Billie Carol and Eddie Davis. Stalwart, dynamic competitors… in baking?!
“It’s simply perfect!” a cheery Jean Carol assures both grim-looking
athletes, as all three sit on her living room couch, with Jean sandwiched in-between. “Everyone’s tired of seeing the two of you trying
to outdo each other in mindless sports events… Now, refreshingly, a more sophisticated
challenge awaits. It’s high time you let
your culinary side come to the fore!”
Oh great, both bookends seem to be thinking, rolling their
eyes.
For months, local public relations agent Jean Carol has been
planning a lavish outdoor benefit for the upcoming opening weekend of Harding’s
impressive new edifice, the Baking Factory.
Like its name implies, it’s an enormous, state-of-the-art food preparing
operation where cakes and other pastries are both mass-produced and baked
individually. It boasts no less than 25
kitchens, several huge flour-processing tanks, a network of conveyors belts,
and other related equipment.
All this and more makes it the perfect location for Jean’s somewhat
offbeat contest. Eddie can bake his creation
in one part of the still-unoccupied building, Billie can do the same in her
designated kitchen. The winning cake
will be judged by none other than Mr. Darien P’fille (pronounced “P-feel,” according to him), a semi-famous
social media culinary expert being imported to Harding for the big event. Then the winner of this glorious bake-off will
be properly celebrated, his/her creation put on proud display at the “Grand
Opening” weekend party.
“Bake a cake?” Billie asks incredulously. “That’s ridiculous!”
Almost instantly, the tomboy’s negative attitude triggers an
idea in Eddie’s fertile brain. And, as
usual, it’s a devious idea. “Oh, I don’t
know,” he begins to explain with Voice of Reason sincerity. “You may be right, Jean. Maybe it’s a good idea to stretch one’s
capabilities, to venture forth beyond a person’s comfort zone. After all, some of the best chefs in history
have been men.”
“Big deal” mumbles Billie, not buying any of this.
“Billie, I’m disappointed by your attitude,” Jean tells her
sister with growing distain. “Eddie here
is brave enough to defy stereotyping and put himself in the traditionally
female world of the kitchen, while you remain an incorrigible tomboy, unwilling
to try anything new.”
“Maybe Billie’s afraid to tackle a project that requires
more, how shall we say, feminine delicacy?.”
“Who asked you, Davis?” Billie snaps back. But then, after thinking about the challenge,
Billie does an abrupt about-face. “I’ll
enter that contest, no sweat,” she declares with cocky confidence, folding her
arms. “And, after I’ve studied up on the
subject, I’ll make myself a super-colossal cake like you won’t believe!”
Eddie shoots a sly glance at Jean, leans over and casually whispers
in her ear. “Reverse psychology. Works every time with tomboys.”
Jean turns to her precocious younger sibling, warmly at
last, and the two Carol women embrace… a real heartfelt hug. Eddie, meanwhile, regards rival Billie’s
sisterly edge with scorn, and is already formulating his next strategic
move. There’s no doubt in his mind he
will be the cake-maker taking bows at Jean’s celebration, just as Billie is
confident she’ll be making a bit hit.
A few days later, it’s lunchtime inside a charming suburban
home.
“You? In the
kitchen?”
“What’s so funny about that?”
“You forget we were coupled up for three months,” a bemused
Mike Benson quips, munching on some tacos as he sits at a well-dressed table,
beside Billie. “The only thing you ever
cooked was boiling water!”
“Now, now… Billie deserves credit for trying something
different,” an attractive young brunette declares, as she sits down beside her
new boyfriend… who happens to be Mike.
This nice-seeming woman is Diane Stevens, she’s studying to be a psychoanalyst,
and she’s invited both her current suitor and his “ex” over to her home for
lunch.
“Thanks, Diane,” Billie says, shooting a scornful glance in
Mr. Benson’s direction. Pouring herself
some milk, the tomboy’s face brightens as she turns back to her hostess. “You know, I didn’t think I was going to like
you. But you’re okay. Much less bossy than my sister. And, well, Mike seems to enjoy your company.”
“Hear, hear,” offers Mike, raising a bottle of Perrier to
his mouth.
Diane butters some bread.
“Well normally, remaining friends with an old flame can be tricky,
especially when your ex starts dating again.
But from what Mike’s been telling me, I had a feeling you might be a
little different in that department.”
“Because I consider myself a boy?” Billie asks nonchalantly,
causing Mike to do a spit-take. “But
I’ve always wanted to be a boy, even when I was dating Mike.”
