Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I probably don't own it.
Authors note This is my first Wonka fic. Not much to talk about, I just thought the idea would be interesting, Pretty tame stuff so far...I have more..er..mature ideas for later fics in mind.
Lauren was standing at the front gate of the Wonka factory, clutching her notebook nervously. She had followed his instructions exactly ; dress in dark fabric, bring only a notebook and pencils, be alone and be waiting in front of the gate at exactly 9:47 p.m. on that Sunday evening. She looked at her watch.
9:43 p.m.
No one was out on this night. It was exceptionally cool, considering that it was early August. She surveyed the street, tapping her right foot nervously. Only one car. Her own, parked a block or so down. She didn't understand why this area was so dead or why he'd asked her to come under such odd stipulations. Her watch read 9:45.
Lauren was a sophmore at a local college. She was studying to be a journalist, something she had always enjoyed since her first brush with it back in elementary school. She had written her very first article about a new kind of candy by Mr.Wonka. She was so proud of it, she kept a copy of the school magazine in a frame in her room. But now she was standing alone on the street, her journalistic intergrity waning. She tucked a loose strand of her curly brown hiar behind her ear and scratched her nose, thinking about how she had got to this point.
A week earler she had been sitting in her English professor's office.
"Stop by after my afternoon class," Prof. White had said. "I have something very important for you."
When Professor White arrived, he simply handed her a large lilac envelope. It was addressed to her in curly black script.
"Don't open it here. Do it at home. Alone. Don't let any other soul even know you have that."
She was perplexed but followed his request. She opened the envelop in her small studio apartment while sitting at the tiny dining table. Her eyes moved quickly, reading the handwritten letter. She stopped and started over, screwing up her eyes to make sure she wasn't imagining the words.
It was from Mr.Wonka, the world famous candy maker. She knew of him, of course. His factory was located in her town. She had grown up listening to all the stories (which were more like myths to her) about the candyman. The most famous quip about the place: "Nobody ever goes in. Nobody ever comes out."
But she sat there,in stunned silence, holding in her hand a personal request from Wonka himself to come to the factory.
"I can't go into the details of the nature of this visit," he had written.,"but I promise it'll be a very wonderful,exciting and, I daresay, educational experience."
She re-read the last line.
"P.S. Tear the letter up once you've memorized it's important parts. Place the bits in your mouth. Trust me on this."
She bit her lip. She tore a tiny piece from the corner and slowly stuck it on her tongue. It dissolved quickly, leaving a taste of cotton candy on her palate.
Now, on that Sunday evening, she watched as a small amounts of smoke escaped the tall pillars of the factory. Her eyes wondered to her watch again. 9:46. No sign of any living creature. She frowned. The thought that this was some elbaorate prank sprung in her mind. What were the odds of her being tapped as the first person to ever enter the factory?
"Astronomical," she said to herself. But at that moment, the lock clikced and the gate slowly opened. She peered into the increasing darkness but saw no one.
9:47 on the dot.
She slowly made her way through the opening in the gate and up the stone walkway. The gate sealed back with a loud thud. She straightened her skirt out of nervous habit and approached the tall oak door. Her hand reached out to knock, but it opened before she had a chance to touch it.
"Hello?" she called softly, entering the hall with such caution you would have thought you she was walking through a field of mines. The door shut and locked.
"Mr.Wonka?" she called out once more. The hallway was long and dimly lit and she found her way into a sort of "welcome" area. There were odd little coat hangers that looked like gloved hands. One side of the wall was covered by a large heavy yellow drape. It was eerily silent and very chilly inside the room. She cleared her throat and rubbed her arms to warm up.
"Did you like the letter?" a man's voice asked. Lauren turned around quickly and gasped.
He was a tall man, wearing dark slacks, a deep purple vest and a long purple jacket. She noticed a very elegant "W" on the collar of his shirt as she sized him up. He was fair skinned, with a look that hinted he hadn't seen the soon properly in a long while. His eyes were big and bright and seemed to glow even under the shadow from the brim of his velvet top hat. His hair was brown and hung just below his ears. The style was unique, Lauren hadn't seen many men with hair like that, but it was straight and shiny and Lauren found herself thinking about how good it must smell. He indeed was a very handsome man.
He smiled at her, a very warm, almost child-like smile.His teeth were flawless, straight and blindingly white. Lauren was studying his lips, which looked smooth and soft. "So this Willy Wonka," she thought."Cute. I wonder how old he is..."
