Author's Note: Um... I forgot what I was going to tell you. Thank you for the reviews,my scrumdiddlyumptious readers! I appreciate them, and when I regain my memory I shall splatter important information about this story all over you like icing on a cake! Don't forget those random facts!
Charlie's recent behavior had surprised everyone in the chocolate factory. Willy Wonka had suspicions this whole twitter-patering would cause Charlie to be somewhat sluggish in his work, if not cause him to focus more on that blasted tutoring with his little miss strumpet. Actually, it had been rather the reverse. When Charlie wasn't working the tarnation out of his school studies, he was somewhere in the factory, inventing or fixing something that wasn't working right. Willy thought his reaction to this would be delighted, but in fact he was pretty worried for his heir. Everyone was. Charlie wasn't eating, and he would stay up late into the night either studying or putting that final touch on the latest confection concoction. Even the Oompa-Loompas were getting fidgety about it. One day Charlie felt feverish from the stress, which in turn caused Mrs. Bucket to go into hysterics. This whole teenage-hormone-love problem had really taken a toll on her. So Charlie was put to bed for the day and Mrs. Bucket was tied to the sofa, given a cup of tea, and the remote to the television.
"This is downright ridiculous," she whined.
Grandpa George, who was reading the paper on the chair nearby, chuckled to himself. "That's ironic. This is downright ridiculous and we're living in a giant chocolate factory operated by midget people."
Willy was standing awkwardly over Charlie's bed. He had never liked Charlie's room, positioned right over the kitchen and den, because of its height. The house originally didn't have a second floor, but when Charlie grew old enough to have his own room, Mr. Bucket put in a few beams, right where the roof started and the walls slanted inward into one jutting triangle. This gave Charlie enough room to stand until he was about 11, until he was too tall to walk around without crouching. It didn't matter; he didn't use his room much anyway. But Willy never liked to go up there because he would bump his head constantly, even without his extremely tall hat on.
"Charlie… ow… I think you've been working too hard."
"Just catching up," Charlie didn't look up; he was reading a textbook.
"Yes, but you've been working yourself a little too harshly, my boy. The… ow… the reason why I let you into my factory… ow… in the first place was because I wanted an heir, and I can't very well have an heir if he's… ow… working himself to death every day because his girlfriend doesn't feel like cuddling with him every…ow… day."
Charlie looked up with a strange look on his face. Willy couldn't tell what it was- was it anger mixed with hurt mixed with curiosity mixed with guilt? He had never seen Charlie give him a look like that; he hadn't seen Charlie give anyone a look like that.
"So… ow… what I was going to… ow… propose was that you take a day off, and then we'll get back to work tomorrow. But take it easy a little, Charlie. You look pale."
"More irony!" Grandpa George shouted.
"Geraldo!" Grandma Georgina cackled.
"Willy, I really think-"
"That's an order," Willy stopped him, "As an employer to an employee. Take a day off to rest. Have some fun. I suggest going to the Detonation Room and setting off a few of those Candy Cannons. Clears up the…ow… sinuses and provides therapeutic relief."
Charlie paused, and sighed. "Well, I suppose I could."
"Good. I'll se you later then… ow…" Willy stumbled down the stairs. He grabbed his hat, brushed his shoulders off, and made ready to leave, when Sarah jumped up from out of nowhere and tackled him.
"Wonka," she whispered, "We need to talk."
Willy could only utter strange gurgling and muffled girlish shrieks as she pulled him out the door to the other side of the house.
"Anyway," she started, smoothing her dress, "Charlie's been acting down in the dumps lately. And I know that you want him up and working and well, and you know that I know that we know that the Buckets know that Charlie needs to be well again, and you and I both know that the Buckets and the rest of the factory knows about Charlie's interest. Now, even you know that Charlie is going through a very important stage in his life, and that this will affect his future as a man. And Charlie and you and the Buckets and I and the rest of the factory know that Charlie… well, he isn't an average boy going through average things. Everybody knows that Charlie is and has always been a very special boy, and now more than ever he should be able to experience special things, but with normal things."
Willy managed to sputter an "um" before Sarah went on.
"Anyway, Charlie will be turning 16 soon, and normal children as it is well known when they turn 16 are given a special party, their sweet sixteen."
"Go on."
"Well, I know that the whole world knows that you are the person who knows about special things, so I was thinking… I was thinking the factory should throw him a super-sweet-sixteen party."
Willy paused. "A super-sweet-sixteen-party? For Charlie?"
"Yes. And he could invite all of his friends, and his family, and-"
"Where would we hold it?"
"I haven't come up with that yet."
"Well, we can't very well hold it in here; there are vicious idea-stealing cads out there who would… would… steal things!" Willy's body began to twitch liberally at the mere thought of it.
That little Wonka boy had sat in the cake again. It was Gracie Snozzburger's 6th birthday, and the children had been playing musical chairs. The Snozzburgers were not uncommonly rich, Fredrick Snozzburger had inherited it from his great-grandfather; the money was old and passed down from generation to generation. The Snozzburgers wanted Gracie to have a fabulous party, because six-years-old was her transition from little baby to little girl. They also wanted an excuse to show off their freshly spent hand-me-down cash and credit. So they had invited all the children from the neighborhood, and even the children on some business associates of theirs. Dr. Wonka treated Mrs. Snozzburger, so it was only prudent that they extend the invitation.
