It was surprising that Veruca was allowed to return to the factory, as although now twenty, she was still very much under her father's close watch. Girls in such society were so sheltered, that if brought out into what most lower and middle class people considered to be the 'real world', then they were automatically scorned for being naïve and spoiled; basically a bad girl in a sense other than what came from partying, stealing, and so on. When poor people were 'bad', it was because of some misfortune that they had inflicted upon themselves. Rich people, however, had no chance to be 'good', much thanks to reverse discrimination.
Veruca was not an unkind girl. Yes, she had a tendency to get what she wanted, and in excess. She and her younger sister, Sandrine, often fought over the computer. So, instead of telling the girls to work it out amongst themselves; Mr.Salt returned one day from work with two iBooks and proceeded to install wireless in the house, so that his darling daughters would not squabble over the computer again. Their allowances were at the very least £200 a week each, and they dined-out so often that they were all dreadfully bored with even the finest restaurants in London.
Money or not, Veruca had only one friend: Sandrine. Sandrine was still in secondary school, so she had many friends; which meant that Veruca spent much of her time alone. She had chosen to attend a university in which she kept constantly switching her area of study. So, by the end of her sophomore year, she had a collection of random credits and a brain full of knowledge that brought her nowhere closer earning a degree. That was why, when she received the letter from Charlie, she jumped at the possibility to return to the factory.
"You need to focus on graduating from the university, not flitting around in Candy Land!" rebuttled Mr.Salt to his eldest daughter's request.
"But Daddy," Veruca whined, as such things tended to work, "I want to go. I haven't done anything fun in so long!"
"What? School is not fun? What am I spending all that money for? Are you even passing your lessons?"
"Of course I am!" She screamed, feeling tears starting to sting her blue eyes, "I am certain that even you did not enjoy your lessons all the time! Besides, being at the factory would be good business training. Sandrine gets to go play footy in France, Germany, and Sweden! I am asking to not even leave the United Kingdom!"
"And then what, Veruca? You decide to stay at the factory and work with that freakish Wonka? You need a real job."
"Oh. Like chocolate is any different than nuts," she retorted with a roll of her eyes that made her father seethe.
"Do NOT talk like that, Veruca Jayne Salt. Your great grandfather built this company from the bottom-up. You are not leaving the company you are the heiress to all because you think chocolate tastes better than nuts."
"But Daddy," her voice suddenly went soft, and that sweet and manipulative smile played upon her lips. She realised what her father was afraid of, and that meant she knew how to get to go, "Daddy. I am going for Salt's Nuts. You see, nuts and chocolates work well together. I was thinking, we could get Mr.Wonka to sign to a merger."
"No, Veruca. We say it is a merger, but really, it is a monopoly."
"That is dishonesty," said the girl matter-of-factly.
"Do you want to go to the factory or not?" he placed his hands on his daughter's shoulders, and kneeled down a bit to look her in the eye, "Do you want to go to the factory, and finally do something that would make your father very proud of you? Give him something to brag about over Christmas supper when your Uncle Geoffrey starts to brag about how much your cousin Cecile is accomplishing?"
Veruca swallowed hard. Her family was very competitive, even with one another. Ever since she was a little girl, everyone viewed Veruca as the 'odd one'. The lazy little heiress. The one who would write stories and hide in corners with her books while the rest of the family gossiped. The one who got yelled at for singing for her grandmother, because it was not normal for someone to possess such a talent. Tears fell down her cheek, and she nodded.
"Mr.Wonka!" Cried the now nineteen-year-old Charlie Bucket, as he dashed out of the small house that Wonka had built for him and his family some seven years ago, "Veruca. I just got her e-mail, and she said that she was going to come. So are Mike Teevee and Violet Beauregaurde! Augustus said he wants to come, but he has to check out his modeling schedule."
'Modeling? Augustus?" That was an odd word combination even for the eccentric chocolateer.
Charlie nodded, "Apparently he lost about twice his body weight on the Subway Diet. He's a Calvin Klein model now."
"Calvin Klein?" Wonka was not especially up on designers.
"You know. Passion, obsession, dream, desire," he ran his fingers through his sandy hair, and gave a dramatic glance towards Wonka, "Calvin Klein."
"Here," said Wonka, walking towards the young man who was still attempting to pose like an underfed man in an undershirt and baggy jeans photographed in black and white, "Try this," he handed him a small had candy. Charlie had learned not to ask questions. So, he popped it in his mouth, causing him to go shooting backwards. Wonka laughed with glee.
"Er…alright," muttered Charlie as he forced himself to get back up, hardly noticing that he was now covered in fudge, "Mr.Wonka. Isn't that a little…dangerous to market?"
"Who said I was marketing it? I just find it funny." And with that, he twirled around so that the tails of his coat of red velvet spun with him, and started towards one of his many libraries, as he was quite the avid reader, "So. Miss Salt is returning, you say. You two have a history, no?"
That caused poor Charlie to flush a deep shade of crimson to envy that coat of Wonka's, "We were little children. It was nothing. Just experimentation and confusion."
"Not asking for the nitty-gritty, as I really do not care," he replied matter-of-factly, as he ducked into the library, where upon he pulled out a large black book entitled The Collected Works of Vladimir Nabokov. He opened the book, and took from it what looked like an aged piece of writing paper, and handed it to Charlie, "Give this to Miss Salt, will you?"
Charlie took the paper into his hand and just stared at it blankly before placing it in his pocket and heading out the door. Once out of view from Wonka, he took the paper and unfolded it. Mr.Wonka did not tell him not to read it, so he did:
Wanted, wanted: Veruca Salt.
Hair: brown. Wearing: mink coat and pink dress.
Age: Matters not.
Profession: none, or 'heiress"
Where are you hiding, Veruca Salt?
Why are you hiding , darling?
(You invade my every thought, these visions do not halt
My demanding little starling).
What are you wanting, Veruca Salt?
For what is it now your little heart flutters?
Is it a golden goose you wish for?
Or a working squirrel that you want like no other?
Oh Veruca, the Candy Room hurts!
Are gummies still your favourite, darlin'?
(Yet you gravitated towards the lollipops first,
While I sat in my corner, snarlin')
Dying, dying, Veruca Salt,
Of regret and remorse, I'm dying.
And again I see the garbage chute not willing to halt,
And again I hear you crying.
Wanted, wanted: Veruca Salt
That domineering blue gaze never flinches.
Ninety pounds is all she weighs
With a height of fifty-eight inches.
My candy is failing, Veruca Salt,
The taste has faltered somehow,
Sweetness has escaped from my heart,
As I wonder just what exactly you want now.