Free Wishin' and Hopin' by Wally Lamb Page A

contestants were “the best bakers all across the U.S. of A.” Then he explained the categories and contest rules and reminded the audience that nothin’ said lovin’ like somethin’ from the oven, and that Pillsbury said it best. Then the camera went from him to this big, giant room at the Beverly Hills Hilton Hotel where all these stoves—a hundred of them, one for both winners from each state—had been hooked up so’s that the ninety-eight women and two men who were trying for the $25,000 grand prize could cook their recipes. And every single state winner had the exact same Pillsbury Bake-Off apron on, even those two men.
    “And now, let’s check in with my good friend, the handsome star of the silver screen and the genial host of General Electric Theater ,” Art Linkletter said. “And by the way, here’s a scoop for you, folks. This coming season, he’ll replace The Old Ranger as your narrator on 20 Mule Team Borax’s Death Valley Days . That’s right,ladies and gents. You know who I mean: none other than Mr. Ronald Reagan. Take it away, Ronnie!”
    “Heh heh heh,” Ronald Reagan said, kind of like Madame Frechette. At first, I closed my eyes and looked away because I thought it was the same guy whose chopped-off head had bounced down the stairs in Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte . But then I squinted and saw that it was a different guy. (Later on, I checked the movie ads in the newspaper, and it said the chopped-off-head guy was this other guy named Joseph Cotten.) Ronald Reagan’s job was to walk around the big room—the ballroom , he called it—with a microphone that had this long, long cord and talk to the state winners. Which, you could tell what states they were from by these cardboard flags sticking up on poles behind their General Electric stoves. A lady from Nebraska said she was making a dessert called “Nebraska Baked Alaska.” And another lady gave Ronald Reagan a taste of this appetizer she invented called “Zelda’s Zesty Welsh Rabbit,” and I went to Frances, who was standing next to me, I went,“Yuck! You wouldn’t catch me eating that. Rabbits are in the rodent family.”
    And Fran said, “It’s rarebit , not rabbit, you idiot.” And I said she was the idiot, not me, and she said, “I’m the rubber and you’re the glue. Anything you say bounces off me and sticks to you.”
    “Oh, yeah? Well, you’re—”
    “Keep quiet and listen, you two!” Pop said, slapping the backs of both our heads on account of Ronald Reagan had just said, “Now let’s see what’s cookin’ with the gals from the Nutmeg State.” And everyone at the lunch counter started whooping and hollering and squeezing in closer.
    The camera zoomed in on Mrs. Parzych, the other Connecticut winner. She told Ronald Reagan how she’d invented “Creamy Dreamy Sweetheart Torte” out of leftover cake that she’d made from a Pillsbury cake mix, plus cream cheese and whipping cream that had gone bad in her refrigerator but that she didn’t want to just throw out because she’s thrifty. And Ronald Reagan went “Sweetheart torte,eh? And who’s your sweeheart?” and she said it was her husband, Stanley. Here’s what I didn’t get: nobody was at the stove next to Mrs. Parzych’s—which was Ma’s, I figured—but you could hear her oven timer going off like nyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeee-aaaaaaaaaaa.
    I pulled on Frances’s sleeve. “Where’s Ma?” I said. Me and Ronald Reagan must have had ESP or something, because before Fran could even answer me, he goes to Mrs. Parzych, “Now what’s become of your Connecticut cohort?” Mrs. Parzych fidgeted with her fingers and looked away from Ronald Reagan and said, well, that Ma was coming right back but that she’d had to make a quick visit to the toilet.
    “Jesus Christ and Jiminy Cricket!” Pop shouted in front of everybody. “Marie’s got the trots! Same as she always does when she’s a nervous wreck!” Pop must have been pretty nervous, too, I