By the time the Factory's silvery door had closed behind him, Willy's giggles were over and he was out of breath. Leaning his back solidly against its smooth surface, hands flat behind him, feet spread shoulder width before him, Willy looked for all the world as if he believed it was his body alone that was keeping the door shut, and the outside world out; but he knew he was using it to hold himself up. Just a minute: one minute, to collect his thoughts; make sense of things; have a moment of privacy. Yup; wonderful! … Nope; there was Eshle, at the end of the hall, looking tall in the small section, longing, Willy just knew, to be tapping his foot.

Mustering energy, Willy thrust himself off the door and down the hall. As he moved the coachman's hat went flying, launched like a saucer. Shrugging himself out of his coat, that was next, dropping to the floor in a straggly heap.

"Top hat, anyone? Frock-coat? Nifty Nerds? I'm ba-ack!"

Oompa-Loompas scurried from the antechambers that flanked the hall behind him, the wanted items anticipated and ready. He'd reached Eshle, and when he did, Willy sank to the ground before him, cross-legged, right next to that peeved foot.

"Don't look at me like that. I don't need reproving. I'm not the one who doesn't want the responsibility of this Factory. I'm doing all of this for you. I can't help if it takes out-and-about-ing. I'm sure I find it as reprehensible as you do, 'cept I think I find it more so." The slight wave of his fingers included the Oompa-Loompas who had caught up, one of them handing Willy his Nerd-filled candy-cane.

To his delight Willy discovered there was a choice of frock coats, and they'd brought a vest, as well. White shirts were boring … 'vest' covered up. "Blue, I think," as Willy chose a coat. "I'm feeling blue today." The Oompa-Loompa with the hat that matched that coat stepped forwards, and Willy inclined his head to accept the hat. "Thank you. And thank you, and you, and you, and you."

He laid his nerd-filled cane on the carpet beside him, and put on the vest. Donning the frock coat, its tails spread out like a fan behind him. "This is marvelous, I feel better already. And now I won't keep you, as I am sure there are things you'd like to get back to, as I am happy to be back home."

Eshle nodded, and the helpers melted away. Willy hijacked the conversation before Eshle could draw a breath.

"Why, I ask you, is Dede doing this now? Now is not convenient. He's had years to hound me for a visit. I have other concerns at present. At present, my concern is Mrs. Bucket. Has she gotten herself lost yet today?"

"Not yet," answered Eshle, "but—"

"Goody; where is she?"

"In her house, the last time I heard."

"Which was?"

"Twenty minutes ago."

"Then there I go." Willy was on his feet. He'd better check though. "All is well with the Factory?"

"Yes, but—"

"Make a list. Slip it in my pocket. Whatever's on it we'll do tomorrow, unless not doing it today will destroy the Factory. Anything like that gonna be on it?"

"No."

"Then there ya go. See ya."


With confidence, Willy rapped on the door to the house. He was getting used to these people. A voice from inside bade him enter. Swinging open the door, he stopped in his tracks to see Josephine the only occupant. Propped up in bed, her crochet hook flew in her fingers, her guarded look giving Willy the impression they shared some common ground. Feeling bold, he took another step, looking into the crannies. Yup; it was just them.

"Don't ya wanna get out of that bed? Everyone else is out. Why not you?"

"That would be none of your business," sniffed Josephine, not missing a stitch.

"But pretend I'd like to know," said Willy, taking another step, "and tell me anyway." Josephine was one he had no clue to, and this, perhaps, was an opportunity to find one. "There's a wonderful Factory outside the doors of this house. You might enjoy it."

"I'd enjoy being in this bed better."

That was weird. Willy had wasted enough time on this. "I'm looking for Mrs. Bucket."

"She's gone to look for you. She was getting worried. You should have been back hours ago."

Really? That was weird.

"I'm sure she's only concerned about Charlie."

"'Kay." Whatever. "I'll find her. Enjoy yourself." Though given your demeanor, I can't imagine that you will. Willy turned, his hand upon the door knob, pent up breath he hadn't realized he was holding escaping him. Leaving was lovely; he could feel the joy of it flooding him—he'd survived this tête-à-tête—and then he heard her speak.

"Oh, Mr. Wonka!"

He heard her work land in her lap. This was gonna be serious. He squared his shoulders.

"It's just the two of us here, isn't it? I will tell you why I'm not going to get out of this bed. It's because I don't have to. I don't have to do another single, solitary thing until the day I die, because I'm a success. I have a child. That's the only thing in life that means anything. Everything else is just a waste of time. So there! You, and everything you do, are a waste of time.

"I'm sorry that you're a failure, and jealous of me, and want to boss me around, but that's the way it is. So don't bother me any more about getting out of bed. I'm resting on my laurels, and that's all a failure like you needs to know."

Willy's hand hovered at the door knob. It was astounding to him what some people would say aloud. She might think she was resting on her laurels, but she was really resting on her… He turned round to face her. She'd picked up her crocheting again, her dismissal of him complete. Gosh.

