The cake shop is a cute little place in a restored Victorian house. I feel like I’ve seen it before, so maybe allowing film crews is a side business. That’s pretty common in LA.
I wear a white sundress with a blue belt. It’s light and pretty. They’ve dressed Blitz very classically in fitted khaki pants and a pale blue shirt. No leather and sexy. He’s a family man now, apparently.
A ridiculously long white limo takes us to the shop. We have to be filmed exiting it about six times before Devon lets us move on.
Inside, Amara speaks to a woman in a white apron. This other lady has a makeup person hovering around her like a bee, so I assume she’s the one who will be filming with us.
“Why is Amara here?” I ask Blitz. “Are we dancing?”
“It wasn’t in the script,” he says.
The woman looks up and shoos the makeup girl away. “You’re here!”
“Just an hour behind schedule,” Devon says. “That’s good for us.”
We do introductions. The woman is Marcy, and she owns the shop. Everything inside is picture perfect. Blitz pokes at a fully decorated cake sitting on a shelf nearby. “Fake,” he whispers to me and I giggle.
“We’re going to do five or six entrances and greetings,” Devon says, looking around. “Lighting has things well in hand.”
A half-dozen rigs are erected in various spots around the room.
“We’ll have them sit here,” Marcy says, gesturing to two fancy wire stools with heart-shaped backs. “Or we can do a low table over there.” She points to a marble-topped desk with three chairs.
“I like the bar,” Devon says. “We’ll see how it looks.”
The camera man sets up inside the door. “Ready for test shots.”
A young man sets down a coil of thick cords and elbows Jessie. She sets down her messenger bag, and the two of them go outside the door.
“And in three, two, one,” the camera operator says.
The two of them come in, and Devon steps behind the camera. As they reposition lights and move a couple items from shelves, Blitz and I wander the little shop.
Amara approaches. “So, after Devon scouted the place, he thought maybe you two could dance a little over there.” She gestures to an open area in front of the glass cake display, where customers would normally wait in line.
“What sort of dance?” Blitz asks.
“Nothing fancy. A waltz. Something that doesn’t take too much space.”
“Sure,” Blitz says. “Will we have music, or will it be added in post?”
“Both,” Amara says. “The idea is that you will start on your own, then the music will be slowly added. Sort of a cinema effect. We’ll play the piece, so you can get the tempo and steps roughly in time.”
Blitz takes my hand and leads me to the space. “Something like this?”
He draws me close, and we begin a slow dance, one-two-three, one-two-three.
“Sure,” she says. “Let’s not do classic head position, though. More like if you were at your wedding. So you can see each other.”
We pull apart slightly to give us room for noses as we look into each other’s eyes. My skirt flutters around as we move, Blitz careful to keep us from crashing into chairs or counters. The crew moves aside to give us space.
“Okay,” Devon says. “We’re good for the entrance. Places.”
Blitz and I break apart. Kendra pops up from a chair to fix my hair and give me another light dusting of powder. “No more dancing until it’s time to film,” she says. “It’s warm in here and you shine.”
“In a good way,” Blitz says, kissing my nose.
Kendra pushes him away with a half-annoyed snort. “Don’t be messing with the powder.” She brushes me again. “And no kissing or eating unless you’re told!”
“Aye, aye, captain!” Blitz says with a laugh.
We step back outside, and a crew member closes the door.
“She’s not watching,” Blitz says, leaning down to press a light kiss on my mouth.
“You’re terrible,” I say.
Behind us, an assistant speaks into her headset. “How far back?” she asks.
She motions us back a few more steps. “All right.”
Blitz and I wait for her instructions.
“Okay,” she says. “Hold hands and walk side by side. Blitz, open the door with your right hand. The door pushes in. Marcy will be just inside. On my command. Wait. And, go! Smile!”
Blitz and I walk forward. He opens the door. Marcy is in place.
“Blitz! Livia!” She walks forward and extends a hand.
“Cut!” Devon says. “Did we agree on a shake or a hug?”
“Livia’s dress is white,” Kendra says. “A hug might get makeup on either one of them.”
“Marcy, shake with both hands around one of theirs,” Devon says. “Make it warmer than a business shake.”
The crew opens the door and we go back outside again.
It takes twelve tries before Devon is happy. Finally, we take a seat at the counter.
“We have six types of cake for you to try,” Marcy says. Each tiny round cake is decorated with a different color flower on top. She points to the first one.
“Cut,” Devon says. “Blitz and Livia, back away a second so we can get a clear shot of the cakes. B roll!”
“I’m surprised they didn’t shoot that ahead,” Blitz says.