"Did you like the letter?" he asked once more, leaning on the long, thin cane he was holding.
"What? Oh, yes..the letter," she said, finally getting her brain and voice box to function together.
He smiled. "One of my latest creations. I had the thought of school children on the brain with that one," he said, pointing to his head. "Being able to write secret notes then get rid of the evidence by eating it. Failsafe way to keep your secrets secret. Was the flavor alright?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Cotton Candy. It tasted like the real thing."
"Wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Oh forgive me. I didn't even introduce myself. I'm Willy Wonka." He extended his gloved hand.
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Lauren," she said as she shook his hand. The leather was cool on her sweaty palm.
"Well I certainly hoped you were. Fancy someone else walking right into my factory at such a random time of night," he said, adjusting his sleeve. "Now, lets get down to business. Before we go any further, would you object to signing a contract?"
She stared at him. "Well, that depends on what I'd be signing over..."
"Ah, nothing you can't live without, rest assured," he said, pulling a rope that hung next to the drape. It rose to show a giant contract posted on the wall. "All legal. Bascially it states that you won't devulge any secrets about what you are about to see unless pre-approved by Your's Truely. No more No less."
She began to read. The words got smaller and smaller as the contract went down. "Should I be concerned that the bottom is un-readable?"
He laughed. "No, no my dear. I promise it's nothing but large,complicated legal and technical jargon."
She thought for a moment. i "Well, this is a once-in-a-lifetime experience..." </i He handed her a long red feathered quill. She signed her name.
"Excellent," he said as she handed the quill back to him. "Now, if you'd follow me please..."
He lead her down a long hallway covered in hideous, fruit-patterned wallpaper. He stopped suddenly and turned to her. "This is very specail. Lickable wallpaper. You can try it if you'd like."
She hesitated at first but his excited expression seemed to say that his heart would break if she didn't. She tried the orange. To her surprise, it tasted real.
"Isn't that great? We haven't marketed it yet. I'm still unsure who the big buyers would be."
"I'd say daycares. Or nurseries. Kids today are always licking and eating god-knows-what. At least this way its non-toxic and it wouldn't taste awful," she shrugged. He beemed at her.
They entered a very cozy room full of odd knick-knacks. There was a giant green velvet couch and 2 plush roral purple chairs at either end. The room smelled of strawberries.
"Please, have a seat," he said, offering her a bowl full of colorful candy. She sat on the end of the squishy couch. Mr.Wonka took the chair closest to her.
"Um, Mr. Wonka," she began.
"Stop right there," he said, pulling out a tiny flute. He played a short whimsical tune and a short, very odd looking man entered the room, carrying 2 large mugs. Lauren couldn't take her eyes off of him, and even as he left the room, her gaze was still fixed upon the door. Willy was watching her closely. "Oompa Loopmas. They are workers in my factory. Lovely race of people...Root Beer Float?" He offered her a mug. She took it smiling.
"My favorite," she said, sipping.
"I thought it might be," he said, smiling. It was almost hypnotic, his smile."So, I assume you are eager to learn why I've asked you to come..."
"Oh, very much so. I have to admit, I almost didn't believe it," she said, taking another drink. There was a bit of foam on her top lip that she was unaware of. "That was until I ate the letter. Only Wonka himself could think of that."
He pulled a kerchief from his pocket. He grinned as he leaned over and whiped the foam away. She felt embarassed then, and her cheeks turned red. "No need for blushing dear. Happens to the best of us," he said, tucking the cloth back in his pocket. "Now then. I've asked you to come here to write an article. An article that I daresay will skyrocket your journalistic career."
She gawked at him, not quite understanding. "But I'm just a college student. A sophmore. I haven't even began my career..."
"Well, no better time to start like the present," he said, sitting back in the chair, crossing his legs. "I am having a contest. One that will make the lives of 5 lucky people forever sweeter. Each will get a personal tour of the factory along with a lifetime supply of chocolate."
She shifted in her seat. "And you want me to break the story?"
"Precisely."
"Why me?"
"What an excellent question," he said, grinning. But he didn't answer her. He just sat there grinning like the cheshire cat. He knew exactly why he's picked her, but he wasn't about to expose that secret. She sensed this.
"Well alright, if you don't want to tell me," she said, tightening the ponytail at the back of her neck.
"You'll have that anwser before you leave the factory. Now, this contest... I'm going to send out 5 golden tickets, each hidden in the wrapping of my Wonka bars."
She was gazing into his eyes, aware of his every move as he spoke.