“Billie, if you don’t mind, I'm trying to finish my lunch in peace,” a mortified Mike manages to blurt out.
“Now don’t get me wrong… I’m all for women’s rights,
especially in athletics,” Billie continues energetically. “I’m talking about my love for doing the same
things most boys love to do: sports, video games, high adventure… and then I
take it all to the next awesome level, putting blowhard bullies in their place
with my eager fists. Ho- ho-ho and three
quarters, what a rush that is!”
“And crazy,” Mike interjects, finally recovering. “She gets into brawls on a regular basis,
like some two-fisted Robin Hood in a track suit.”
“I’m righting wrongs, Mr. Benson,” Billie clarifies with a
raised eyebrow. “Why waste the Beat when
so many defenseless neighbors need help?”
“That’s very interesting,” Diane observes. “In many ways, and I mean this as a
compliment Billie, I think you’re more ‘boy’ than many boys I know. You certainly look the part with that pert
haircut. And your record of athletic
achievement is something any male of the species would be proud of. Isn’t that right, Michael?”
“Oh sure. No one can
beat the Beat. I know I couldn’t. And she’s spot on about your appearance,
Billie. When we first met in the
schoolyard, I mistook you for a boy. A
lot of people in Harding still do.”
“Well from now on, they’ll be no question about it in my
mind,” Diane beams, raising a glass of tonic.
“I’ll consider you the sports-addicted, justice-driven little brother I never had.”
Billie face lights up at this impromptu evaluation. “Cool.
I’ll drink to that!”
All three clink their glasses. Mike finally glances off to the side and
sighs wistfully, not believing the conversation they’ve just had.
Less than two weeks later, the great day finally arrives.
At eight am, both baking contestants show up outside the
enormous, soon-to-be-opened Cake Factory.
Vanity personified, Eddie Davis looks like a million bucks in his white
chef’s outfit, complete with floppy hat and killer smile. By jarring contrast, his patient opponent Billie
Carol looks exactly the way she always does, decked out quasi-boyishly in her
“second skin” Harding High track suit.
“Where are the food service trucks? Where are the news cameras? Most of all, where is Mr. P’fille?” Poor
Jean is going mad as dozens of guest tables, decorations, and a band platform
are busily set up just outside the main entrance. It’s a logistical nightmare, of course, but gradually,
the grand opening weekend benefit floor arrangement begins to take tangible
form.
Pressed for time, and with esteemed chef/judge Darien P’fille
still a no-show, Jean leads Billie and Eddie directly through the cavernous,
mostly empty Cake Factory. It’s a pretty
amazing environment, with all kinds of impressive, brand new, state-of-the-art
machinery and cooking devices to marvel at.
Baked concoctions of all kinds are on display in refrigerated glass
showcases, and an enormous, specialty layer cake with a six-foot radius is also
viewed by the threesome as they make their way up the staircase to level two,
where the private kitchens are located.
On a platform, this outsized cake will be wheeled out through a doorway just
after noon and presented as part of the benefit party being conducted on the
outside.
Before very long, Eddie Davis gets acquainted with his
beautiful kitchen, stocked to the gills with anything and everything a modern baker
might require. So, is the muscular jock
nervous? Intimidated perhaps by a
challenge so off his beaten path?
Eddie looks at his watch, smiles confidently. Ho-hum.
Then he hears a persistent tapping, coming from the kitchen door. He opens it…
…and into the room pops Eddie’s goofy-looking sidekick and
supposed ‘buddy,’ Leroy Jenks. Weird and
gangly-looking, Leroy greets his old pal with a big stoner smile, which Davis
tolerates. After a few moments of
useless banter, Leroy gets to the point, assuring Eddie that he’ll be back in
three hours with a professionally baked layer
cake that he’ll smuggle in. No
matter how decent Billie’s creation turns out to be, it’s bound to pale in
comparison with this top-level professional effort. Leroy also hands Eddie a large cloth bag of
“goodies”… just a few tricks and nasty gadgets that might come in handy during
this current contest.
And that would appear to be that. Jenks happily exits, and fully-confident
Eddie gets comfortable, kicking his feet up and taking it easy.
Meanwhile, in another part of the Cake Factory, stalwart,
determined, incongruously aproned Billie Carol struggles with her
“mission.” And it’s a task that isn’t
going well at the moment. She breaks a
measuring glass. An eggs drops and
splatters. Faulty boxes tear open and
flour spills all over the floor. Darn
it, this cooking routine isn’t easy!
