The shopkeeper was right about the crowds. It was slow going working our way through them. Once we left the shop, we should have taken a side street. But going to the factory and actually being let in was so exciting no one thought of that. The Golden Ticket would make an impression, but we didn't want to show it, because then we'd never get through.

Most folks made way when they saw how old Grandpa Joe was, so eventually, keeping to the edge, we did make it up to the semi-circle of police. They kept the crowd away from the gates: far away. I could see that three of the others were already there, lined up in front. It was the ones who had come the farthest: Mike Teavee and his father; Violet Beauregarde and her mother; and Augustus Gloop and his mother, in that order.

I showed the policeman nearest me the corner of my Golden Ticket, and he took it from my hand. He'd been about to hold it up, to look at it, but the crowd began to move like a wave, our way, and he thought better of it. He gave me back my ticket, and let me and Grandpa Joe through. My parents had to deal with the people's interest when they realized I was the last ticket winner, but working their way towards the middle, they seemed to be enjoying it. The press would get their story now, and I was glad it would be my parents telling it.

Grandpa Joe and I took our place next to the Gloops. Just then, the crowd came to life as a shiny, black, stretch limousine, coming from the right on the street in front of the factory, worked its way towards the ring of police. People had to get out of the way, or they'd be run over. It had to be Veruca Salt. I smiled to myself. I knew who all of them were. Did it bother them they had no idea who I was? Did it make them angry?

It was Veruca and her father, and they got out of the limousine like they were royalty, Veruca waving her Golden Ticket, but as near to the police line as she was, they were safe from the crowd, and they soon stood next to me and Grandpa Joe. The limousine backed away as though it had never been there.

Mr. Salt was as tall in person as he was on television, and their clothes were expensive. Veruca was wearing a silver fur jacket, and its being fur reminded me of all those dead animals at their house. She had a purse slung across her chest, and I wondered if Mr. Wonka had a gift shop in his factory. I didn't see why he would, or why Veruca thought she needed a purse today, but, whatever; maybe she thought she might get bored and need cab fare if she left early.

Grandpa Joe and I exchanged glances, thinking about nothing but what was going to come next, now that we were all here. All we needed was for ten o'clock to roll around. I shivered, but for once it wasn't from being cold.

Happy to wait, we looked over our shoulders at Mum and Dad. They had a good view, right next to the police, and now that it was almost ten o'clock, people were leaving them alone. They waved when they saw me look, and Mum blew me a kiss. It was like she thought we were leaving on a trip, and she was telling us bon voyage … That was weird. This was just a tour, and not even a whole day, really, when you consider ten o'clock is pretty late in the morning. Mr. Wonka must keep banker's hours.

We winners couldn't resist looking each other over as we stood in our line, but no one was saying anything. The smacking of Violet's gum and crunching of Augustus' chocolate bar were the only sounds. That is, until Veruca spoke up.

"Daddy, I want to go in!"

"It's nine fifty-nine, sweetheart."

Mr. Salt sounded breathy, and afraid.

"Make time go faster," Veruca demanded, as if making time go faster were something Mr. Salt could do. I could see why Mr. Salt was afraid. If you ask me, acting the way Veruca does makes time go slower. As long as the silence was broken, I thought I'd give the winners near me the chance to benefit from my knowledge—if they wanted to ask me—because, really, when you think about it, I had the advantage over them. So I asked my Grandpa Joe if he thought Mr. Wonka would recognize him.

"Hard to say; it's been years."

Not a nibble: Augustus kept chomping away at his chocolate bar, and Veruca hadn't listened, either.

So, okay; the advantage I had over these people was going to stay mine. They were in front of the factory for the first time, and whatever they thought about it, it was the first time they were seeing it in real life. It had to have an effect on them. How big it is; how beautiful it is, with its stacks so high in the sky, and the details on them that make them so pretty. They weren't used to it. I'd seen this factory every day of my life. I knew how grand it was; I was used to it. Better than that, my Grandpa Joe knew—Knew! Can you believe it?—Willy Wonka, and what could be better than that? But they hadn't listened, or didn't care, and if they didn't care, I didn't care. That was the end of my trying to share with them.

Further down the line, I heard Mrs. Beauregarde tell Violet to keep her eyes on the prize. Yup; it was all about the competition for those two, and not the tour. Mike Teavee and his dad stayed quiet. A machine whirred, and the gates began to open.

"Please enter!" said a voice over a loudspeaker.

We did, in a rush, Augustus Gloop and his mother in the early lead, but after the initial bolt though the gates, we got a little chicken-hearted, and decided it might be a good idea to slow down, and reform into the straight line, just inside the gates. We did. Then came the voice over the loud speaker again.

"Come forward!"

The voice sounded impatient, like he thought we'd have done that without being told. I guess us running willy-nilly up to the doors would have been a-okay with him. As we came forward, keeping in our line, he welcomed us to the factory, in a friendlier way, and ended with a question: "And who am I?"

Willy Wonka, I thought. Who else would you be? But just then, the strangest thing happened. None of the three doors opened, and Willy Wonka didn't come out. Instead, the front of the building parted, like two jig-saw puzzle pieces being pulled apart, with all three doors going with them. Giant, red, fringed curtains, each with the Wonka 'W' in golden yellow in the center at the bottom came into view. It was so marvelously unexpected, and I smiled in delight, and in the next minute I felt so sad. The curtains pulled apart and out of the way, the way the wall had done, and now we saw a stage. I felt sadder still. My heart cried.

