"It's not simply a message, but rather a whole way of living and thinking. It's just not that simple."
"Oh, so that's it," we said, determined to be cynical in the face of her stubbornness.
She leaned back and folded her arms under Baby Watson's silk-screened chin. "You'll be hearing from Baby Watson!" she told us.
"Oh?"
"Just listen to WCAS and WGBH radio. He'll be on the air."
Having long since finished our samples of the cheesecake more expensive than its weight in gold, we left the stall.
I haven't heard from Baby Watson on the radio, but then I haven't listened very much. A friend whom we alerted on the subject found an ad for Baby Watson cheesecake in the Real Paper, but there was no word on the Watson Way of Life.
I returned to the bakery five days later, but it was morning and an iron grating barred entry to the stall. The wooden sign now hung over the doorway. A few leftover baked goods lay on glass counter tops, and the huge photo portrait of Baby Watson, the mystical money-maker, still stared out over the deserted stall, a strange combination of Guru Maharaji and the Gerber Baby Food cherub, the latest formula for the alchemist's gold of advertising.