"That speech, my very dear ancient Mrs. Bucket, has been exceedingly useful to me, as listening to you has been wonderful practice for listening to someone who I didn't know to be like you, until now. I fail, therefore," Willy placed his arm across his middle and gave her a perfunctory bow, "to take offense. You have happily and convincingly reminded me of why I don't want to see that person, and for that, I thank you. Byeee!" and grinning for no reason he could think of, Willy was out the door, and into the beauty that was the Chocolate Room.

Now where would I go, he mused, if I were looking for me? A stroll around the Swudge would be nice. I'd go right here, because here I am, and I am me. This, Willy frowned on one side of his mouth, will never work. He picked a blade of Swudge, letting it dissolve on his tongue. Yummy; so unlike certain parts of his morning; worries should dissolve like that. It will take me far too long to find Mrs. Bucket this way. He'd ask. Oompa-Loompas know everything, and they'd know this. Moving along, he caught the attention of some of the Chocolate Room denizens, and a few hand signals later, Willy had his answer. He made for the Great Glass Elevator.


"You're here. I'm here. You've returned here. Is it because you like these cows?"

Advancing on tip-toe to see if she could get close enough to pat one of them, Nora gave a start, almost tipping over, her hand going to her heart and clutching itself there. "You startled me!"

"Didn't mean to," said Willy, falling into step beside her. "What are we doing? Cow tipping? You tipping? I don't recommend either. Ya wanna know what's startling? Today, I found out that I'm all of a success because I have a thriving business, and that I'm all of a failure, because all that I have is a thriving business. That's startling."

"That sounds contradictory."

"Contradictions abound; you only have to listen. You'd tie yourself in knots trying to get all of them to jibe. I, for one, listen to my own well-researched conclusion. What's your conclusion about these cows?"

"I think they're wonderful. How do you do it? Unless you don't want me to know."

"Let's walk more. Do you see this grass? It's Blue Grass, and very lush. Do you see the sheen on it, particularly the underside? That's chocolate; concentrated chocolate concentrate. It's my own special process. The Oompa-Loompas spray it on the leaves, it flows to the underside and congeals, and the cows eat it. Green and brown and black and white; very pretty, and pretty simple, yes?"

"Yes, and it is pretty."

"Did you know, that the reason your parens returned to the Factory last night was because Terence's shop has no decent furniture in it?"

Nora had to laugh. She did know that, but Willy had asked her so earnestly, and with such relaxation, she had to wonder what was up with him. He must have had a trying morning to be out for so long, and yet here he was, cool as a cucumber, talking about chocolate cows, and her relatives. It made her reckless. She'd answer as if they were old friends. Terence had recommended that technique.

"I did know that, and so would you have, had you come to dinner, as invited. It's a standing invitation, you know. But you didn't show, as you often don't, so we knew and you didn't. How'd you find out?"

"I've just come from there. George says I'm a huge success."

Go, Dad!, thought Nora, but it wasn't lost on her that the second half of that equation must be next. "Who says you're a failure?"

"Who cares? I disagree with the premise, there's so much more to life than merely breeding, and, my well-researched conclusion is that even without that, I'm a success."

Nora's eyes clouded, even as she kept them lowered. She'd throttle whoever had dared to get so personal on such a touchy subject with Willy, but he seemed not to mind at all. "I agree."

"I don't need you to agree. But I would like something from you."

"You would?" Willy gave her a sidelong glance of fleeting annoyance—he'd just said he would, Nora knew that—and Nora bit her lip. She tried again. "What?"

"Your parens need furniture. I'd like you to help me pick some."

"At a store?"

"At a storehouse."

"Here?"

"Natch."

This was very strange: Willy Wonka wanting her help. The man had his own opinions on everything, and she was pretty sure he could pick out furniture by himself. Nora began massaging her lower lip with her upper teeth. What to say? She didn't want to turn him down. She couldn't turn him down. This would be an opportunity to get to know him better. "Do we have to take that elevator?"

"We don't have to, but it would take forever not to. Is that a deal-breaker?" Willy watched the lip massage, and worried about blood. She suspected he was up to something. Wonderful! The quicker she caught on, the better.

"I'm afraid it will be a bone-breaker."

"I do like adventure," laughed Willy, "even if I do have to manufacture it myself. But I can assure you, you won't break any bones. It will be fun." Willy held up a gloved finger, his smile hopeful. "You can be the one to press the button for the room."

Nora let go her lip and laughed. "Offering me a hand in my own demise, are you? Alright; I'm game. Let's go."


Nora spent the bulk of the afternoon with Willy in the Mix or Matchsticks Room, but it wasn't fair to call it a room. It was a warehouse of furniture of every variety, arranged in cultural sections like countries, further divided by type. They traveled about in a golf-cart like contraption that let them look at everything, not because Willy didn't already know what furniture Georgina wanted, but because Nora wanted to see all of it.

