I'd like to take this pre-chapter note to remind my dear readers that this story is indeed "T-rated" and will have some sexual themes/references. If anyone thinks they would be offended by this, they should probably limit their reading to chapters 1-4.
Reviewer thanks: hikari-no-tsubasa, boogle, NightDemoness, Lady Lexis, Padawan Jan-AQ, ashley-smith, MaRaMa-TSG, Anon (again), RussianPrincess, The Wonkamatic, Whale of the World, Chocolate14, Ruthie, HoVis, Crayz x ALPS, Apryl Fang, Vaughn, and Maleficent Angel.
The first passage in this chapter is here on a trial basis. If you think it works or doesn't work, please respond in a review. I'd love to hear what you have to say!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Two—no, three Mrs. Buckets swam dizzily before Willy from his position flat on his back on the chilled concrete. She looked concerned.
"Wil—er, Mr. Wonka?" She leaned closer over him, half expecting dizzy little cartoon birds to be flying in circles over his head.
"Ssstop…moving," he slurred, flailing disoriented with one arm, in the process disturbing a great many food items gathered atop him. His eyes slowly began to come into focus and the many Emma's began to condense into one.
Suddenly, and quite by accident, he felt his flailing hand settle on something soft and warm. Mrs. Bucket started and looked down. With confusion, Wonka's meandering gaze followed hers and discovered that the soft place his hand had settled was her chest.
Willy, very suddenly lucid, froze, his mouth falling open and eyebrows rising unconsciously. Mrs. Bucket looked back at him, also apparently in shock. They both paused a moment before Wonka's hand flew back as if it had been burned. He fumbled up into a sitting position, spots of color appearing on his pale cheeks. Mrs. Bucket looked positively tomato-esque.
She suddenly began to busy herself with picking up the food from the pavement while Willy carefully stood up, nursing the growing lump on his forehead. He cast about briefly for his top hat, finding it lying half-way in the gutter. His mind was working overtime, though, repeatedly replaying the most recent addition to its "new sensations" file.
He wasn't sure why the feeling of a certain part of someone's anatomy would be any different than, say, an arm or foot, but Mrs. Bucket's chest seemed to be in a category all its own. Disturbingly enjoyable.
Mrs. Bucket, on the other hand, was much worldlier than the reclusive candymaker and knew precisely the implications of the area where Willy had mistakenly touched her. A certain portion of her danced with immature glee. Another much larger part was less enthusiastic. It of course started off on how enjoying a man "copping a feel" was not only repulsive, but also disrespectful of her dead husband. Then it went on to say that the contact was completely accidental. Willy was still ridiculously innocent, especially when it came to adult matters. She wouldn't have been shocked if she found out he still thought babies were delivered by a stork.
Emma finished picking up the items and depositing them back into the bag. There was an uncomfortable silence for a long moment. Willy looked at (through) her distantly, one corner of his mouth quirked in an indefinable expression that didn't really look like a smile.
"Ehm…er, what's next on the list?" He asked abruptly, shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts.
"Oh! Uh…" Mrs. Bucket carefully shifted the more-precarious-than-ever grocery bags into one arm and dug in her pocket with the other. She peered at the list. "Oh dear," sighing, she glanced at her watch. "For some school project, Charlie needs a book from this rare book seller on the other side of town. When I called, I said I would pick it up at 1:30. It's already nearly 2 o'clock!"
"How were you planning on getting to the other side of town, my dear woman?"
"I was going to walk, but obviously that won't get us there very quickly. I think I have change for a bus fare, though. If you could check…" She indicated her right coat pocket, obviously made inaccessible to her by the bags.
Wonka's eyes widened, he winced in distaste, and turned his head slightly away as if he couldn't bear to watch as he slowly and delicately slid a hand into the pocket. He relaxed when he realized that the coat was loose enough for his hand to avoid even indirect contact with Mrs. Bucket's body. He carefully explored every corner of the pocket but when it came out, all his hand held was a worn old movie ticket stub, a broken shard of peppermint, and a small, long cylindrical object wrapped in unmarked pink plastic. Willy held up this last item and examined it curiously.
Mrs. Bucket turned an as-yet unachieved shade of red and snatched it from his hand, shoving it into her other pocket.
"So…the change?"
Willy shrugged. "Nothing. That was all that was in there."
"I don't suppose you have any?"
He looked slightly disgusted by the thought. "Change? No, of course not."
Mrs. Bucket was starting to look desperate. "I promised Charlie I would get the book for him today! What if the store owner stopped holding it? What if someone else bought it? I have to get there!"
