Welcome to another tale from the factory…
The outcry for more was so great that Mr. Wonka and Ms. Carmichael allowed me, a humble author to chronicle their trials and tribulations interspaced with surreal moments of pure weirdness. Thanks go to all my faithful readers for supporting my feeble efforts. Now – to chant the magic words…
…I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work.
Let the show begin!
– Stealth Phoenix
Chapter 1
A moment of peace.
That's all she really needed right now. Just a quiet moment to herself – a few hours alone with her thoughts without anyone or anything pressing for her attention, her presence or her energy.
Long practice kept her most fervent wish from showing on her face, but the terrible longing was enough to cause Veronica's heart to beat hard in her chest. She nodded to a quasi-familiar face in the brightly colored throng in the overheated room, but inside she was ready to scream.
Her smile felt as brilliant and brittle as the candy glass for which she was most famous.
The swirling masses, the punishing glare of the overhead lights glinting against multiple reflective surfaces and gleaming white linen all felt like a burning push against her eyeballs.
Six months since the debacle on Food Network and the media attention still hadn't died down. Invitations poured in from the four corners of the globe begging for attendance to one thing or the other. Her weak point of supporting charities was discovered and mercilessly exploited.
Charlie at least had the benefit of having good parents who knew where to draw the line for their budding confectioner. Willy could plead for extreme discomfort in such crowded conditions and his notoriety for solitude was infamous.
She on the other hand felt compelled to do what she could to try and make the world a better place, using her recognition and acquired wealth to try and shift the system into swifter action to protect the innocent and support those less fortunate. If it involved showing up to look pretty while choking down a bit of rubber chicken, so be it.
"Veronica! Darling! How good to see you?" gushed an older woman who had apparently undergone one too many shots of Botox judging by the unnatural stillness of her features. The stick thin arms embraced her.
Veronica forced a bit of genuine warmth into her eyes at the ridiculous woman. Bad personal judgment of plastic surgeon aside, Mrs. Henry Worthington the third was a devout champion to abused children and worked hard hosting these events to raise the funds for the three orphanages and half-way houses for woman seeking escape from abusive spouses.
"Mrs. Worthington, hello!" Veronica said releasing the older woman. "Another lovely dinner. Thank you again for inviting me."
"Always a pleasure my dear. I understand young Charlie couldn't make it due to exams, but where is your beau?" Mrs. Worthington twittered, clasping her thin wrinkled hands together.
"Mr. Wonka has been detained at his factory. He asked me to covey his apologies," Veronica lied smoothly. Internally she sighed and felt another hot pinch of disappointment at Willy's evasion of yet another event planned on attending jointly and ditched at the last moment.
It wasn't like she really wanted to be her right now either. A new Terry Pratchett book had just come out and a quiet evening at home reading curled up on the couch with a pot of green tea close at hand sounded like some unachievable utopia at the moment.
But Willy had promised to come with her this time. It would have been their excuse to leave after an hour. Now, thanks to his absence, she had no excuse to leave early and was now working on clinging to what little charm she had left after nearly 14 hours hard at work and now three hours standing in three and a half inch stiletto heels.
Veronica let Mrs. Worthington guide her around the room, introducing her to face after face that she had no inclination or energy to remember. God, she was tired.
Finally, she realized that staring blankly at a Chinese curio cabinet was not doing anyone any good and that she had reached the end of her tether.
"Mrs. Worthington? I apologize, but I do have an early showing tomorrow morning and need to get home. Thank you for the lovely dinner and I hope you raised the funds needed to replace the roof on the Church Street Orphanage," Veronica said, over the light protest of her hostess.
One of the catering staff stood at Mrs. Worthington's elbow, gently attracting her attention on some matter so she let Veronica slip out with minimal fuss.
Thank you for small favors, she thought to whatever deity had taken mercy on her at the moment.
She slipped from the crowded room, giving small smiles to those who greeted her. She casually grabbed her coat and handbag and walked decisively out the back door.
