Bake for a Date with Oliver Queen
Week Three
Week Three Baking Challenge: Thanksgiving Trifles
Felicity was going to digitally decimate Tommy Merlyn.
Normally (at least privately in her own mind), his shenanigans would be worthy of a full-on threat of murder, but after barely escaping offing Oliver Queen with her mug-o-death, Felicity was trying to reign in her premeditated, homicidal (thought) tendencies… at least until after she was free and clear of the assault on women's rights that was Bake for a Date with Oliver Queen. However, Merlyn Junior was really testing the limits of her restraint.
At first, Felicity had given him the benefit of the doubt. When Tommy inserted himself into the middle of the baking/dating reality circus as the self-proclaimed Chris Harrison of Starling City, reciting bios for the remaining women like they were nothing more than The Price is Right Showcase-Showdown packages, Felicity had initially wondered if Megan's information had been provided by her mom as some kind of cover. Yet, she should have known better; she should have given Donna Smoak more credit, because, despite their differences, despite the fact that, even now, they didn't understand one another, Felicity's mother had never tried to change anything about her… well, besides her marital status. But that was just predictable; that was just Donna Smoak being a good, Jewish mother. The travesty that was Megan Kuttler's personal narrative came straight from the warped and sexist mind of that no-good, dirty rotten scoundrel, Tommy Merlyn.
By way of Megan, Tommy had all but characterized her as a walking, (barely) talking blow-up doll. He stripped her of her summa cum laude double graduate degree from MIT and, instead, replaced it with a certificate in massage therapy. Rather than a bright and rising female star in a predominately male driven field, Tommy made Megan the queen of happy endings. Gone were her legitimate skills and what Felicity liked to think were unique and interesting hobbies, and, in their place, Tommy had cited Megan's love of shopping and spending time with her beloved sisters from her sorority days (Pi Beta Phi 4ever!)... before she left school fashionably early to pursue… other opportunities. While Felicity's mom might have been skimpy on the details and technical jargon in the online application she filled out on behalf of her daughter, she didn't reduce Felicity down to a cliche either. Tommy Merlyn all but spelled out the idea that social climber Megan was in the competition to land herself a wealthy husband and, if that wasn't in the cards, then at least a few good headlines and bedpost-notch bragging rights.
As for what motivated Tommy, he had made it pretty damn obvious that he was suspicious of Megan. Whether that skepticism was towards Megan herself or towards Oliver's baffling insistence that Megan remain in the competition, Felicity wasn't sure, and, frankly, she didn't particularly care. Whatever his reasons, she did not appreciate Tommy's attempts to smoke her out. The stereotyping was insulting to not just her but to all women, and Tommy couldn't have been more conspicuous if he had tried. Perhaps the other women weren't setting the world on fire, but they also weren't reduced down to nothing more than a vapid triviality. On top of that, she had to sit there at her desk, listening to Tommy flirt with everyone with a pulse and everything capable of providing him with a little bit of friction, and she couldn't do or say anything to defend herself, her honor, her intellect, or her sex.
Disgusted, Felicity scooted her desk chair slightly further away from her monitor… just in case the skeeviness was contagious through time, space, and a computer screen. Arms folded protectively over her chest, she exclaimed, "you're practically announcing to the world that you're willing, able, ready, and looking forward to being the cast-off contestants' sloppy seconds. Not that Oliver's actually tasting their cookies, but, still, Merlyn, have a little pride. And self control."
As Tommy prattled on, and Oliver started to taste the week's baked goods, Felicity found her gaze drifting to the side of the shot to where Moira Queen was standing all poised and put together. "And you," she wondered out loud. "Why would you ever agree to this… this dumpster fire that is Tommy Merlyn, reality dating show host?"
Love, hate, or fear her, Moira Queen was a formidably smart and successful woman. While Felicity didn't necessarily want to be Moira Queen, she admired her. Well, aspects of her. And she envied her a little bit, too - her dignity of manner, the strength she showed after her husband's death and seemingly also losing her son, and the respect she commanded both professionally and personally. No one would ever derail her career simply because she was a woman. No man would ever objectify her in the office simply because she was young, and pretty, and blonde. And no one would ever intentionally humiliate her on (albeit local) television in order to gain a personal advantage at someone else's expense. And yet, despite her own untouchable position in life, Moira Queen allowed her son's best friend to make a mockery of her PR campaign to rehabilitate her son's reputation and to embarrass one of her competition's contestants.
Yes, Moira had stood by for years and watched her son treat his life - and everyone else's around him - like one big joke, but at least Oliver had the somewhat flimsy yet accepted excuse of youthful indiscretion, but Tommy Merlyn's behavior that evening was not charming or endearing. If Oliver had said and done the things Tommy had, Felicity had no doubt his mother would be furious. Hell, she probably would have stepped in and stopped him, but Tommy was given carte blanche. It couldn't even be explained by Moira hoping, in comparison to his best friend, Oliver would look even more responsible, even more a changed man, because Tommy's antics, in Felicity's eyes (and she had to hope in others') had been so bad that they tainted everyone else by association.
However, as much as Felicity was now determined to exact her cyber revenge on Merlyn Junior and as grateful as she was that she'd never have to make nice with Moira Queen (despite working for the Queen matriarch's company, Felicity was nothing more than a peon, and their paths would never, ever, ever cross), these were mere sweat bees in her bonnet; the paper wasp was 'The Great Baked Goods Switcheroo Caper of 2012.' Hell, Felicity no longer even cared why Oliver Queen pushed Megan through after that first week's mug-cake-bread-pudding disaster when another contestant was sent packing after submitting a perfectly perfect batch of cupcakes.