Willy, whose distress was growing in proportion to Mrs. Bucket's for reasons he didn't understand, tried to think of forms of possible transportation. The glass elevator? No, how would he get it here? By car? He had his seldom-used limo, but he didn't have any way to summon it, especially since they were a 30-minute walk from the factory. Or, he could…no, that was disgraceful! He glanced over at Mrs. Bucket, who was looking more helpless by the moment. It unnerved him. The woman had to be completely bipolar! Five minutes ago, she was the picture of self-control and reason.
He smiled grimly, turning to the semi-distraught Mrs. Bucket and patting her shoulder comfortingly. "Don't worry, I'll see what I can do." Stepping out into the street, he held out a hand with such imperiousness that the first car that came along immediately began to slow and pull over in response.
Willy gave the driver a blinding smile, bowed slightly, and motioned for him to roll down his window. Looking suspiciously at the eccentrically-dressed man, the driver reached over to the passenger-side door and complied.
"Hi there!" Exclaimed Willy cheerfully, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a black leather wallet. "I'm Willy Wonka." He procured what appeared to be a Wonka Inc. employee ID, which bore a smiling picture of the man himself, his name, a bar-code, and a caption reading "Position: CEO, President, Vice-President, Inventor, Taste-Tester, Mentor, Dashing and Witty Sharp Dresser" below it. He held the card up next to his face and matched the expression in the picture exactly.
The driver's jaw dropped and he stared at Willy in shock and awe. He was a nice-looking guy in his mid-thirties with thin features and warm brown eyes under tousled light brown hair.
"I-I saw you on the news during that Golden Ticket thing!" He exclaimed suddenly.
"Excellent!" said Willy. "Now, my friend and I are sorely in need of a ride across town immediately. I was hoping you would consent to drive us in exchange for a signed Wonka bar." The aforementioned bar and a pen appeared in Willy's hands as if by magic. He clicked the pen expectantly.
"Ah…of course, Mr. Wonka…" The man still looked somewhat out of it.
"Fantastic! Now, who should I make this out to?"
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Ten minutes later they pulled up to a street corner in a significantly less reputable part of town.
"You sure this is where you were headed?" Asked the driver (whose name, they had found out, was Michael Rice) with concern. He had adjusted to the concept that he was driving THE Willy Wonka around, and treated him and Mrs. Bucket with elaborate courtesy. He had even agreed to take their groceries and drop them off in the large delivery bin at the factory.
"Quite sure," confirmed Mrs. Bucket, peering out the window at the street signs.
"Well, be careful. This certainly isn't a neighborhood I'd visit after dark." He unlocked the car doors and Willy and Emma stepped out, the former unusually silent and looking more apprehensive than ever.
Though Willy had begun the ride supremely pleased with himself, he now was regretting having solved Mrs. Bucket's problem. Things were considerably more icky-looking here than they had been in the already deplorable supermarket. He prodded an empty beer can tentatively with the toe of one pristine boot, yelping and jumping slightly when a cockroach skittered out of it.
Mrs. Bucket spared him an absent glance and continued to examine the stores across the street. She seemed perfectly comfortable.
"I think it's this way," she pronounced after a moment, and began walking briskly down the street. Willy paused for a second, eyeing a suspiciously human-shaped bundle in a nearby alley before following.
"How are you so comfortable here?" He asked, at the last moment stepping to the side to avoid walking over a beggar.
"Comfortable? Well, I grew up just three blocks that way," she shrugged, gesturing to their right.
"G-grew up? Here?" His voice raised in pitch on the last word as he narrowly sidestepped a suspicious puddle.
"Well, I've never exactly been rich. This was all my parents could afford." She sounded immediately defensive.
"I didn't mean anything, honestly," Willy said, holding up his hands.
Mrs. Bucket made a noncommittal "hmph" and stopped in front of a tiny, cramped store sandwiched between a Tobacco shop and an X-rated movie theater. She checked her slip of paper and looked back at the sign over the door. It read "Wilmington's Rare Books, Records, and Collectables."
A cheery bell rang as they entered the shop, and a short, plump, red-faced man at the counter glanced at them briefly before continuing to examine the rumpled crossword puzzle he was working on.
While Mrs. Bucket went over to talk to the man, Willy wandered around the small store, examining the startlingly wide array of items jammed inside it. Rows of massive shelves covered every wall. On the right, they were filled with books of every conceivable size and description. On the left were miscellaneous items of every kind, from model cars to shot glasses to baseball cards to action figures. Boxes lined up on the floor were filled to the brim with antique records organized by date and genre. Filling the rest of the store was a forest of tables covered with a variety of other items.
Willy began to paw through a box of records labeled "70's Funk." Mrs. Bucket seemed to be having a hard time with the clerk.
"—Look, the man I talked to on the phone said that he had placed the book on hold for me."
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we don't have anything being held under the name," he glanced at a clipboard, "Rucket."
"Bucket! B-ucket, like what you use with a mop—"
Having selected a few records, Willy moved on to the collectables, looking over them cursorily until the elaborate swirls of his trademark "W" caught his eye.
