Disclaimer: I am not one of the lucky copyright holders of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in its many forms. I don't own anything at all. But I do hope you find this just for fun, not for profit, perhaps elucidating, gentle parody, entertaining.
Thank you readers, and thank you dionne dance and Squirrela. Feedback is very much appreciated, and your reviews and comments are invaluable.
Willy had been humming a Disney tune since he'd returned to the Factory that was making Terence's hair stand on end. Disney was one of his least favorite things. Terence could stand it no longer. "Why are you humming that?" he demanded.
"Knew I'd get cha," was Willy's quick, pleased response, as stepping from the Great Glass Elevator, he led them down a short corridor. Disney was one of his least favorite things, too. "But in this case, it's where we're going."
Charlie didn't see the harm in asking. "We're going to a mine? In Disneyland?" It was a very recognizable tune.
Willy snorted as he wheeled to face Charlie. "My dear child, good heavens, NO, we are not going anywhere near there!" Oops! ...innocent questions. Way too much reaction for those. Willy hastened to soften his words by hurriedly adding, "We're going somewhere way better."
Terence, thinking Willy probably didn't mean to be so intense, held out his hand, and Charlie took it, giving it a little squeeze before letting go. Charlie didn't mind reassuring Terence, but he was a little surprised Terence didn't know Mr. Wonka could react strongly. You only had to taste the magical flavors of his candies to know that underneath it all, he was an intense, expressive person.
"Where are we going?" Terence asked. He had wondered since they'd all gotten in the Elevator, and Willy had pushed only one button, labeled 'Heigh Ho'.
"My office."
Terence was incredulous. "Your office is better than Disneyland?"
Charlie's thought — You have an office? — he kept to himself.
Willy made a dubious face. "Well, maybe not, but it is closer. It's right here." Willy had stopped in front of a pair of ten foot tall, arched, double mahogany doors, the top third emblazoned with the same intertwined 'W's found above the Factory gates. The 'W's, made of various shades of lighter inlaid woods, created a shadow effect, in an arch that matched the arch of the doors. The craftsmanship was superb.
Terence thought it very elaborate for something no one was going to see, until he realized the Factory had been designed and built during a time when Willy believed it would be seen, by all sorts of people, doing business with him. It hadn't worked out that way; but it was still magnificent.
Charlie's voice broke the unexpected moment of quiet. "I think a ride in the Great Glass Elevator beats any ride Disneyland might have."
Opening both doors as wide as they would go, Willy smiled appreciatively at the sentiment, ushering them into the room. The doors had only been a prelude to the grandeur of the space itself. The room was large, with the ceiling fifteen feet above them. The entire back wall was given over to floor to ceiling shelves, with almost every inch of these filled by thick, evenly graduated, leather-bound books. Over-sized volumes occupied the lower shelves, with the height of the volumes, and the shelves themselves, diminishing as they climbed. A tapered ladder, with rollers attached to a rail that ran across the length of the wall near the ceiling, allowed access to any volume, on any shelf.
On the wall opposite, centered, and occupying two-thirds of the area, was a floor to ceiling window made from squares of frosted glass. On closer inspection, some squares were more frosted than others, with the sizes varying to pick out the trademark Wonka 'W' in a mosaic, turned on its side and flowing upward, for almost the entire length of the window. On the far wall, to the left of the window, was an antique drafting table, with a matching stool.
A chocolate-brown leather sofa, with pillow top arms, and a gently curving back, was flanked by two matching arm chairs, all three pieces arranged around a low oval table, set back from, but centered on, the window. Low ottomans of the same leather sat in front of the chairs, and to Charlie, they could be seats, or steps, for the Oompa-Loompas; the table height was just right for them.
Mr. Wonka's desk, standing before the shelves, and facing the conversation area, didn't have a right-angle on it. Made of mahogany, and kidney-shaped, with an inset leather top in three sections, it was just large enough not to be dwarfed by the room, and had all the things you'd expect to see on an office desk, on it, except clutter.
Willy threw his great-coat on one of the arm chairs, having first retrieved the list from its pocket, the sunglasses following. "You can do the same," he said, and moved to a set of shelves, recessed into the near wall, behind a bar area, to the right of the window. There were two doors that matched the wall, each leading to a smaller room, on either side of the shelves.