Certainly not the kind of endeavor a seasoned jock like herself feels
comfortable with.
Hey maybe… that’s it!
At the height of Billie’s despair, a big smile spreads
across her pixie face. The Beat! It helps her to achieve remarkable athletic
feats by giving her super-strength and stamina, maybe it could do the same
thing in a decidedly different ballpark…
In no time, the girl’s self-satisfied head bobs up and down
as that familiar rock and roll rhythm invades her senses. Billie pulls off her apron and literally
swings into action, swaying and twisting to the tempo of the Beat as she
follows opened cookbook instructions and proceeds to make that all-important
cake. It’s a wild combination of pop
sounds and baking orders reinterpreted as football calls that eventually
congeals into a perfect flour-to-dough, multi-layered creation. As the tomboy’s little Beat dance concludes,
this mini-masterpiece is promptly placed into her kitchen’s shiny new oven, and
the juice is turned on.
Time passes… now it’s two hours later, nearly noon, and the
outdoor benefit is aglow with activity.
At long last, food connoisseur extraordinaire Mr. P’fille makes his
appearance… partially crocked, as it turns out.
“It’s just about time for the cakes to be judged,” proclaims a rattled
but still mostly-in-control Jean Carol, anxiously checking her watch. “Of course (hiccup),” interjects feeling-no-pain
P’fille. “That’s exactly why I’m here,
dear lady.” He slaps his hands together
and rubs them in primal anticipation. “Bring
on the eats!”
Meanwhile, a lone, desperate figure carrying a cake box
tries to find his way back into the factory building. No dice.
Poor Leroy is thwarted by a small army of grim-looking guards, who had arrived
about an hour earlier when security was being beefed up for the party. Faced with defeat, Jenks slinks into the nearby
shadows, pulls out his cell phone.
“Sorry man, there’s no way back in! Hope you got a plan B…” he tells a horrified
Eddie, still hangin’ in his private kitchen.
After a moment of Neanderthal rage, Davis deftly composes
himself, as it’s simply not in this young achiever’s nature to remain in panic
mode for long. The pro cake that was
going to pass as his own is a no-show, he reasons. Now, where else can he find a similar cake
that will get the job done? All the ones
in the Factory are unattainable, locked within those plexiglass showcases.
All of the cakes, that is, except one. Eddie grins devilishly, a rather obvious
solution to his problem hitting home…
It is indeed a thing of beauty… an impressive, eager-to-please layer cake
prepared and baked by (take a bow, little jock) Billie Carol! The letter B is boldly written in blue icing
on its white creamy surface, and a small figurine of a baseball-capped tomboy,
fists-on-hips, stands proudly at the cake center. Billie herself, elbows crossed on the kitchen
counter where she leans, regards her creation with adoring, relieved eyes.
Tap-tap-tap.
Billie breaks out of her reverie, opens the door… and
there’s opponent Eddie Davis, sporting his most charming of smiles. In one hand he carries a cake tray, with the
cake itself conspicuously covered.
“Care for an escort?” he asks, ever the gentleman. “I can escort myself, thank you,” a naturally
guarded Billie answers. “But we can walk
out together, sure. I think Jean would
appreciate the united front.”
“So do I,” nods Eddie.
“Say, that’s quite a creation,” he points out, leaning in to look at her
cake. “Very professional-looking . And I love what you did with that initial.”
“Just make sure you keep your distance,” Billie grins
warily, placing a metallic cover on her precious work. Taking the covered cake in hand, she walks
over to the door and glances at Eddie’s prize.
“Now that I’ve shown you mine, how about showing me yours?”
an inquisitive Billie asks.
“Why Billie!” grins the Ed Man lasciviously. “Your sister should hear you now!”
The no-nonsense tomboy not only doesn’t smile, she
scowls. “Only kidding, of course,” Eddie
briskly explains. “The truth is, I want
to keep my masterpiece a secret until the judge takes a gander at it. Shall we be off?”
And with that, they exit, goodies in tow.
A few minutes later, Billie and Eddie are walking toward the
second floor stairs, which lead to the main entrance. “Oh damn!
I accidentally left my cell phone on your kitchen counter,” shouts
Eddie, eyes widened. “Back in a
second!” He places his covered cake on a
nearby metal surface and runs back to the kitchen.
A mischievous grin spreads across Billie’s face. Why not?
Davis will never know. She slips
over to Eddie’s creation and gingerly removes the cover. One second later:
POW!!!