"—No, I do not want to purchase a similar book. I need the one I called in to reserve—"
On one shelf there was a small display labeled "Wonka Memorabilia." It contained everything from framed antique candy wrappers from the early days of his first candy shop (Willy smiled nostalgically as he examined these) to signed photographs of his factory's opening to one of the aprons worn by his first employees to an old but well-loved top hat he had lost once when a particularly enthusiastic crowd of admirers had attempted to get his autograph. He eyed it fondly and caressed the glass of the case in which it was contained.
"Excuse me, sir!" He said loudly, interrupting Mrs. Bucket mid-tirade. "I would like to purchase this item, please." He indicated the hat.
"Sure," mumbled the overweight clerk, lumbering over and fumbling with his keys. He gingerly removed the hat from the display and trudged back over to the counter. Wonka laid the records down next to his hat and waited calmly, both hands atop his cane, as the clerk rang them up.
"Oh, also," said Willy as he calmly handed the man his credit card, "please give this lady the book she reserved. I'm afraid I've gone through a lot of trouble for its sake and would be excessively sore if we were forced to leave this store without it."
The clerk, who had looked at the credit card while Willy was talking, paled.
"Y-yes, sir, of course. Just give me a moment, please." He hurried into a back room. Willy turned to Mrs. Bucket with a grin that died almost immediately at the dark look on her face. He uncomfortably looked down at his folded hands until the clerk remerged, panting slightly and carrying a worn-old book with a sticky note attached to its cover reading "Bucket."
"Put it on my bill, if you would be so kind." Willy smiled toothily at him.
"Yes sir."
A few minutes later they were emerging from the shop and walking back up the street. Willy exchanged his current top hat for the old one in the bag and examined it fondly.
"This was my favorite hat. I was depressed for days after I lost it. What a stroke of luck to find it here!" He glanced out of Mrs. Bucket out of the corners of his eyes, but she was apparently in a bad mood and did not respond.
Willy paused for a moment and used his reflection in a display window to don his old hat and readjust it. After giving his reflection a winning smile (and earning a bashful smile in return from a young female cashier inside the store), he turned to find Mrs. Bucket was nearly half a block ahead of him.
Mrs. Bucket was fuming. Why does he feel he has to use his fame to get me out of every dilemma I'm in? It's like he thinks I'm incapable of taking care of myself!
So involved was she in her anger that she didn't notice the gang of three young men fall into step behind her.
"Hey, lady!" One called suddenly. "How much for a quickie?" His cronies laughed. Mrs. Bucket stopped and turned around in surprise.
"Why settle for just a quickie? How much for the whole night?" Another added.
"C'mon, baby," the first approached her and grabbed her hand, pulling her close to him and wrapping an arm around her waist. Mrs. Bucket leaned back in fear and disgust. "Come home with me, and I'll show you what a real man can do."
Someone cleared their throat. "Excuse me, gentlemen."
The men turned around. Willy stood behind them, one hand casually resting on his cane. His posture looked relaxed and normal, but there was some indefinable challenge in his stance. He slipped his free hand into the inner breast pocket of his coat.
"Would anyone like to tell me what's going on here?"
The men, looking him up and down and noting his attire, appeared to be startled and frightened. The one holding Mrs. Bucket immediately released her and backed away, along with his friends.
"Uh, yeah…let's get outta here," one muttered. They looked around shiftily, like dogs caught chewing on their masters' shoes, and hurried away.
As soon as they were out of sight, Willy dropped his condescending smirk and examined Mrs. Bucket, concern lining his features.
"Are you alright? Did they do anything? Is—"
"I'm fine," said Mrs. Bucket, still a little jittery. "Just some hoodlums…"
Willy looked dubious but didn't press the matter further as they continued to walk in silence. Half an hour later as the sun began to dip below the horizon, they stood at the factory entrance. The gates swung noiselessly open before them.
"Willy," Mrs. Bucket said softly, examining her shoes. "I wanted to…to thank you for helping me out today. I know I was a little ungrateful for it, but you really were great." She glanced up at him, hoping that her secret did not shine too brightly in her eyes in the dim twilight. "Especially for that…last part."
Willy's face held an unreadable expression. He was silent for a moment. Finally, he spoke.
"Well, I've always known there were benefits to dressing like this other than looking devilishly handsome."
He laughed and soon Emma joined in. The two walked slowly side-by-side into the massive monument to all that was good, sweet, and child-like in the world, and for the first time they were two children and two adults all at once.
-----------------------------------------------
I liked this chapter. It took me a while to write, but I think it works more and advances the Willy/Mrs. B relationship. Please review on the topic I addressed at the beginning of the chapter in addition to your normal reviews. I really need everyone's input!