"How do you get 'office' out of 'Heigh Ho'," asked Terence, following Willy's example, and throwing his coat on the chair. Charlie followed suit.
"Like this!" Willy had taken a pile of unspent Euros out of his frock coat pocket, which he dumped into a brass spittoon filled with them, on the middle shelf. "Heigh Ho Silver! And not a moment too soon! They were ruining the drape of this coat!"
Willy sounded too sincere about his last comment for Terence to laugh. He noticed the Euros spittoon sat between matching spittoons filled with US silver Dollars on one side, and British Pounds on the other. "Your bank?" Terence smirked.
"Personal ATM," Willy smugly replied. His candy filled cane lay on the shelf, and he swapped it with the black and gold walking stick, before heading to his desk.
"Spittoons?"
"A better use than the disgusting habit they were designed for." Willy propped the candy-cane handily at the corner of the desk, and took a seat in the high-backed, low armed, over-sized, chocolate-brown, leather office chair. "Don't you think they look like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? Pot of silver, in this case?"
Terence thought they did, and Charlie nodded in the affirmative for them both. Mr. Wonka's office was almost larger than his entire house.
Terence draped himself in the other arm-chair. The leather felt buttery, the chair like a cloud. "Willy."
"Terence."
"You could use paper money, or plastic, and avoid the damage to your coat."
"But then, no 'heigh ho silver', and genuine plastic? No way!" Willy frowned as he placed his top hat on the edge of the desk, and smoothed out the list.
"But what about the song?" asked Charlie, while thinking to himself that without the top hat, Mr. Wonka's haircut looked funnier than ever. But, by seeing the hat and the haircut separately, it dawned on Charlie they were meantto be seen together. The hair set off the top hat, and that made the top hat important.
Willy's eyes were sparkling as he leaned forward, smiling mischievously at Charlie. "Exactly, Charlie, what about the song? That's the main reason I labeled that button that way: 'Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to work we go.' This is the only place in the Factory where I feel like I'm working. I hate doing paperwork, and as you can see from the desk, Doris hates me doing paperwork, too." Willy included Terence, with a glance. "Doris oversees all the Administration functions of the Factory. She's the Eshle of Administration! She keeps as much paperwork away from me as she can, but some of it is unavoidable." Willy sat back. "But it's not all work." He pointed to the computer monitor. "I design things here, too, and I enjoy that."
Willy picked up the list, and burst into giggles immediately. Charlie smiled, too, because he knew what Mr. Wonka was reading. "Number two…" Willy read aloud, for Terence's benefit. "One of every candy you've perfected, but don't sell." Willy raised an eyebrow at Charlie.
"Grandpa Joe. He really liked the exotic candies he tried in the Chocolate Room, and he said you don't sell any of them."
"Number two ain't gonna happen." Willy was adamant, but he was also smiling. "Nothing leaves this Factory that isn't patented. Your Grandpa Joe is welcome to visit, with you, Charlie, if he'd like to have some of those." Willy returned to the list. "Number three… Dragonflies." Charlie started to explain, but before he could, Willy excitedly cut him off. "Wait, wait, don't tell me — Terence sorta already did, it's Grandma Georgina."
Charlie nodded. "Mum wanted everyone to have a say, and that's all she would say, so we put it down."
"Umm…" Willy's eyes had gotten dreamy, the list forgotten in his hand, as he stared at a point, five hundred miles beyond the frosted window. The minutes ticked by as he imagined dragonflies, with gooey centers, and gummy bodies, with spun sugar wings, and iridescent candy eyes, perched on a stained glass picture of a cattail, or water-lily. Dragonflies… the perfect three-D additions to the edible stained glass designs. What about other bugs?
Terence and Charlie exchanged glances as Willy sat, staring, and motionless.
"Earth to Willy," said Terence softly.
"Mr. Wonka?"
"What?" was the groggy response. Willy returned to the room, aware once again of his guests. "Thinking; back, now. Is there any actual food on this list?"
