(first published in Strange Worlds of Lunacy)
by R. L. Copple
The phone rattled the air with its ringing. Jeremy sighed. It had been a long day. He thought about not answering, but a few minutes remained before closing time. The customer had to be served.
“Hello, Bandi Breads, how can I help you?”
“I need some bread, and a cake for my son’s birthday party. But I hoped you could recommend one.”
Jeremy let himself fall against the wall as if he held it up. Not the First Lady again! Doing a job for the President, while an honor, tended to produce a lot of stress.
“What does your son like?”
“Well, he’s patriotic and likes sports.”
“I’ve got the perfect cake. A strawberry cake, topped with slivers of strawberry and blueberries on white frosting to make a flag. Then I’ll infuse it with the ‘Star Spangled Banner.’ How’s that?”
“Oh, I knew you would have the perfect cake. I’ll take it and a loaf of oat bread with Bluegrass for my husband, please.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“No thanks. I’ll be over in three hours to pick it up.”
Jeremy sighed internally. How do you tell the First Lady when to pick up her bread? “Can you make it in two? I had hoped to be gone by then.”
“Two? I suppose I could have one of the staff pick it up by then. Thanks so much.” The line clicked to a busy signal.
If he hurried, he could have her order ready to go into the oven before the others had finished. He pulled out a mixing bowl and whipped together the ingredients for the cake and then the bread, but he left out the baking power and yeast. His bread rose on the beats of a song, none of that artificial stuff.
He had discovered long ago that starting with a certain rhythm had an effect upon the rising, and by playing a particular song, the spirit of the melody would permeate the dough. People marveled how their lives burst into the emotions of the songs when they bit into the breads. People came from miles around to purchase his confections.
After mixing, he put the oat loaf into a soundproof chamber, sat down at his drum set, and rolled out the beats for The Star Spangled Banner. As each beat rapped upon the snare, bulges of dough would push into the air. Within ten minutes the cake had risen to a fluffy height that any red-blooded American would be proud of.
Jeremy wiped his forehead. He had been doing this all day long; he needed something to pick him up. He reached over to his personal stash of breads and pulled out a Hard Rock muffin. That should do the trick.
While he chewed the rockin’ bread, he pushed the cake into the oven and pulled out the dough from the soundproof box. After licking his fingers of the last crumbs, he sat down to inject the oat bread with a snappy bluegrass beat. If only he had an extra set of arms to play the banjo too.
Before he could put stick to skin, the front door bell rang. He hurried to the counter to find a man with a half-eaten loaf of sweet bread.
“Yes, Sir?”
“You see this loaf? Does it look eaten to you?”
“Well, part of it.”
“It didn’t work. I thought she liked country music, but she asked for a divorce.”
“I told you ‘Take This Job and Shove It,’ might not be the most romantic piece you could find.”
“I don’t care, I want my money back!”
“You’re missing a great opportunity here. Why don’t you take this to work and share it?”
His eyes squinted at Jeremy, then relaxed as they scanned upward. “Hum, that has some merit. I could probably get a raise.”
“Meanwhile, maybe you should go with my original suggestion and get another loaf infused with ‘You Are So Beautiful.’”
He nodded. “Sold.”
“I’ll have it tomorrow. I’m maxed out tonight.”
They exchanged money and Jeremy returned to his set. The loaf of bread for the President of the United States of America lay flat on the kneading board. An idea formed in his mind.
“Bluegrass indeed! I’ve noticed your graying hair and haggard look, Mr. President. I know just what you need.” Jeremy rapped out the discontented beats of Take This Job and Shove It as the bubbling bread filled with musical life.
