny Girl
with Audrey Hepburn and Fred Astaire,” he said. “Good one.”

“Looks like we found a new member of our tribe,” Mel said. She held out her hand to him. “Melanie Cooper.”

“Angie DeLaura,” Angie said as she did the same.

The tall, red-haired man smiled as he shook each of their hands. He was dressed all in black and had the chiseled good looks of a male model. Mel noticed that his hand was soft to the touch and his fingernails were neatly trimmed and buffed. She sighed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a professional manicure.

“Travis Freehold,” he said. “Creative director for
SWS
.”

“Is it just me, Travis?” Angie asked. “Or do there seem to be an awful lot of chefs in this photo shoot kitchen?”

“Nice mixed metaphor,” Mel said. “But she’s right, who are all of these people?”

Travis scanned the crowd.

“Good question,” he said. “Pretty much anyone with their name on the masthead is here and that’s why.”

He jerked his head in the direction of a man standing apart. He was tall and fit, but looked to be somewhere in his fifties, as his dark hair was giving way to silver. He had
laugh lines that creased the corners of his eyes but he also sported a hard jaw that made Mel think he was accustomed to making tough decisions.

“That would be our new leader, Ian Hannigan,” Travis said. “He just bought the magazine and saved it from an untimely death. Everyone is determined to shine under his ever-watchful gaze.”

“So that’s why this went from a ‘say cheese’ to a ‘strike a pose’ layout,” Angie said. “I suppose in the end it will be better for the bakery, but when we get done, I may just shave my head. Honestly, feel this.”

She raised her right hand and patted her head. It didn’t move. Curious, Mel touched the loaf of hair on Angie’s head. Yep, it was as crusty on the outside as a baguette.

“Wow,” she said.

“More like ow,” Angie retorted.

Travis squinted into the crowd. “I know most everyone here, except for her. Does she work for you?”

Mel followed the line of his gaze. Striding through the crowd, with her stocky frame wedged into a polka dot blouse and a black poodle skirt with a pink poodle on it and wearing black and white saddle shoes, was Olivia Puckett. She was also hoisting a tray of brightly colored cupcakes over her head.

“Please tell me I’m hallucinating,” Angie said.

“Okay, but you have to do the same for me,” Mel said.

Olivia owned the rival bakery called Confections and for reasons unknown to Mel, she had developed a pathological competitiveness with Mel and Angie. It seemed if there was baking attention to be had, Olivia wanted all of it.

“Oh, yoo hoo, magazine people,” Olivia called. “If
you’re having a hard time photographing these two, I’d be happy to fill in.”

“Is she for real?” Angie snapped. “I did not let them do this to me,” she pointed to her head, “so that woman could march in here in that ridiculous skirt and take over our photo shoot.”

“I’ll take care of this,” Travis said. “I can’t imagine Amy would do a switch-up like this in the eleventh hour.”

Mel watched as Travis approached Amy and Chad and the silver-haired Ian Hannigan. They huddled together like players on a football team, and Mel was alarmed when she saw Amy’s head break out of the circle and stare at Olivia with a considering look.

“This is unbelievable,” Angie said.

“What’s the holdup?” a cranky voice asked from behind Mel. “How long does it take to snap a few pictures?”

Mel turned to find Marty and Oz had slipped out the front door to join them.

“What’s she doing here?” Oz asked. He did not have to specify that he was talking about Olivia.

“Trying to horn in on our photo shoot,” Mel said. “Apparently, Angie and I are so unphotogenic that they’re actually considering it.”

“Aw, what’s the matter, Princess?” Olivia sneered as she ambled over to the patio. “You don’t really think you’re model material do you?”

Mel heaved a sigh. She was pretty sure she was developing a bunion on her right foot, and the last thing she needed was a battle with Olivia.

“How did you find out about this?” she asked.

Olivia shrugged. “I have my ways.”

Her eyes shifted away, however, and the piercing truth hit Mel like a dart in a bull’s-eye.

“You have a spy!”

“What? No, I don’t!”

“Oh, my god, look at her face!” Oz said. “She’s totally lying.”

“I am not,” Olivia huffed.

“Then how did you know to dress in that getup?” Marty asked as he moved in front of Mel and Angie as if to protect them. “Someone tipped you off that they were doing a fifties theme.”