A boxing glove mounted on a spring pops out with dramatic
speed, knocking an unsuspecting Billie for a loop! This was one of Leroy’s little ditties,
smuggled into his pal’s kitchen for bad measure. She rolls to the floor and lands spread-eagled,
deep in dreamland… even as Eddie’s guffaws echo through the building.
“Curiosity killed the runt,” he quips, passing his rival’s
unconscious body on the way to her safely-placed cake… which now becomes his cake. He lifts the cover. “First things first… “ Davis grabs the little
baseball-playing tomboy figurine that tops Billie’s creation, crushes it, then shoves
it into his pocket. Next, he places his
finger on the cake’s giant letter “B” (for Billie) icing, carefully
transforming it into an “E” (for Eddie).
Billie, meanwhile, stirs awake. “What the heck just happened?” she thinks to
herself, raising a hand to a woozy head.
Then she spots Eddie…
…and rockets right into him with preternatural speed! Eddie goes flying backward, slamming into a
display of cooking items.
An invigorated Billie grins as Davis gets his bearings,
rubbing her hands in anticipation of cleaning this wisenheimer’s clock.
Enraged, Eddie hurls one cooking implement after another at Billie,
who deftly dodges them all. With a big
smile and a pair of clenched fists, she rushes toward her foe to deliver some
well-deserved punishment. But this time
Eddie happens to be ready for his attacker, pulling a sack of flour from directly
behind and slamming Billie over the head with it. Staggering for a few seconds, the tomboy is
walloped once again, this time on the chin, as Eddie swings the bulky flour sack
around and upward for a powerful blow.
Billie goes flying; she winds up winded, and on a ledge.
Before she can fully recover, the girl athlete is abruptly besieged
by her far-larger male opponent, who captures her in a powerful stranglehold. But Billie’s not Billie for nothing. She wraps her muscular legs around Davis’s
back and does a little squeezing of her own!
“Arrrrrggggghhh!!” Eddie yells, which somehow prompts his rejuvenated
opponent to plant an elbow to his chin, slam one of her fists against the other
and then – CLONK!! OOWWWW!!! Now Eddie goes
flying…
…while the precious, one-of-a-kind cake begins to teeter on
the table. Uh-oh.
POW! Billie delivers
a perfect right to Eddie’s jaw, followed by a perfect left, followed by another
perfect right. “This is getting
monotonous,” the tomboy dryly observes.
So, after thinking for a split-second, she energetically drop-kicks him…
…causing rag-doll Davis to crash into a large crate of
eggs. Yuuuck! Having a grand old time, Billie bends down
beside her zonked-out opponent, smashing one egg after another on his woozy noggin. Eddie is a yoke of a mess in no time…
Outside the Cake Factory building, a pensive Jean Carol
checks her watch. What could be keeping
the cooking contestants? Their judge, cocktail
glass in his hand and feeling no pain, happily reclines in his chair, nearly
tipping it over. Hiccup!
Back on the inside, a recovered, mostly cleaned-off Eddie is
wrestling with Billie, trying his best to squeeze the life out of her. A swift kick to his private parts breaks this
hold, and a devastating punch to the face sends him careening over an active
conveyor belt.
“I love conveyor belts!” beams Billie, who promptly
straightens out Eddie’s arms and legs out so that he’s positioned horizontally
on the thing. She watches with impish
glee as the unconscious, muscular young jock is conveyed through an automatic pie
crust-coating procedure. First, enormous
rollers descend from above and give the sleeping athlete a relentless, and
somewhat stimulating, once-over. Next,
he’s spray-coated with powdered pie dough, the young man’s entire body
receiving a kind of second skin, except for his head. Self-amused Billie works the computerized
controls just beside the moving belt, controls that enable the user to coat
part or all of the material being conveyed (in this case, an out-cold Eddie
Davis). He’s finally encrusted into a
tasty cocoon, and this end result is automatically up-righted for inspection at
the conclusion of the belt’s journey.
“You crazy freak!” Eddie snarls, his head atop an edible
athlete’s body. “Wait’ll I get my hands
on you!” He looks down and about, as his
suddenly twinkied self. “Wait’ll I get my hands on anything!” he
mumbles, unable to move. All Billie can
do is laugh, point, and laugh some more.
Meanwhile, the prize-winnable cake everyone covets inches
nearer the table edge, that much closer to teetering onto the floor…!
As suddenly as it formed, the pie crust around Eddie’s well-defined
body finally crumbles away, much to his relief.
