As was becoming their habit, Charlie met Mr. Wonka every morning at one of the entrances to the Great Glass Elevator. Charlie never failed to be delighted to see Mr. Wonka arrive. It was like looking at a picture from a book come to life, only more vibrant. Today was no exception. The candy-maker came striding up to Charlie.
"Morning, Charlie! Ready to go shear some candy-floss sheep or test flavors or something? Why are you looking at me like that? Is there pink fur on me already?" He glanced down at himself.
"Mr. Wonka, sir? Might I --?" Still so early in their partnership, Charlie felt uneasy about asking favors of the man who'd already given so much.
"What, Charlie?" Wonka prompted.
"Might I try on your hat?" he asked expectantly.
Wonka merely smiled. "Why?"
Charlie met Mr. Wonka's gaze. "Well, before I met you I'd always imagined you in a top hat--and it turns out I was right! It's as if I knew you without ever having seen you. The hat's just so 'you,' isn't it?"
"I suppose so," Wonka said, lifting his hat off with one hand and smoothing his hair with the other. "Turn around," he told Charlie, nodding toward the Great Glass Elevator. In contrast to the brightly-lit corridor, the elevator shaft was dark. The glass provided a reflective surface on which to mirror them.
Willy Wonka stood close behind Charlie and lowered the hat onto the boy's head. Since he was considerably smaller than Wonka, the hat popped down past Charlie's eyes, coming to rest against the bridge of his nose. Several attempts to prop it up or balance it on the boy's bent-down ears all proved fruitless. Charlie wasn't fussed. He posed before his reflection, admiring himself from all angles, trying out a range of expressions.
Willy Wonka stepped back to watch Charlie, sharp eyes darting over the boy. Here was a child being a child. To Wonka it was far less easy to remain childlike but still be carefree. The man was content to indulge the boy in this flattering attention.
He wriggled first one shoulder, then the other, out of his finely-tailored jacket. It slid down his arms behind him.
Considering his limited vision, Charlie didn't notice Wonka approach and hang his jacket upon Charlie's shoulders. It felt like a hug, enveloping him in snugness.
Charlie pulled in his arms, sliding them easily through the lined sleeves. He pushed up his hat with an enclosed wrist and twisted to look up at Mr. Wonka.
"There!" said Wonka. "Can't wear a top hat without tails!" He stood behind the boy with his hands on Charlie's narrow shoulders, smoothing down the velvet.
The warmth of Wonka's body lingered in the coat, much to Charlie's delight. He felt as if Wonka was still present and he'd climbed into a part of him.
Charlie's clothes were no longer shabby, but he'd never worn fabric such a pleasure to the touch. He made an attempt to turn back the cuffs so as to free his hands, but Wonka reached out in a grabbing motion, then halted, fingers flexing helplessly in mid-air. "Um, no, just...push them up a bit...there!" No need to ruin the velvet.
Though Willy Wonka was slender, the jacket fitted quite differently on Charlie. The shoulders drooped, the tail nearly touched the floor. Charlie tucked the excess fabric around him, arm pressed to his waist, and spun around on his heel. He was Mr. Wonka, strolling along the street in front of the factory. Nearly every person he passed smiled or waved a greeting. Everyone loved him. Everyone thought he was a genius. Everyone thought he was absolutely wonderful.
Wonka smiled benevolently at the reflection of his young protegé. His gaze shifted over to the boy himself. The chocolatier beamed enthusiastically, but with an inscrutible mad glimmer that the boy would never notice.
"How do I look?" Charlie asked, striking a pose.
"Never better," Wonka replied softly, smiling. "But," he added, "it's not really 'you,' though, is it?"
Charlie hadn't considered this, and was momentarily disappointed that Mr. Wonka had misunderstood. He had no intention of copying his look...or to usurp anything that belonged to Mr. Wonka. There was plenty of time to grow up and become his own man. For the moment he was content to just go on being a kid. But what more could he ask for in terms of guidance than Willy Wonka as a mentor?
"I suppose they're not me," Charlie said. But I wanted to know what it feels like to be you.
"We'll find you your own style. The Oompa-Loompas are excellent tailors! They'll make you some fancy suits for special occasions."
"Like when we go somewhere outside the factory?"
Wonka hesitated, appearing suddenly anxious. "Outside? But why? We've got everything we need right here, haven't we?"
Charlie smiled patiently. Just because he was with Wonka now, it wouldn't necessarily mean the candy maker would be quick to change his habits. But one day we'll be strolling down the street together.
So as not to disappoint Charlie, Wonka made a concession of his own. "Hey! I know what we can do right now, though! Let's go show your family!"
He grabbed Charlie by the arm, yanking him into the elevator.
"You will forgive me though, Charlie, if I do not wish to dress up as you!" Wonka remarked playfully. He pushed a button.
Charlie laughed, not a bit offended. He could no more imagine Mr. Wonka in a plaid shirt and corduroy trousers than he could see him dressed as an Oompa-Loompa!
The elevator sped off toward the Bucket house. In his head Charlie silently composed a theme song for himself.