Again - I own nothing, make a profit from nothing and take credit only for what is set on the page. Roald Dahl, Tim Burton and Johnny Depp are the true geniuses here. - Stealth Phoenix
Chapter 3
Veronica left the smoked glass and concrete corporate structure behind her. She used far more force on the poor revolving door than necessary – much to the chagrin of the man is the suit behind her. The door whipped around far too quickly and although he jumped out of the way with rabbit-like reflexes his briefcase was not so fortunate. The door slammed into the briefcase knocked it into the doorframe and the revolving door came to an abrupt stop. The man trapped inside slammed into the glass and bounced to the floor.
Veronica missed this comedy of errors – she was far too busy wiping the tears of frustration from her eyes and using slow, steady breathing to try and remove the lump from the back of her throat.
She stalked with stiff legs to her old teal Geo Metro parked in the garage across the street. Using carefully-controlled deliberate movements she popped the hatchback and carefully set the small black satchel inside. Then slammed the door shut with a high pitched whimper of repressed rage. The then threw herself into the driver's seat and curled around the steering wheel and rested her head in her hands. Finally, she let the tears come, whimpers of distress escaping her throat unnoticed.
She had approached the Nutricorps Food Company with her creations in the desperate hope of making a contact for making her candy decorations – they already worked with others. Mrs. Jones Fudges, individually wrapped, that seemed to dot the counters at every gas station in a three state area. There were Johnny Appleseed Candy Apples that sat in the quick-grab lunch areas in a chain of grocery stores.
However, when it came to her eatable candy glass ornaments – like delicate bubbles of sugar that reflected the light in pearlescent colors – they laughed and had metaphorically patted her on the head. "No market interest at this time," the overweight, balding Mr. Smythwik had said in his condescending manner - and actually had the nerve to wink at her.
The son-of-a bitch had even mentioned that she should be trying craft stores for her products – as if they were just another useless knick-knack rather than an eatable treat. Never mind that Christmas was coming up and they would be perfect for Christmas trees. Decorations you never had to pack and could change out every year – a renewable market.
Veronica slowly pulled herself together and tiredly turned the key. Time to head home and attempt another tact to try and pull herself out of this slump to make rent.
The velvet jacket clad man returned to his cluttered desk once more with a slow step. Curiosity about "girding" assuaged thanks to a quick trip to the library, he was mildly horrified at what the term actually meant. He sat carefully in the swivel chair.
No wonder warriors of old were so willing to kill anyone who'd cross them. He would have too if that had inflicted upon him.
He was frozen for a moment, eyes distant with various images parading in his mind. Each more horrifying than the last.
"Aaaaarrgh!" he muttered to himself.
He was just imagining an alternate universe scene of Braveheart with himself in the Mel Gibson role, his workers as the generic Scottish warriors in plaid – in horribly clashing colors – himself in a plum kilt smeared with blueberry jelly facing screaming hoards of his competitors with sharpened Jolly Rancher swords - they looking rather unconvincing in chain mail armor.
"You can steal my recipes – but you can never take my imagination!" He could hear himself screaming.
"Pardon?"
He was jerked quite abruptly back to reality and turned to face his apprentice. "Charlie!"
"Another flashback?" inquired the dark-haired pre-teen lounging in the doorway of his office. He strolled into the cluttered area, avoiding the randomly placed furniture with the ease of long practice and took a seat in the burgundy wingback chair before the desk.
Willy Wonka – chocolatire extraordinaire, third wealthiest man in the world according to Forbes, and best-dressed according to Fangoria – shuddered in horror.
"No! Thank God! Just stuck on a train of thought that didn't have the decency to derail at the right time."
"I just came by to see how things were progressing with the search." Charlie studied his mentor with serious eyes. "I know it's difficult from here inside the factory – is there anything I can do to help?"
Willy smiled at the youth. It had been three years since Charlie Bucket and his family had entered his life. Their relationship had blossomed with the years. Charlie's pragmatism and ability to look at problems from different angles made Willy feel like Charlie was the more mature of the pair. It sometimes surprised him to look over to his partner who would someday take over the factory and see the teen Charlie was rather than the man he was sure to grow into.