There was a small group of men clustered around a small gardening shack toward the rear of the garden that had been converted to a small waiting area for the duration of the part. The men were chauffeurs for the guest inside. Hearing her footsteps crunching across the gravel of the path, they warily drew themselves to attention.
"Evenin' gents," she smiled wearily at them as she passed and headed toward the purple limo waiting in the back of the lot. "You lot getting hungry?"
"A quick bite wouldn't be unwelcome," one tall, graying man wearing an old-fashioned driver's uniform spoke for the group.
"Right. Head back to the kitchen – tell Sandra that Veronica says that the nibbles were great and to feed you gentlemen up. Just because the nobs are in swanning around doesn't mean everyone has to suffer," she said, giving them a quick wink.
The older gentleman grinned back and touched the visor of his hat, "Right you are Miss. Thanks for looking out for us."
Happy that at least part of this evening didn't feel like a complete waste of her time she walked up to the tinted window of the driver's door and tapped. There was a startled rustle inside and the window rolled down.
The tiny figure of her driver, Spie-Di, looked up at her from his modified seat guiltily, fumbling to set the - to him - oversized copy of the very book she'd been longing to read earlier aside. "Ready to head back?" he asked.
Grimacing, she nodded, "Pop the locks and let's get out of here."
As she climbed inside and shut the door she sighed, "I'm rather envious of your right now Spie-Di. All curled up in here in the peace and quiet. How about next time you wear the dress and heels and I drive you?"
"No thanks. The dress would look horrible on me and those shoes? They make my bum look huge." The Oompa Loompa said smoothly, starting up the engine and pulling out of the long gravel driveway back toward the gates of Mrs. Worthington's estate.
Closing her eyes, she felt the world whirl around her - too much to think of, not enough time to do it all and actually feel like she was enjoying life. It was a frequent regret that she felt like her life was stuck on fast forward. She'd gone back to skimping on sleep and eating just to meet the demand.
Glancing at the thin fashionable watch on her wrist, she groaned at the time. Nearly midnight. She'd been up and moving since 4:30 that morning and faced another day just like it. This manic pace was killing her. Even so, she only had herself to blame for this burden – she'd undertaken the effort to bring Wonka Inc and her own Carmichael Creations to the public and act as the 'official' representative for both companies in the public eye. The chore had been undertaken as a means to an end but had mutated and grown beyond recognition.
Veronica kicked off her shoes and curled up on the seat, allowing herself to drift off with fanciful daydreams of just relaxing and spending some quiet time with her fiancée.
If it wasn't for the fact that she knew that Willy worked just as hard if not harder keeping his business going and training Charlie for eventual command of the factory, she'd be more resentful. No wonder the man seemed like he was on a constant sugar high – he needed it to stay on top of things.
We need a vacation, Veronica though idly. Someplace private and quiet.
She must have dozed off, because she was startled awake when Spie-Di tapped on the glass as he pulled up to the curb in front of her apartment building.
She gathered up her shoes and bag and slid out of the car, waving to the Oompa Loompa as she unlocked the building and slipped inside.
The tile was cool against her stockinged feet and she ignored the elevator to take the stone stairs two at a time, hiking the dress above the knees to give her the range of motion she needed. The burn of her thighs as she moved felt good and for a brief moment, she felt free of the constraints that held her back. No need to look or act proper – no audience to judge her or make comments about being "unladylike". Inside these walls she was free to act as she chose.
She reached the top floor and dropped the skirt of the dress, fumbling with the keys to unlock the door of her apartment.
Inside she leaned against the door with the lights off for a long moment. The brief spurt of activity pushed back the exhaustion and frustrations of the day for a moment allowing her to think clearly. She gazed at her apartment, at the few things she had been able to accumulate since the previous year that marked it as hers. Photographs lined the walls, books and papers stacked on the table tops, the laptop computer sitting open on her coffee table, with its golden "W" screensaver spinning on the screen.