"I believe you might want to write that bit of information down..."
She snapped out of it. "Right." She scribbled in her notebook. "Um, is this a local contest, or.."
"International. I don't think it would be fair to limit the possibility of winning to a certain group of people."
She took more notes. "Is there anything else I should know?"
He leaned forward, getting very close to her face. She tensed up, not knowing what to expect next. "I want everyone to understand exactly what they are getting as a reward. I couldn't possibly expect you to be able to convey that by me just explaining it. No, not at all. I have to show you. Grab your notebook," he said, taking her by the hand. Her stomach lurched.
He was humming a happy tune as he lead her by the hand to a small door. "Now, I'm going to give you a small tour, although I'm sure you inferred that," he explained, playing a tune on the musical lock. "As par the contract, you are not allowed to tell anyone what you are about to see."
"But if I can't do that, how can I tell the public how awesome the prize is?"
He cupped her round face in his hands. His breath smelled of apples. "I have complete faith that you will be able to enlighten everyone without giving away any details." He turned back to the door, leaving Lauren fazed by the sudden close contact.
Her jaw dropped when the door opened. The area was large and ful of all kinds of magnificent candy. The first thing that popped out to her was the stream, complete with a waterfull.
"Yes, that's chocolate," he said standing behind her. "The waterfall is how it's mixed. One of a kind...at least I think."
Lauren walked the paths slowly, taking in every detail in everyway her five senses would let her. Willy walked next to her, delighted to see her reactions.
"Go ahead and have a taste. Almost all of it is edible."
She frowned. "I'm afraid I can't. Diabetic."
He looked hurt at first but then cheesed big. "Well, how about this then," he said, searching through a candy tree. "Where is it..let's see. Ah, here we go." He handed her a pretty pink candy flower. "Sugar-free but still sweet."
She pulled off a petal and placed it on her tongue. "That's very good," she said, her voice shaking. She was nervous but she didn't know why. "Thank you."
He tipped his hat and continued down the path, a noticable spring in his step.
"Mr. Wonka," Lauren began.
"Please, call me Willy."
"Um..alright... Willy . Are you always in this good of mood?"
He stopped and surveyed her. "I am human, young lass. I have up times and down times like everyone else. Why, just last week I found myself in a deep depression to learn that one of my workers had gotten hurt. He's fine now, of course, but the thought that his injuries were on my behalf upset me. But now, at this moment Iam happy. I'm sure you realize you are the only person to see the interior of my factory."
"It crossed my mind," she lied.
"Well, being able to share my creations, my work and dreams and essentially my life with someone aside from myself and my workers lifts my heart."
She thought for a moment. "Then why don't you just open the factory to the public?"
He swung his cane to the other side. "You are gonna be a great journalist. I can tell by the questions you ask."
Silence. She smiled a feeble smile. "Let me guess, I'll know the answer before this evening is over."
He tapped the side of his nose and pointed at her before continuing along the path.
"What an interesting character," she thought to herself.
"Willy," she began. He turned to her. "Um, I hope you don't mind me asking, but how old are you?"
He placed a hand on his hip. "Age is something that people put too much emphasis on. It's not about how old you are, but how old you feel. How old you act. The age that you dream."
She huffed. "Well, in that case I'm 70..." she said under her breath. He heard this and walked quickly up to her.
"My dear girl, feeling like your 70 years old is something you should re-evaluate. An actual 70 year old shouldn't even feel like they are 70," he said softly, looking down at her. She was transfixed on his face, and didn't even notice his hand reach around the back on her head, pulling the elastic band from her hair. Her hair fell down in soft curls around her face. "There. I can tell you feel younger already," he said, puting the band in his pocket.
She looked to the right of her, then the left to see if anyone else was around to see this, even though she knew well enough that they were alone. She cleared her throat and tucked her hair out of her face and followed him along the path. A feeling of weakness flowed over her, she never wore her hair down, it made her feel like she had no control. She looked down the chocolate stream to see a boat coming around the bend.
"Fancy a ride?" Willy asked, gesturing to the vessle.
She stepped aboard the small ship and settled in a seat near the front. Willy sat in front of her. The ride was slow and peaceful and she took the time to open her notebook and scribble a few more notes down. Some of which had nothing to do with the article. She was fully engaged in her notes so much that she didn't even notice Willy staring at her, turned completely around in his seat. His hands were clasped, his index fingers resting on his lips.
"I bet you're a lollipop kinda girl, aren't you?" he asked. It had startled her, and she quickly shut her notebook and sat it face down in her lap. "Am I right?"