"If you don't get out much, it's boring to see the same old furniture, day in and day out. Most of the Oompa-Loompas live in the section of the Factory they work in, and they get bored, too. This is for them, though I do confess from time to time I browse here. You're welcome to, too."

"For our little house? Nothing would fit." Willy was as affable as Nora had ever seen him, and she found herself feeling carefree in a way she usually reserved for holidays. "Did Mum really say she wanted a sleigh bed?"

"Don't be silly, whatever you wanted would fit. We can make it, to specification, and yes, she did," assured Willy. "I'm the one that wants the Persian carpets, but nothing with too much nap. They should be easy to walk across."

With each choice they made, Oompa-Loompas with forklifts and trailers designed for them and this task brought the items to a loading area. Between picks, Willy told Nora about his morning. She commiserated about the trees, but Willy's highlight of the morning seemed to be the Press, with Willy rehashing that part of the morning again and again. It was odd, really, because Willy had avoided them neatly, and Nora didn't see the problem. Willy kept talking, however, and eventually she did see. Charlie would have to face them this afternoon. What goes around comes around. If Charlie went out, he'd have to come back. The Press knew that: there this morning; there this afternoon. He'd be hounded.

"You got it," agreed Willy. "D'ya think we have enough furniture now?"

"Forget the furniture."

"Yeah, forget the furniture," sighed Willy, his eyes dreamy.

"I don't want Charlie hounded."

"Amen to that!" Tensing, Willy had sat up, his words crisp. "Especially if he isn't ready for it!"

"Isn't ready for it? How would anyone ever be ready for that?"

"They can't be, really, but forewarned is forearmed. Charlie won't have that today." Willy drawled out the 'today' for emphasis, and Nora was right there with him.

"What can we do?"

There was alarm in her voice, and Willy was happy to hear it. It had taken him long enough to put it there. "I dunno; can you think of anything?"

Nora's eyes unfocused, as she considered the options. Her child threatened by persons bent on making money off of him was unthinkable. "Could we get him out of school early? I don't want him facing this unprepared."

"I couldn't," said Willy, softly. "But you could. We can use the weekend to strategize. We can't avoid this. Unless you want to take him out of school."

"Should we?"

Nora's careless 'we' threw Willy for a loop. He was certain she was including him in the 'we'. Her eyes said it. It was as odd as it was unexpected. Inclusion was not the norm for him when it came to the more normal people in his life. "No," he managed, in a studied way. "I don't think so." Nora wanted more, but he had nothing more to say, and she saw that.

"Then we'll get him before the Press do. When should we go?"

"Now?"

Nora saw no reason not to. They had finished with the furniture. How that was going to get to Terence's shop was up in the air, but she had no doubt it would involve herself and Noah. That was fine, but Willy's money was seeping into her thinking. Perhaps he would let them hire helpers. She didn't relish moving a sleigh bed up stairs. Should she ask? Maybe; later. "Let's go. How are we going?"

Willy had the cart in gear. "Great Glass Elevator, of course. Is there any other way?"

"Automobile?"

"Too boring; it's the Press. Why not make them think they missed something? They're going to make us miserable. Why not make them miserable? Besides I gotta be boring, but it's gotta be me that's boring, not a watered-down version of me. Great Glass it is!"

Nora frowned at the logic, but at the same time it made her laugh. She did laugh. Willy's money wasn't the only thing seeping into her thinking. "What will I tell the school?"

This was not something Willy had thought about, because it was a paren issue, and he was not a paren. It amazed him she was asking him, but he was never one to shirk problem solving. Running through the gambit of excuses, one came to Willy's mind immediately, thought he was loathe to say it. Nora was clearly stumped. He'd say it.

"Tell them Charlie has an appointment with a dentist."

"What a good idea!"

Willy shivered. He'd thought it was a good idea, and funny, when he'd said it, but hearing her agree made him change his mind. Now it seemed to him that he was tempting Fate, and no good could come of that.


I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in any of its many forms, and there is no copyright infringement intended. Thanks for reading, reviewing, clicking favorite or follow, or any combination thereof!

Thank you reviewers, SillyStoryteller, Squirrela, and Philinda88.

Philinda88, I'm scratching my head wondering why they wouldn't let you use Linkwonka88, but I congratulate you on your account. Creepy is coming.

Squirrela, that Blob scene was fun to write.

SillyStoryteller, I, too, think Piscaria a fine writer, and it was reading her stories that helped me learn how to convey emotion. As for how long this will be, I shall paraphrase one of the Unites States' presidents, but first, in my defense, Dickens' novels run 300,000+ words, so I'm still no Dickens. ;-)
That sort of writing as fallen by the wayside in this world of rapid-fire visual cut-aways and soundbites, but if a picture is worth a thousand words, then it takes a thousand words to make a picture, and I admit, I use 'em.
Anyhow: Abraham Lincoln, a very tall man, was asked how long a man's legs should be. He replied, 'long enough to reach the ground'. So how long should this story be? Long enough to finish it. :-D