Charlie said nothing, but looked at the floor. Grandma Josephine had asked for 'nutritious vegetables'; it was the next thing on the list. Charlie was afraid Mr. Wonka might say 'cabbages', but he needn't have worried. Reading it, Mr. Wonka took one look at Charlie, and moved on. That was the last request on the list. Number four was a long paragraph written by Mrs. Bucket explaining that the food already sent put the Bucket food storing capabilities in an over fill situation, with the lack of an adequate freezer presently solved by mother nature's obligingly appropriate temperature, which, as unreliable as it was, wouldn't last beyond the season. Willy stared into space again, but the stare only went as far as the ceiling. A freezer… what about a refrigerator… how big could they be… what about electricity to run them? Practical details he hadn't thought about, and didn't have answers for.
Terence provided a welcome distraction. He had moved to the window and discovered some of the panes were clear. He could see they were above the roof where the Elevator had sat, earlier in the afternoon. "Isn't your office a bit far from the entrance?"
"Reception isn't. It looks like my office, but isn't." Willy saw no point in mentioning that he hadn't used it for years.
Charlie provided the next, even more welcome, distraction. He had moved to the shelves at the back of the room. "You have a lot of books, Mr. Wonka."
Willy got up from the desk, and moved to stand next to Charlie. "You think so?" He grinned slyly. "If you look carefully, you'll see they're not books." He pulled one out, read the title on the spine, and handed it to Charlie. "This one says Ebullire Bibere Elevatis. That means 'Fizzy Lifting Drink', as near as I can get it, in Latin. They didn't have a word for 'fizzy', so I had to use 'bubbly'."
Charlie saw the thing Mr. Wonka gave him wasn't a book. It was a sleeved metal file box, with an added leather spine. Charlie looked closely at Mr. Wonka. With a tilt of his head, Mr. Wonka nodded. Charlie pulled out the inner sleeve, and saw papers; lots of papers.
"Those are all my notes, the patent, and the recipe, for Fizzy Lifting Drinks," said Willy, with a smirk. "If you're a speed reader, with a photographic memory, I'm in big trouble."
Charlie replaced the sleeve, handing the file back to Mr. Wonka. "You're safe from me," he said, with a sigh. "I'm not any of those things."
"You don't have to be," said Willy quietly, replacing the file on the shelf.
Terence was leaning against the window, having finished picking his jaw up from off the floor. "You mean you just showed us where all your recipes are? This is them?"
Willy smiled gently. "They were here when you walked in, and not just the recipes. All the designs to my machines, and this Factory, are here as well." He surveyed the wall. "I'm kinda running outa room." Willy crossed back to his desk. "And no, I'm not worried. Charlie, take that file back out, will you?"
Charlie reached for the file. It won't budge, not even a whisker.
Willy was brusque, though he didn't mean it. "You can try if you like, Terence, but it won't do you any good, either. Unless of course, you can overcome 1500 psi, and I wouldn't put too much stock in that particular number being accurate."
Terence thought for only a moment. "Magnetic locks?"
Willy nodded. "Individually, to each other, and to the shelves."
"Electricity being the Achilles heel."
Willy laughed. "There's always something. Which is why I make my own, and have more than one source. But even so, there are other safe-guards." Willy was going to say 'it's actually harder to get out of this Factory, than it is to get into it', but looking back at Charlie, listening to the conversation, he decided that might sound creepy, and bit back the words.
"Which ones are the Factory?" Charlie asked, his eyes eagerly searching.
Willy pointed. "Oversized, bottom shelves."
"And the machines?"
"Interspersed." Charlie's questions pleased Willy. Charlie was taking an interest, and right away.
Terence didn't move from where he was. He appreciated the demonstration; misdirection is easier if you know the right direction, and for the second time that day, he said, "I'm flattered," but this time, he added a bow, because he really was, very flattered.
Smirking, and happy, Willy returned the bow with one of his own, his perfect teeth gleaming, and plopping back down in his office chair, he felt so good, he made a mistake. He asked Charlie if Charlie would like to learn how to make candy recipes of his own.
Charlie's answer was music to Willy's ears, until the first 'but'. At that 'but' — the music stopped. Terence, standing by the window, saw all of it. Charlie, standing by the files, saw none of it. If he had, he'd have stopped talking.