"Huh?" she asked, having not heard the first part of the question.
"Lollipops. Suckers. Those are you're favorite. I have a feeling..." he smiled. But this time the smile was different. It seemed more personal. She picked up on this. The other smiles were that of a man trying to make a good first impression. Polite smiles. The kind of smiles where only the mouth muscles moved. Not this one. His whole face seemed to be smiling, from his curled lips, to his bright eyes and even the tops of his ears, which were faintly visable underneath his hair and top hat.
"Well, if I had to pick one type of candy to have the rest of my life, yes...lollipops would be it," she said,trying to keep from cheesing to big. Was she going to flirt with this man? She glanced at his hands. Gloved. She couldn't tell if there was any sign of a ring.
"In that case, I see it fitting that our next stop be the Lollipop room," he said, resting his head on his hands. She smiled nervously and directed her attention to over the side of the boat, the chocolate, anything to keep from looking at him.
The boat stopped in front of 2 very large,rainbow colored doors. Lauren stuck her pencil behind her ear and gathered her things, looking further down the stream, wondering how far it went, and what other oddities were on the way. Willy stepped off and offered his hand to Lauren to help her off. She took it, clutching her notebook tight to her chest. He walked to the lock and entered a very long numerical code. There was a buzz and the doors opened.
The room was very neat, clean and organized. Lauren stepped slowly through the doorway. To her right were long short tables, each covered with various materials used in the making of the candy; sticks, wrapping and, for some reason unknown to her, several drawings of pinwheels. It was cool in the room and it had the faint smell of something that had been caramelized. She took a mental note of all the colorful patterns on the wall, which she half expected to be lickable too.
"This room is usually full of Oompas," he explained. "But being so late in the evening, they are all enjoying the time off."
"I think I prefer it this way," she said, studying one of the machines. "Too many people in one cramped area makes me uncomfortable."
He smiled at her and let her wonder around the room. There were lollipops everywhere, of all shapes,sizes and flavors. She walked over to a large, round pod covered in many colorful buttons.
"What does this do?" she asked.
"This," he said, resting his arm on the pod, "Is the flavorer. Any flavor you can think of, this machine can produce."
"Really?" she said in a very undermining tone.
"Really really. Go ahead. Tell me a flavor. Any flavor."
She thought for a minute. Better make this a good one...
"How about...dreamcicle?" she said. It wasn't a very difficult choice, but she wanted to taste a sucker like that.
Willy smiled and punched a few buttons on the pod. It immediately sprung to life, making all kinds of high pitched sounds. Not even a minute later, a small orb of hard, orange colored candy popped out of top of it. He took it over to the table and stuck a short white stick in the bottom.
"Here we are. Creamy, dreamy and diabetic-y safe."
She took the sucker and stuck it in her mouth. She felt very silly, sucking on it in front of him. It was the most delicious confection she'd ever tasted. "I'm impressed."
They hopped back onto the boat, Lauren's pockets full of the sugar-free dreamcicle suckers. The remainder of the tour was short, but very intriguing. He had taken her through the main testing room, the fudge room and the inventing room, all of which Lauren took the time to scribble a few notes. They arrived back at the cozy little room where they had enjoyed the root beer floats. She looked her watch. It was already midnight. "I'm gonna be so dead in class tomorrow..."
"Now, I have a request if you don't mind," Willy said. "May I see your notes?" He opened the notebook without even waiting for her response. She had an urge to grab it from him, but it was too late and he was already reading.
"Oh god, oh god.." She thought to herself. She had taken notes of the factory no doubt, but also notes on Mr.Wonka himself, taking the liberty to write in little blurbs her growing admiration of this man, how mysterious he seemed and (to her horror now as he continued to read) his devilishly good looks. But if he had read these little brain droppings, he showed no signs of it.
He cleared his throat and held the notebook behind his back. "Now, Miss Lauren. I would like to offer you accomidation for the night here in my factory, with the intent that you finish the article completely in order to have it in print by Tuesday. There is a very lovely room complete with a very comfotable desk chair and typewritter with a brand new ream of paper and ink. Anything you could possibly want or need is there. Will you oblige?"
She bit her lip. He was asking her to spend the night. "I would love to...but I have class tomorrow."
"Don't worry your pretty little head about that. It's been taken care of. Professor White has been informed of where you will be."