I never knew there was a stage here, because I'd never seen it this way, but it had been here all the time, and Willy Wonka had known about it, all along. The size of the courtyard made better sense now. When he built his factory, Mr. Wonka must have planned to stage entertainments here, with the courtyard for the audience to see them from. But he never had. The spies had changed that future, and made a sadder future for all of us. Did it make Mr. Wonka sad that he'd never been able to put on the shows he'd designed this stage for?

Animated puppets on revolving colorful stands began to sing, in really high-pitched voices, and I wondered if they could make garage doors open and close with voices pitched like that. It was a song about Willy Wonka, and it was like an introduction. 'Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka, he's the one that you're about to meet…' The puppets were wearing different outfits, like the ones you would see being worn in a candy shop by the employees, including cooks and such. This display must be made by the workers!

I looked up at my Grandpa Joe, and he looked down at me, but he squeezed my hand, as if this were nothing he wouldn't have expected. Okay. I went back to watching as a throne came up out of a trapdoor in the floor. This was one elaborate stage! The chair was definitely a throne, all in red velvet and gold. Mr. Wonka must like red and gold. He used enough of it. The throne was well made, and fancy looking. His workers must like Mr. Wonka, but seeing it, my breath caught in my throat. There was no one sitting on it. I reached for my Grandpa Joe's hand. Maybe Mr. Wonka had decided against the tour, after all.

Just then, sparklers started going off, and then firecrackers, and it was all very glittery, but then, there were pops, and fire, and the puppets caught fire, and the machinery ran down, and some of the puppets melted. The whole thing stopped. A puppet's eye fell out. It was gross.

Then I heard laughter. It was breathy, and rapid, and at first I thought it was Mr. Salt, because it came from that way, but it was this funny little man in a shiny black top hat, with dark, goggle style sunglasses, and gloves, and a walking-stick, and a great, warm coat, and his face was as pale as the snow.

"Wasn't that magnificent?" he was saying. "I was worried it was getting a little dodgy in the middle part, but that finale! Wow!"

Yes, wow, that finale. It wasn't bothering this man, he was taking it in stride, as if things like this happened all the time. He was striding up the steps now, away from Mr. Salt's side, where he'd been standing, but he wasn't even looking at the fires. He was looking at us, as if he couldn't believe we'd actually come, but was thrilled we had. Violet couldn't stand not knowing.

"Who are you?" she asked, as if without a Golden Ticket of his own, he had no business being there.

"He's Willy Wonka," said my Grandpa Joe.

"Really," I said, before I could think about it. I thought he'd look magical, or have a glow about him that geniuses only have, but he looked like anybody would, wearing clothes like that. I also thought he'd be taller, but when you took into account that he had on boots with three inch heels, he was pretty short. And he had a funny haircut. It was the same haircut Violet had. We all stood there. It got silent while he gave the situation some thought. Then he said this:

"Good morning, Starshine. The Earth says hello!"

My eyes got merry. I smiled. I wriggled in my coat. Grandma Georgina would love this man! That's just what she would have said! But this crowd wasn't her. They stared. Mr. Wonka pulled out a stack of those cards game show announcers use.

"Dear guests, greetings. Welcome to the Factory. I shake you warmly by the hand…

He started to extend his hand towards us, but had serious second thoughts, and curled his fingers back on themselves as if he'd been about to touch a hot stove.

"…My name is Willy Wonka."

That didn't break much ice, either. I changed my daydream. Seeing what he'd done, I don't think he'd take me by the hand. Veruca pointed at the throne.

"Then shouldn't you be up there?"

Mr. Wonka set his jaw, and I couldn't see them, but I know he narrowed his eyes, and he changed his voice, and I knew he'd been bullied in his life.

"Well, I couldn't very well watch the show from up there now, could I, little girl."

Ha! My daydream was right! He'd have called me 'little boy'! I felt glad, and wiggled my toes. No one would see that. My Grandpa Joe tried to lessen the mounting tension.

"Mr. Wonka, I don't know if you remember me, but I used to work here in the Factory."

Saying it as plain as that oughta get the other's attention! It didn't seem to, but it sure got Mr. Wonka's. Mr. Wonka made a little pivot to face my Grandpa Joe, and all business, without missing a beat, his voice changed again, and this time it was full of fury, but quiet.

"Were you one of those despicable spies who every day tried to steal my life's work, and sell it to those parasitic copy-cat, candy-making cads?"

That was a sentence that proved he was a man who didn't need cue cards. I wondered why he had them.

"No, sir!" assured my Grandpa Joe.

"Then wonderful, welcome back!"

He turned his back on us then, and made to enter the factory, telling us to get a move on, there was lots to see. Walking between the fires didn't seem to bother him, and he wasn't going to bother helping us navigate them, either; we were on our own. He hadn't bothered to look at our tickets, but maybe he figured if we'd gotten this far, we had them, so he didn't care. It made me think I could keep mine, and that made me happy.

Augustus waddled behind him, and said his first words. His German accent was pretty thick.

"Don't you want to know our names?"

Mr. Wonka's answer floated back to us like an autumn leaf on the wind. "Can't imagine how it would matter."

I thought about that. Trees don't care about their leaves in autumn. They lose them. I was beginning to think Mr. Wonka was in the Teavee/Beauregarde camp. This wasn't about making new friends for him. He didn't care about that. New friends weren't part of the plan.

My Grandpa Joe and I picked our way through the fires, both of us wondering when someone was going to put them out. It wasn't going to be Mr. Wonka. He didn't care.

Are these my characters? They are not. Is this purely for entertainment? It is.
Thanks for reading.
Have my reviewers made my day? They have, and I thank them, one and all.
As it ever is in my stories, direct quotes from the 2005 movie are in italics.