J shakes his head.
“You will be making your entrance from within that cake. At first, everyone will think her gift to Roger is the cake itself. But then...it’s you! We’ll have a piano already onstage.”
Slowly, J says, “I wasn’t...aware of this.”
What-is-happ-en-ing? What-is-happ-en-ing?
“That’s why you were chosen! Celestia saw how thin you were and knew you’d fitperfectlyinside the cake.”
“Okay then,” J says. He’s never been inside a cake before.
It will be another thing to tell V.
If she’ll listen.
He’s walked around the cake and finds there’s a very narrow path up the layers for him to walk. Using the ladder to balance himself, he gets to the top and lowers himself to stand inside. He must hold his arms above his head in order to avoid touching any icing. The cake has been constructed around a white plastic container, and when J stands on the bottom, his head is still visible.
Mikhail looks at his watch. “We don’t have much time,” he says. “When you hear the cue, just pop out and say something charming. I promise, it will be a memorable entrance!” Then he pauses, remembering one more thing. “You did get my message about changing the song, didn’t you?”
J has no choice but to ask, “What message?”
Mikhail sighs. “This is why rehearsal is so important! As I told you in my voicemail, Celestia had a change of heart about the song. She decided that especially with the other brand placements already in place, it didn’t feel right to have them in her wedding song. I’ll be honest with you—she and Roger had a big fight about it, because Roger was seeing it mostly as a financial arrangement, making the customers happy, et cetera, et cetera. But Celestia put her foot down. She wants you to sing something else. From the heart. ‘He knows what love is really like,’ she said to me. ‘Have him sing about what love is really like.’ We’ll just pretend you wrote it for them. Understood?”
“Understood,” J says calmly. He has no idea what do to. Except take the next step...into the cake.
Slowly, J lowers himself into a crouching position. It is extraordinarily tight.
“You okay?” a voice (the caterer?) asks.
“I’m great,” J says. Because maybe this is his punishment, for wanting money, for wanting fame.
“Alright. Here we go.”
The top cake is put back in place, and J can hear what sounds like whipped cream being released from a can, to cover the seam.
J waits, expecting they will roll him in at any moment. He doesn’t wear a watch and his phone is in his back pocket—he’s afraid if he tries to reach for it, he will hit the side of the container and cause part of the cake to collapse. He can’t imagine how much a cake like this costs. It must have required an engineer as well as a pastry expert.
He tries to figure out what to sing. It’s not like Celestia and Roger have given him much insight into their love or their lives. The only song in his heart right now is “HELP!” To comfort himself, he looks for the air holes in the plastic. Which is when he realizes there aren’t any air holes in the plastic. They’ve forgotten the air holes.
J is not by nature claustrophobic, but he does like to be able to breathe. And he’s starting to feel like he can’t. He takes deep breaths to calm himself down, then panics that his deep breaths are only making things worse. So he takes small breaths. At long intervals, at first. But then more frequently because it really does feel like the walls are getting tighter, and time is either moving slowly or not moving at all, and he twists to get his phone to text Mikhail, and there’s a jolt and he gasps and—
...
...
...
...
... the world comes back frame by frame, like a film projector that’s rolling slowly. J can’t see much, just darkness and white plastic, but he hears indistinct voices yelling, and then suddenly there’s light—J looks up and this must be a dream because this Very Famous Action Star is staring down at him, asking him if he’s okay, and that’s when J realizes he passed out—passed out inside of a wedding cake—and this Very Famous Action Star is reaching down for him, and the first time J tries to stand, his legs do not agree with the plan, and he is so embarrassed to wobble in front of the Very Famous Action Star, but the Very Famous Action Star doesn’t make him feel ashamed, he actually says, “This whole thing is such bullshit!” as he leans over more so J can grab his hand and let himself be pulled up. His head clears the top of the cake, and he’s not sure he’s got the steps, so the Very Famous Action Star keeps hold of his hand, and because the little stairway on the back of the cake is facing the Big Band, that’s who J sees as he emerges. They all have their instruments down, and they’re looking at him with such concern, and life really can’t get much worse, can it? Not just because they pity him, but because they’re pitying him for the wrong reason. They have no idea he’s lost V. He’s made a fool of himself and lost V. He’s made a fool of himself by losing V.
“How do you want to play this?” the Very Famous Action Star whispers. They’re both smeared with white frosting and whipped cream. “I’ve already introduced you.”
“I’m good,” J replies, some ridiculous instinct kicking in. Now he can hear a further murmur throughout the ballroom, and he understands that he’s just stopped the wedding cold. When he turns around, he can see Celestia and Roger staring at him with something between worry and irritation. He also sees that numerous guests have their phones out and are recording his every move.
He goes first to the nearest microphone and repeats what he said to the Very Famous Action Star, “I’m good.” Then he adds, “It was a little tight in there!”
There’s laughter and applause. Yes, applause. Just for the fact that he’s made it out of the cake and his legs are still supporting him. He still feels wobbly, though, so instead he walks over to a nearby piano and takes a place there. And what hits him hardest, what makes him shakiest, isn’t the utter humiliation of being a frosted Willy Wonka, nor the awkward silence that he’s launching into. No, what guts him is the fact that V is not here, in person or in spirit, and the lack of her presence is the loudest kind of absence. She is no longer in the wings, and so the wings begin to fold.