She said nothing. She was mulling the idea over in her head. On one hand it would be great to have a nice room to just sit and write, without any distractions. On the other, she had just met this man tonight and the thought of sleeping under his roof (albeit a big roof) was a little unnerving.
"You won't be bothered," he continued. "I myself may pop in to see how things are going, and to give the final say on what gets put in and what I'd rather not see. I know, I know. It sounds a bit harsh, but you must understand by now why I want to keep the secrets secret?"
The room was warm and furnished in blue. Everything from the carpet, to the paint on the walls, and even the bed post was blue. He sat her notebook down on the desk. She looked around the room, wondering why on earth this room existed, if nobody ever came in to the factory.
"Always good to have a guest room," he said, as if he read her thoughts. "You never know when you may have company."
He showed her where everything was and he was indeed right, the room did have everything. There was a small machine that spit out candy. A water fountain that dispenced soda instead of water. Fuzzy slippers to keep feet warm and all kinds of comforts to make her feel at home. He left her to her work, grabbing the door handle. Right before he closed the door, he popped his head in once more and said "By the way, I inherited my good looks from my father."
The door shut and she sat there on the bed, utterly embarassed.
The writing process was different with this piece for Lauren. She sat back on the bundle of plush pillows (wearing the fuzzy slippers), notebook in hand, outlining the structure of the article.
" I better make this damn good," she thought. "This could actually help me make my name early."
But her thoughts were wondering to other subjects aside from the article. She was pondering the two questions she asked that had been unaswered.
The first one was obvious to her now. Yes, the question of why his factory wasn't open to the public. She had figured this one out without realizing it when they were walking through the inventing room. He didn't dare tell her what all the secret workings were, hiding under tarps. Or what his next big product was. Or, more importantly, how these things were done. He cared too much for his creations to belittle them in such a way. No, opening the factory to the public would make things seem less magical. Less special. And she had learned this was the last thing he had in mind for his company.
But the seond question, the question of why she had been tapped to break the news was still a mystery to her. She sat there chewing on the end of her pencil, trying to pin-point any possible reasons for it. The only logical thing she could think of was her professor suggesting her.
"You were in the second grade," Willy said, breaking the silence.
She gasped and the pencil fell from her mouth. He had came into the room to check on how the article was coming, without even bothering to knock. He was now dressed down considerably, the hat was gone, as was the coat and vest. All he wore now were dark slacks and a dress shirt of various shades of purple. He seemed to be very comfortable now, not as tense and host-like when they first met. She was staring at him, as he took a seat in the blue desk chair.
"You were in the second grade," he began again. "Your first venture into the journalistic world I believe. Your name in big black letters on the front page."
She watched him intently, confused at where he was getting at, or how he knew all of it.
"Shock-Tarts, I remember. They had just hit the shelves," he smiled. "You were able to capture not only the novelty value of the treat, but also the essence of it, of all my treats really. I have not read a critique quite like that one ever since. Nobody understood, unlike you (and if they did, they didn't express it) what I aim for with my candy. And that's a very big feat for a child of 8 years old."
She almost didn't believe what she was hearing. "You..you read that?"
"Indeed I did," he said, sitting back and arching his hands. "It was forwarded to me by a close contact. He believed it would interest me. He was right."
"Is that why you wanted me to break this story...because I gave you a good review when I was 8?" she asked.
"It's more than that, dear girl," he replied. "The way you described those tiny candies is exaclty how I wanted this contest to be described. You gave away the genreal information of course, such as the price and where to find them, but you made them exciting and prevalent without even giving away a hint as to so much as the colors of the pieces. Very honest. Very (for lack of a better term) Child-like. I know that sounds somewhat redundant considereing you were, in fact, a child when it was published. But I've sampled some of your recent pieces...yes, thanks to the wonderful Professor White...and that same honesty is there, weither you realize it or not. I knew that you would be the perfect person to break this news."
She was flattered.
"So, now that you finally got the answer to the question that was eating away at your concentration..." he began, walking to the door.
Somehow it now made since to her. Perhaps his comments glorifying her work helped in coaxing her out of un-inspired ideas...or the fact that she had the answer straight from the horses mouth...but whatever it was, she already writing away as he closed the door behind him.
Lauren sat back in her chair, smiling. She was in her apartment, holding a copy of that day's paper. There, on the front page, in large black print was her name. That black ink glowed as if it were spelled out in lights for her. She turned on the television.
"Today's top story," the anchorman began in a very urgent tone. "An event that has taken the whole world by storm...Mr. Wonka is opening his factory for the first time in history..."