No, what she really wanted to know was who, how, and why her sandwich cookies had been replaced with someone else's, especially because her submission had not been deadly. Last week.
Now, Mary Berry's baking crown had most certainly still been secure, but Felicity felt like her week two entry had been… serviceable. Not wanting to reinvent the wheel by any means, she had elected to make a basic yet classic, nut-free chocolate chip cookie, sticking two of them together with a healthy sized red, orange, or yellow food-colored spoonful of Cool Whip. Sure, maybe her cookies had been cut from a large, rather flat looking blob rather than individually created and baked, because 'nobody got time for that!' And, yes, her dyed Cool Whip, by the time Felicity got her entry onto the judging table, had started to melt, so her sandwich cookies were falling off their sticks… and then falling onto the floor. (She had turned them into lollipops after finding this ceramic turkey with holes for Tootsie Pops instead of feathers on Ebay.) But, still, she had tasted one, and she didn't even get a stomach ache afterwards!
Only… when it came time to watch the live tasting alone, up in her office, and from behind her scared-to-lose-and-scared-to-advance fingers, Felicity's melting chocolate chip turkey feather sandwich cookies were nowhere to be seen, and, in their place, were pumpkin and cream cheese 'made by Megan - psych!, not!' pretenders. And those pretenders? They were a threat to the Mary Berry baking crown… or so they looked like they were through Felicity's computer screen.
Obviously, with those pumpkin and cream cheese sandwich cookies to her name, Megan advanced onto week three, and, now, Felicity was eagerly and nervously waiting to see if the same swap fate would befall her Thanksgiving trifle. Once, she could excuse as a fluke or a mistake. After all, while the Queens were practically American royalty and QC an international conglomerate, Bake for a Date with Oliver Queen was only just a local, weekly news special segment, its production values far below the national television standards. It would not take a Machiavellian scheme to accomplish such a switch when a 'whoopsie, gopher bad!' made more sense and could just as easily explain a solitary event. However, if it happened a second time….
Then Felicity Smoak would smell a rat instead of an apple pie trifle… which is what she attempted to make for that evening's challenge.
As Oliver Queen made his way down the dessert table line, she heard him announce ginger-this and pumpkin-that, and pecan-this and spice-that, so-on and so-forth, and she contemplated her own submission. While Felicity relied on information and knowledge for just about everything in her life, cooking was the one area in which research did her absolutely no help. Recipes just seemed to complicate matters that Oliver Queen would not survive if complicated.
Traditionally, a trifle was a cold and layered dessert of cake and fruit covered with cream, jelly, and custard. In Felicity's kitchen, a trifle, where this insipid competition was concerned, was three edible layers - one of which was baked - that did not contain anything close to resembling custard, because who wants to eat something that rhymes with… flustered? So, she bought a Pillsbury pie crust, she plopped it onto a pizza sheet, and then she proceeded to burn it, not considering that the baking directions would take into account the crust being pressed into a pie pan and then filled with something. So, then, she bought a second Pillsbury pie crust, plopped it onto that same now slightly damaged and slightly charred pizza sheet, and watched it bake to a golden-ish brown with her nose pressed up against the glass window of her oven. (She had refused to buy a third Pillsbury pie crust, so due diligence it was.) Afterwards and still hot from the oven, Felicity double fisted two knives and stabbed the pie crust into submission… or into chunks that she could layer into a pumpkin shaped bowl (also purloined from Ebay). After spooning on some canned apple pie filling, she sprayed a ring of Ready Whip on top. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
"Because what says let's celebrate the genocide of American Indians better than apple pie," Felicity mumbled to herself, lifting her right hand towards her mouth and biting down on her thumb nail.
There was only one trifle left, and Megan's entry had yet to be tasted.
The camera panned, Oliver stepped to his left, and then Felicity saw it.
It was red.
"Conned by cranberries!," she exclaimed. In the excitement of the discovery that her dessert had been switched out yet again, Felicity pushed her chair back and stood up all in one, fluid-as-a-Smoak-woman-could-move motion. Distantly, she heard her spinny-chair slam into the back of her cubicle, but nothing was broken, and, even if it was, she was too far down the rabbit hole of plotting out her approach to solving this latest Bake for a Date with Oliver Queen mystery to have cared anyway.
Not even waiting to see if pseudo-Megan would advance or attempting to puzzle out exactly what Megan's stand-in dessert consisted of and why that was deemed better than Felicity's own entry, Felicity put her computer to sleep, turned off her monitor, and started gathering up her things. "Fool the general public once," she muttered to herself while tossing her cell phone into her purse and pulling out her car keys, "shame on you." Coat, scarf, hat, and gloves were put on and fastened. "Fool the general public twice, and I'm going to nail your shady heinie and expose this insulting and sexist dating competition for the crock of deceit it really is."
In an indignant huff, Felicity swept out of her office, hitting the light switch a little harder than necessary and making plans for Week Four. She didn't need to see the results to know that Megan was advancing, and she certainly didn't need to know the next baking theme, because the only thing she'd be cooking up anytime soon was a way to perceive, present, and prove the truth.
Oh, and payback.
Felicity Smoak was definitely going to be cooking up some payback for one Thomas 'I'm a Cad' Merlyn.
And it was going to be delicious.