He stretches his powerful arms and legs, limbering them up after a brief
entombment. Then he sees that arch-enemy
Billie, still caught in a laughing jag, hasn’t noticed his quiet recovery. What a perfect opportunity to totally clobber
the little smart ass, he thinks to himself.
But Billie’s simply too fast, mentally and physically. Anticipating her enemy’s move, she countermoves
by darting out of the way at the last moment, causing Eddie to lunge at nothing
but air. Enraged, he spots a nearby
rolling pin, grabs it, turns in the direction she’s run and gives chase…
…while outside, a local official tells Jean that the
official ceremony is prepped to start, and all it requires is her official
approval to actually commence. Although
bummed out that the cake contest seems delayed (no one’s picking up Eddie’s
cellphone), a reluctant Jean nods “all systems go.” The band is given orders to play, and a
carpet is rolled out in a massive aisle between two rows of tables.
Meantime, Billie and Eddie continue to battle it out on the
second floor landing, directly above the outsized cake created for today’s
celebration. Making their fight even
more precarious are hanging pieces of dislodged machinery, pulleys swinging
wildly like industrial pendulums. Billie
uses her Beat prowess to sidestep them.
SWISH! SWISH! Eddie swings the formidable rolling pin at
Billie, but the tomboy gleefully dodges his attack. OOOOFFFFF!!
A punch to Davis’ tummy ends this vicious assault; Billie catches the
falling pin and prepares to batter her winded foe with it. Then – what the heck -- a better idea occurs
to her. Since Eddie’s doubled-over,
Billie grabs a nearby egg and playfully shoves it into his pathetically opened-mouth. Then she pushes his head down with one hand
while shoving his mouth closed with the other…
YUCK!!!
Big, childlike laughs from Billie as disgusted Eddie spits the
squished egg out of his mouth. But the
Girl Wonder isn’t smiling for long…
neither is a recovering Davis… because they happen to glance up and
notice that ---
…their precious cake is falling right off the table! Whoever prevails in this slugfest will be
meaningless, they realize, as all will be lost without a winning creation to
present.
Both contestants race over to the table, and it’s Billie who
catches the teetering layer cake before gravity does its thing, carefully
re-placing it safely on the table.
That’s all the time aggressive Eddie needs to slam a kettle completely
over Billie’s head. He then beats the
pot incessantly with a huge wooden spoon!
Eddie finally removes the kettle, revealing a fully-dazed
and staggering Billie, her head still shaking from all that banging.
“Pucker up, princess,” Davis sneers, grabbing his opponent
so she faces him. Then he prepares to
wallop her with a haymaker, when –
Billie, who was playing possum, kicks him in the nuts. OOOOUCHHH!!!
Then she grabs the kettle he just assaulted her with and slams him in
the face with it! Double-ouch! Poor Eddie goes flying back.
Pleased with herself, Billie reflexively stands in her
“Peter Pan” power stance, fists on hips, glancing at her downed, gradually
recovering foe. Then she smiles, shakes
her head slightly, and turns.
But, watch out, Billie
-- !!
Out of left field comes one of those swinging metal pulleys,
which slams an unsuspecting Carol square on the chin!
POW!!
Billie goes careening over the second floor bannister and
lands with a PLOP!
Eddie rushes over and stares over the edge… Billie has plummeted body-down onto the giant
cake, her muscular arms and dolphin smooth legs completely spread-eagled across
the pasty radius, forming an almost perfect X shape.
Barely conscious, trying valiantly to recover from the
kettle attack, the pulley pummeling, and the downward plunge into her current
predicament, Billie can barely lift her groggy head. “Ho-ho-ho and a ---,” but before the girl can
say “half,” her cake-smattered face slumps down again.
Harsh laughter from Eddie greets his opponent’s current
dilemma. “Pleasant dreams, pasty-face!”
he sneers, before turning and grabbing the thankfully unmolested cake. It still has its “E” icing intact, Davis is quite
pleased to observe.
On the ground floor, proudly carrying “his” creation, Eddie pulls
out his cell phone and calls Jean.
“There in a second, sweets… just relax.
The winning cake is on its way!”
As he nears the entrance/exit, Eddie can’t help noticing a group of company
workers marching into the factory. He
shrugs, continues out the door…
Happily stoned, Darien P’fille is downing the latest in a
series of potent party drinks when Jean interrupts him. “So glad you’re having fun, sir, but it seems
the big moment is finally at hand,” she tries to explain with maximum patience,
ushering her esteemed guest away from his beloved cocktails. Reluctantly, and with one last hiccup for the
road, P’fille allows himself to be dragged away.