With every politely phrased reason it wasn't a good idea Charlie expressed, Willy, listening to what amounted to psychic paper cuts, curled further into his chair. What, Charlie asked, did Charlie know about flavors? Charlie pointed out he lived on cabbage. Willy brought his feet up, his knees at his chin. How, Charlie asked, could he know if he had any talent for making recipes? Willy's arms encircled his legs, just below his knees. Getting water to boil, the entire extent of his skills, Charlie sighed, is not much of an indicator. Willy's hands tightened on his elbows. Charlie unknowingly saved the worst for last — not wanting to disappoint someone he held in such high regard — by starting a thing at which he might prove no good, and couldn't finish. Willy buried his head in his knees, his eyes closed. The disappointment Willy felt, by Charlie's not wanting to disappoint him, was dreadful, and mockingly ironic.
Charlie's voice trailed off, his reasons trickling to an end. Willy knew all about the infamous mixed signal 'yes, but…', but he also knew there is really no such thing as a mixed signal; they were only hooks, or illusions. Everything that is not a 'yes' is a 'no'. Charlie had said 'no', as politely as he could. The black stones that defined the borders of the labyrinth's path surfaced in Willy's mind. To his regret, in his zeal, he had overstepped them, rushing the question, and it was a set back. Like broken rigging littering a deck — the black lines slowing you down, tripping you up, entangling you — he must clear aside the mistake. He was sure he could do it, but at this exact moment, the 'how' escaped him.
Willy held the comforting hug, his own hug, until he heard Charlie moving. Quickly, Willy unfolded himself, and reaching for his hat, perched on the side of the desk, with utmost calm, he put it on. Willy took full responsibility for this turn of events. Charlie, like Terence, had done nothing but answer him honestly, and everything Charlie had said was true. As Charlie moved to the side of the desk, Willy, sitting properly, his hands folded in front of him, stared at his desk top, hoping it would reveal the way forward.
It didn't, and in the silence, Terence thought sadly to himself that Willy had accomplished something he had set out to do. He had made it possible for Charlie to turn him down, and Charlie had. What do you say to someone who gets the wish they never wanted? Terence was at a loss to know.
Willy broke the silence. It wasn't fair to Charlie to let him feel any worse than he might already feel by saying nothing. Deferring the problem till later was the answer for now. "I shouldn't have asked you that Charlie," Willy said, still staring at the desk top. "Forget I brought it up, 'kay?"
Charlie didn't reply. Instead, he picked up the cane with the colorful candy in it, that stood near him, leaning against the corner of the desk. It was the one Charlie had seen Mr. Wonka carry the other times he had seen him. He held it until Mr. Wonka looked at him, and that took awhile. When he did, Charlie solemnly handed him the cane.
Willy solemnly took it, and laying the cane across the desk, he sat back, but his eyes never left it. Nerds filled the cane, one of his first candy ideas. It was enticing. Leaning forward, Willy rolled the cane back and forth beneath his hand. It had spiraling ridges that made a rhythmic noise against the leather desk top, but even better was when the ridges caught the light. Willy held the cane up, rotating it, pleased when he had the angle right, and the cane flashed. He smiled at Charlie's cleverness. The flash of light! The perfect antidote for the darkness of disappointment. Willy swiveled his chair to face Charlie, and looked into his eyes. Very slowly, to say thank you, he lowered the cane to Charlie's left shoulder, looking for all the world like he was knighting him, but having placed it there, Willy left it there, the cane resting lightly in his hand, and on Charlie's shoulder.
Terence watched the tableaux. The two were wordless for minutes, but Terence could tell they were communicating volumes to each other. After a bit, Charlie smiled, and brought his left hand up to rest on the cane at his shoulder. Willy returned the smile, and withdrew the cane.
"Terence," Willy said, turning his chair back to face the window and Terence, "I thought I could do more today, but you can put a fork in me, I'm done. Cooked. Toast. You name it. Would you please see that Charlie gets home?"
Terence laughed, relieved. The past three days' activity would exhaust anyone, but especially Willy, who wasn't used, at all, to people. "Glad to."
"Charlie, I have a note to write to your…" Willy, anticipating their reaction, held up a hand to stave off the volunteerism with the word, "let's all learn some latin, mater, she's brought up some logistical points that need addressing."