She dropped the shoes by the door and shrugged out of the coat, hanging it neatly on the hook on the back of the door. Exhaustion was creeping back in, but she wanted to check and see what Willy was up to before crashing.
Veronica took the time to collect a large glass of milk, wash her face free of cosmetics and slip into her ever comfortable sweatpants and oversized tee shirt with thick wooly socks before planting herself on the couch and collecting the laptop from its resting place.
Clicking on, she could see a few messages waiting for her. Smiling slightly she clicked on the one from Charlie first. He had taken a few minutes to recall his day for her amusement, ranting about the fickle nature of girls in general and nebulous natured relationship with young Meggan in specific. Apparently a careless comment about an unflattering colored shirt had sent them into "off" territory again. Bewildered Charlie was pleading for advice.
Poor lad, she thought with amusement. She took a moment to do her best to translate girl speak into something Charlie could understand. Some judicious application of flattery and honest appreciation would go a long way toward repairing things, she wrote. Some suggestions added good illustrations of what she meant.
Satisfied that her advice wouldn't make things worse, she sent the message.
The second message was from Spencer with some strange website using World of Warcraft animated figures in a music video. Rolling her eyes and laughing, she sent a quick synopsis of her evening and a scathing review of the attendees and their fashion sense.
The last message was from Willy.
Good evening Starshine,
Just dropping you a quick line to let you know that, yes, I am still alive – just trapped in the taffy puller room at the moment trying to fix the conveyer belt that somehow got entangled in the actual puller itself. I have no idea how it happened – looks pretty interesting though. I'm taking a quick break before diving back in – there's three workers trapped in the taffy and a long evening of getting them out ahead. I'm sorry to have to abandon you to yet another mindless charity dinner by yourself (okay – I'm not sorry to miss the dinner myself, but sorry that you were inflicted with it.) I miss you.
Love Willy (aka. Hunny-Bunny?)
P.S. Are you free for lunch tomorrow? I've got an idea I'd like to pitch to you. Red pepper cream cheese sandwiches will be present…
Veronica groaned –she didn't have the time to meet for lunch as she was supposed to be presenting a commissioned piece across town, but the temptation of her favorite lunch treat was too much to resist.
Besides, it had in fact been almost three days since actually seeing her beloved face-to-face.
Making an executive decision, she wrote back.
Hunny-Bunny? (Urk…with a side of stunned disbelief at the saccharine nature of your suggestion)
Yet another evening of grip-n-grins out of the way – your presence was dearly missed. I really could have used your biting sense of humor to help me keep perspective of all those stuffed shirts, but what can I say, I understand the needs of the factory come first. (Conveyer belt in the taffy puller?!? I've got to hear the rest of this tale.)
My only wish was that I had such a convenient excuse as well to miss the event and actually read PTerry's latest (I know you're a speed reader and have already devoured it. Don't give me any spoilers – I'll kill you!)
I'll jostle things around so I can meet you for lunch at 11:30. Here or there?
I'm turning in. Join me later if you want for some 'Z's. Otherwise I'll see you then.
Missing you terribly,
Love Veronica
Yawning, she flipped off the computer and returned it to the coffee table – willfully ignoring the clutter and face down books in the way.
Finishing her glass of milk, she rinsed and left the glass in the sink before staggering toward her bedroom, the last of her energy running out of her like a sieve.
She flopped face down into the bed, eyes drifting close even as she groped for the feather duvet to pull over her weary body. Without another thought, Veronica was out.
-----
In the living room, under the carelessly placed laptop was a stack of unopened mail collected earlier that afternoon and just as quickly placed aside in the rush to get ready for the dinner.
Third down in the stack was an envelope of heavy papayrus paper. The handwritten script face down on the front of the envelope was innocuous in its plain font, but the name and address on the upper left corner was far from innocent in its intentions.
Mr. & Mrs. Robert Carmichael
Rosebriar Cottage, #4 Foxborough Lane
Cheltham, Gloucestershire, GL50 1PJ, England