Kendra hurries forward to adjust my lipstick. “They were supposed to, but the original cakes didn’t look good enough,” she says. “Devon was super pissed. They had to go buy some from another bakery.”
“Oh, I bet Marcy loves that,” Blitz says.
We watch as Marcy repeatedly describes each small cake for the cameras. She’s not a true actress, and I can see the unhappiness in her eyes that these are someone else’s work. “Of course, your cake won’t be decorated like these samples in any way.”
That must be her little stab at whoever’s cakes these are.
“Okay, back to the counter!” Devon says.
Marcy cuts sections of cake from each flavor. We film various silly bits where Blitz and I feed each other. One of the cakes is some sort of herbal poppyseed wheat, and Blitz can’t hide his disgust.
Marcy barely holds it together for that one. She can probably already see the entertainment news going bonkers over footage of Blitz hating on a cake that isn’t even from her shop.
That’s show business.
After what seems like hours of cake footage, Marcy takes our “order.” Once that is done, it’s our moment to dance.
“Just keep rolling,” Devon says.
Blitz takes my hand and helps me off the stool. We wander the shop as if entranced by her designs, a small favor to her that will hopefully get used and make up for the switched-out cakes.
“I can’t believe our day is finally coming,” Blitz says and takes my hand to turn me in a circle.
He draws me close. This is classic Blitz, dazzling and full of charm.
“Me either,” I say.
We begin a slow, lazy dance. Music fills the shop, and I must admit, I’m caught up in it. The lovely room. The smell of sugar and warm cake.
The floor creaks as we cross the wooden boards. They’ll definitely have to drop in their own music to get rid of that.
The door opens and closes. Odd they’d let the crew go in or out while they’re filming. That’s not just sound to filter out, but a flash of light that crossed us from the sun.
“Oh, isn’t this just charming,” I hear.
Oh my God. No way.
No.
Blitz lets my hand go, and I whip around to see her.
Giselle.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, about to look for Devon, when my face is suddenly wet and cold.
I touch my cheeks. They’re covered in red.
What is this? I panic for a moment, thinking it’s blood, and wipe it off as fast as I can. Slowly, I realize it’s something else, sweet smelling and sticky. I look up, red dripping onto my dress, and lock on Giselle.
She holds a can of spray frosting, the nozzle still aimed at me.
“Put THAT on your wedding cake,” she says.
“What the hell!” Blitz says. He pulls me in close, hands wiping at the frosting on my face. “Who the hell put her up to this?”
We look around, but nobody seems surprised but us. And Jessie. Her mouth is wide open in a shocked “o.”
“Get out of here,” Blitz roars at Giselle. “And shut off that damn camera.”
The main camera operator looks over a Devon. He signals to keep rolling. I glance over at the second camera man. He’s smiling, like he’s loving every minute of his job.
I look down at my pretty white dress. It’s ruined, deep red stains from the frosting all down the front. I don’t have any way to clean my hands or face.
“This is the last straw,” Blitz says to the room. “Don’t think I’m going to continue the contract if this is the type of bullshit you’re going to pull.”
Giselle laughs. “You should see yourself, Blitz,” she says. “So serious now. Have a little fun, like we used to.” She squirts a little more frosting in the air.
“Nothing about this is fun,” Blitz says. He lunges forward and snatches the frosting bottle from her. “And I hope they’re paying you well, because this is the end of the line for you. You are easily the most hated woman in America.”
She shrugs. “There’s a career in villainy.”
“Not if nobody wants to work with you because you pull stunts like this,” Blitz fires back.
The shop owner holds a pink dish towel in her hands, but she looks afraid to pass it to me. Nobody seems to want to move.
Blitz spots her and storms over to grab the towel. “Shut the cameras off or I will sue this entire operation into oblivion and not a single frame will see the light of day.”
He walks up and wipes at my cheeks. “I am so sorry, Livia. I had no idea.”
The trance on everyone else seems to be broken as there’s a sudden flurry of activity.
Jessie runs up. “I’ll get more towels,” she says. We’ve already covered this one in frosting.
The secondary camera man tries to approach with his rig, but Blitz turns with a threatening stance. “You take one more second of footage and I will smash that thing.”
The man puts the camera down.
Kendra shakes her head as she comes up to me. “Sometimes I hate this business. There’s a bathroom back here. Let’s go.”
Giselle has stepped aside, leaning against the wall, a smirk on her face.
“I want her OUT of here,” Blitz says. “Or this whole deal is off!”
“I thought you said it was already off,” Giselle says with a laugh. “Blitz, you really have to think before you talk.”
I don’t hear any more because we enter the bathroom and close the door.
I have no idea what will happen from here.