Anyway, Gracie's party had been spectacular. Clowns lined up to blow funny-shaped balloons resembling creatures and hats and swords and whatnot, while an orchestra played a staccato harmony in the background next to the shrubbery. The table was filled with just about every sweet thing a child could ever imagine: chocolate, peppermints, ice cream, even Turkish Delight. While the children crowded around greedily to stuff their grubby fingers into the delicate pastries, Dr. Wonka held his spawn with an iron grip on the boy's shoulder, holding him back.
"But Papa!" little Willy protested, "All the other fathers are letting their children do it!"
"And if the other children decided to go jump off a canyon into a colony of carnal cacti, would you do that as well?" Dr. Wonka whispered darkly. "Besides, think of all the cavities you might get. Actually, 5 out of 6 doctors recommend attending a martial-arts class instead of consuming birthday goodies." Dr. Wonka smiled behind his glasses. 'I'll tell you what. Why don't you go up to one of those clowns and have them make you a special balloon?"
Willy hid behind his father's leg. "I… I… I don't like clowns." He whimpered. "They frighten me."
"Come now, what do you have to be frightened of?"
"They have… t-t-they have b-b-big shoes."
Anyhow, later on Mrs. Snozzleburg called for a game of musical chairs. Eight chairs were lined up in a ring, nine little boys and girls scrambled to get in line, and the conductor took his position to start. The children marched slowly around the chairs, each one anticipating that awkward silence and eyeing the chair they passed greedily, some making tactical calculations on how far they should slide to make it to the next chair and whether or not pushing someone off would be completely necessary. When the music did stop, eight little children sat down rapidly, and one little girl was left sulking with her arms crossed. One chair was removed. The children got up again, and made their next march about the ring, trembling with suspense. Another little boy was pushed out of the way as seven little children scooted their little dressed-up bottoms down onto seven finely-carved seats. Another chair removed. The orchestra resumed again. The tension was even higher as seven children circumnavigated the ring of chairs, some eyeing the seats, some glancing hopefully at the prizes being displayed. The orchestra stopped. Six little boys and girls sat down quickly, giggling with malicious giddiness. Little Willy Wonka looked about him desperately and sat down on the nearest thing to him.
Gracie Snozzleburg's favorite colors were bright pink, light blue, yellow, purple, and orange. Her favorite flavor was strawberry. So, the Snozzleburg's cook, Gaston LeBoux, who was imported from Distilles, France, worked for two days on a special strawberry cake decorated with pink-and-blue-and-yellow-and-puple-and-orange icing daffodils (her favorite flower, obviously). Had it not been the cake that little Willy sat on, he might not have been quickly snatched up and escorted roughly out by his father, the neighbors and hosts screaming angrily behind the two. Had it not been the cake, Gaston wouldn't have retired his dreams of becoming the chef for the Queen of Austria and become a hermit in Antarctica several months later. Had it not been the cake, Gracie Snozzleburg would not have screamed and bawled endlessly for days, would not have developed a terrible grudge against Willy, and in the fourth grade would not have smashed two raw eggs into his new purple sweater in science class some years later. Had it not been the cake, Willy might have been allowed and invited to go to other birthday parties after that. But it was the cake, and all of those things did happen. Accidents do happen, and cakes are prone every now and then to get sat upon and ruined. If only Dr. Wonka had observed this aloud when stripping off his son's soiled britches at home.
"Well, at least those miserable children were saved from a terrible cavity from that sweetsy cake," Dr. Wonka grumbled.
Willy said nothing, for he had secretly wiped a finger on his pockets and was licking the icing off of it. It was delicious.
"We could hold it outside," Willy proposed finally, "In the courtyard. Right out side the gates. But no one can come in."
"Yes!" Sarah said happily. "That's perfect. A party it is."
"A party it is," Willy echoed, almost to himself, then snapping back. "We should tell the rest of the Buckets."
"But let's keep it from Charlie; at least for a little while," Sarah said, glancing back in the house, "I think it should be somewhat of a surprise for him, at least until his spirits are a bit higher."
Willy turned to an Oompa-Loompa who had briskly walked up to him and tugged on his long waistcoat, purple, obviously. Willy bent forward in that unusual way of his, where his waist bent at a 60 degree angle. The Oompa-Loompa whispered frantically, and Willy sprung erect again. "Oh, dear. That is a problem. I have to go, tons of things to do, you know," Willy grabbed his cane and made to leave, but turned back. "oh, and Miss Bucket-"
Sarah turned back. "Yes?"
"You go ahead and tell the Buckets when you think the time is right. I'll talk to all of you later."
"Right." Sarah turned to leave again, but turned back. "Oh! Mr. Wonka, I almost forgot."
Willy turned and stood expectantly. The Oompa-Loompa pulled out a rather expensive pocket-watch and tapped his small foot impatiently.
"Leonardo DaVinci invented the scissors! Isn't that wonderful?"
"I suppose."
"No, really- if the scissors hadn't been invented, you would have never been able to cut the ribbon on the opening day of your factory! I saw a photograph of it in Charlie's room."
Willy paused thoughtfully. "I suppose that would be a problem. I would have had to tear it with my teeth."
"Or a meat cleaver," Sarah offered.
Willy stared at her for a moment, and walked away very quickly. Sarah had a spasm of excitement, and skipped merrily inside to go tell the rest of the Buckets about the surprise party.