While Willy wrote, Charlie wandered over to the drafting table positioned along the far wall to the left of the window. Terence joined him. "What's this Mr. Wonka?"
Willy glanced up, and back down, continuing to write. "Drafting table," was his curt response. But when he finished writing, and having put the note in an envelope, Willy joined them, running his gloved hand over the drafting table's surface, with the same care he lavished on the Great Glass Elevator.
Terence concluded it must be one of Willy's prized possessions. Willy's next comment made him certain of it.
"I've had this since forever." Willy's voice was dreamy. "I designed the Factory on it."
Charlie stretched out his hand to touch it, too. The Factory! Wow!
Willy laughed. "I use CAD now. Faster, easier, but not the same flavor, eh?" He handed the envelope to Charlie.
"I'll see my mater gets this. Thanks, Mr. Wonka," said Charlie, taking it.
Willy laughed again, and made for the door, with Charlie and Terence in tow.
Back in the Great Glass Elevator, Willy pushed a button labeled 'Sartre'. Terence wasn't going to ask, but he spent the time traveling dredging up what he remembered about Jean-Paul Sartre. Very little came to mind, but he did remember a play called No Exit.
The Elevator came to a stop in the antechamber at the Factory's main entrance. Stepping into the Main Hall, Terence marveled at the seemingly endless corridor! Charlie chuckled because he knew it was all an illusion, and he was glad to know he wasn't the only one fooled by it. Willy smiled too; maybe there was time to show Terence the Chocolate Room, but no, he, Willy, was tired, and making mistakes, and getting cranky. The Chocolate Room was best left for another day. Instead he said, "Because, if it's no exit, because you're coming in, then it's an entrance, and if it's no entrance, because you're going out, then it's an exit! It works no matter what you're doing."
"How did you know I was wondering about that?" asked Terence, with a chuckle.
"Because, my dear Terence, sometimes you think as loudly as cogs screaming for grease." Willy's smile was ear to ear, as he headed back to the Elevator. The day was going to end nicely. And then it didn't.
"Come on, Terence," said Charlie.
Willy spun on his heel. "WAIT!"
Charlie and Terence froze for an instant at the unexpectedness of the command, before turning back curiously.
Willy was speaking softly now, and calmly. "Charlie. You just called Terence 'Terence', and you know his name is Mr. James."
Charlie nodded. "That's what we were talking about on the hill, Mr. Wonka."
Mr. Wonka winced.
"Terence was explaining that his names are both first names, so I can call him Terence, and it's okay."
Willy's voice was soft, and calm, and silky now. "Do you mean to say, Terence, that you were talking about names? On the hill? While I was waiting? In No Man's Land? With people? Lurking? On the side street?"
Terence nodded.
Willy considered. "Then Charlie. You should be calling Terence 'James'."
Charlie coughed. "We talked about that, too. My Mum didn't say anything during dinner, so 'Terence' is okay."
"Your Mum." Willy had said the word.
Charlie tried for a compromise. "I'm sure she'd let me call you 'Wonka'."
Willy's eyes went glassy as he thought about that. 'Mr. Wonka' was only one letter different from 'Dr. Wonka', but it was nine degrees of separation. 'Wonka' was identical, and that would never do. It was the 'W' Willy made famous, and for Willy, if not for the rest of the world, that 'W' stood for his first name. He shook his head. This was silly, and Willy knew it, but it was a struggle to end it, until the image of a rose floated into his consciousness… by any other name, it would smell as sweet. Isn't that what Shakespeare said? Who could argue with him?
As quickly as the hostility had arisen, Willy felt it abate. "No, Charlie, Mr. Wonka is fine." He pointed to Charlie for a second with the top of his cane, to show he meant it both ways. He was too far away to touch Charlie with it. He turned to Terence. "Congratulations, my dear fellow, well done; if anything, I'm jealous." Willy walked back to the Elevator. "Goodnight, then, everyone, and everyone, give everyone my regards."
Terence felt uneasy, watching him go. Willy was too cheery, after being too upset. He wanted to check. "See you later, alligator," he called.
Willy stopped, still, not turning. But after a minute, he did turn. "In a while, crocodile," he said quietly. "…in a while."