Inside the Factory, those workmen Eddie spotted are now
pushing buttons and throwing levers, starting up heavy-duty hydraulic machinery
that controls an enormous wheeled platform.
Upon this platform is the gigantic cake, and still spread-eagled atop
the cake, unnoticed by any of the workers, is fast-asleep Billie.
Within seconds the enormous pastry begins to move, steadily
rolling out through the enormous factory door, and finally out into the open. The dozing tomboy goes along for this
scheduled ride, arms and legs vibrating as the monster cake rattles forward on
its wheeled platform.
“Where’s Billie?” Jean asks Eddie, who has now joined the
benefit party. “Doesn’t matter, sweetheart…
here’s the cake to end all cakes,” Eddie proudly announces, showing the older
Carol sister “his” relatively impressive creation. Jean’s eyes do indeed light up at this sight. “Ohhhh… you’ve baked an ‘Eddie’ cake, I see!”
she giggles, glancing at the big “E” letter rendered in icing upon it.
“Not bad, for a novice,” concludes esteemed culinary expert
Mr. P’fille, inspecting Eddie’s offering and still somewhat tipsy from his
pre-judging indulgences. “But where’s
your worthy competitor, Billie Carol?
That girl with the so-called Beat.”
“Guess my sister’s a no-show, sad to say,” offers Jean,
clearly disappointed.
“As a matter of fact, Billie started out preparing a tomboy
cake, with a girl baseball player figurine right on top of it,” adds sly Eddie,
who then produces the misshapen miniature from his pocket. “But sadly, she soon grew frustrated by her
inability to complete the task. She even
crushed this little cake-topper, out of pure self-contempt.”
“Pity,” the judge shakes his head. “I was curious what a tomboy could do given
free reign in the kitchen. Oh well. I suppose the winning creation is right
before us… “
Eddie grins. Victory
feels so spanking good! But wait
--- Before P’fille can officially make
the announcement, the band suddenly starts playing, and everyone looks up.
Coming down the widespread center aisle, eliciting “oohs”
and “ahhs” from most onlookers, is the enormous, pre-fabricated cake on its
rolling platform. And now, finally
noticed upon its circular pasty surface, is the still unconscious Billie Carol!
“Good heavens!” an astonished P’fille proclaims. “The tomboy cake… with a genuine tomboy on
top. This is pure genius!”
Slowly coming to, a groggy Billie raises her cake-splattered
head and faces the delighted multitude. She tries to get her bearings. “Where--?
What --??”
The enormous cake rolls to a stop, earning a multitude of
stares. “Ahh, only once in a lifetime
can of a man of my culinary caliber experience such… perfection!” coos P’fille.
Greatly concerned, Jean instantly ascends a pulled-over
ladder, wiping her humiliated sister’s face with a towel.
“Don’t move a muscle just yet, Billie Carol . It’s perfect!” orders the ecstatic
judge. It takes no time at all for Darien
P’fille, glass of champagne proudly raised, to declare Billie’s demonstrative
“tomboy cake” the runaway winner of today’s baking contest. “Now here’s a chef who throws herself into
her work, quite literally. Talk about
supreme dedication. Cheers!”
“Oh, Billie,” Jean shakes her head, a frown slowly
blossoming into a pretty smile. “You always have to do things your way!”
“That’s my girl!” laughs Mike Benson, present for the Cake
Factory benefit with his current significant other, Diane Maxwell. “You mean, our boy,” she corrects
him with an easy, inviting smile. He
returns it, adding a heartfelt kiss to his pleased response.
Not exactly sure what has hit her, Billie, still
spread-eagled with limbs fully extended and hands balled into fists, remains
motionless and on somewhat dehumanized display.
Countless photos are snapped of the Beat Queen astride her
newly-christened creation, the Tomboy Cake. A few of the pro-photographers, now on ladders
beside the cake, can’t help chuckling as they take pictures of the young girl’s
curvy butt (she’s wearing abbreviated athletic shorts) and long, spread legs. Only a genuine tomboy can get away with this
sort of cheeky public exhibition.
“A win is a win,” Billie concludes philosophically, catching
a glimpse of infuriated Eddie Davis in the corner of her eye. He’s rather busy at the moment throttling
poor Leroy Jenks, who just made the mistake of offering his defeated “pal” a
piece of the cake he was trying to deliver earlier. Bad idea, Leroy!
Billie grins from ear to adorable ear. Chalk up another victory for the Beat, she beams,
and another crashing failure for boorish bullies!
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