"Not this time, Kiddo. This is something I have to do myself. I haven't gotten to the stage of having to leave to talk to anyone yet."
He began to dig through the paperwork on his desk and managed to unearth the phone. Hmm… it looked like the lowest layers of paperwork were beginning to mulch.
"Care to be a fly on the wall of the one I've managed to track down?" He glanced at Charlie.
"Which one is it? The man in Spain or the gal from Food Network?"
"Food Network." Willy studied the post-it stuck to a deep magenta folder with purple paper.
"Sure – if you don't mind?"
Willy waved his hand, "Not at all – after all, you're my heir. I've no secrets from you."
He began to dial the number…
The phone was ringing. Veronica glanced at it from her perch on the ladder. She had decided to put the ornaments that no one seemed to want to good use. Fishing line and thumb tack applied, she now had a virtual galaxy of celestial spheres hanging from her apartment ceiling. Considering that she lived above an industrial drafting shop – she knew the landlord wouldn't mind the holes in the plaster.
She carefully placed the globes down and shuffled to grab the handset. "Carmichael Productions – this is Veronica, may I help you?"
A light tenor voice from the other end answered, "Yes, My name's Willy Wonka – and I'm looking for someone to pull my Laffy Taffy."
She rolled her eyes, "Spencer. How are you doing this evening?"
Her brother's partner laughed, "Swell darling. We wanted to call to find out how the Nutricorps interview went. Can we expect a lavish celebration dinner?"
She sighed and irritably pushed tendrils of hair back into the messy bun, "Break out the Ramen Noodles – let the feast commence."
She heard the sigh and a soft "Sorry darling," before there was the sound of the phone changing hands and a new deeper voice came on "Ronnie – I'm so sorry. What happened?"
"Another rejection before I even had a chance to open the bloody presentation box. This one was a "not right for the market" before he winked at me." She said sliding down the wall next to the phone to sit on the unfinished wooden floor.
"Winked? Did you threaten to sue the bastard for sexual harassment?" Reginald Carmichael said, still fiercely protective of his sister's honor regardless of how much time passed.
"Reggie – you can't sue based on a wink."
"You can bloody well try!"
"No, I couldn't. I hadn't a leg to stand on. Besides, I was doing my best to try and not do my best Hulk impersonation. 'You wouldn't like me when I'm angry'."
"Well – evisceration aside, Spencer and myself cheerfully volunteer to go down to wherever this bloke lives and beat him into a pulp. Then we'll do it again. And then we'll mock him ruthlessly and make fun of the way he dresses until he runs away crying like a little girl."
Partially cheered up from the offer of metaphorical beatings of the source of her current frustrations, Veronica teased, "Actually, I know girls who could take you in a fight Reggie."
"Besides that."
"Not right now, Love. I appreciate the offer and all and will take the rain check. "
Reggie suddenly quieted and cleared his throat nervously, "Ronnie, darling. There was actually another purpose to calling you tonight."
She was suddenly tense and alert again. "What's the matter? Are you two alright?"
"Oh yes! Absolutely fine - actually – Spencer, love, why don't you tell her?"
There was another muffle as the phone changed hands. "Veronica Carmichel, as the only living relative that will actually talk to us and supports our partnership, do I have your permission to take your brother's hand in marriage?"
She grinned in delight – her mood suddenly lightened like the sun breaking from behind the storm.
"Of course! It's about time you bloody well made an honest man of my brother. No one else seems to be up to the job of making him presentable for civilized society. Of course, I'm sorry to tell you in case you missed the blatant hints elsewhere, but gay marriage is illegal here. Are you planning a quick trip to the colonies?"
"Not really – but it's really a marriage of the heart rather than society. We don't care about the legal aspect and will take care of that bit when the opportunity presents itself. So, we're having a bonding ceremony and want to have a small reception after." Spencer's joy was apparent over the phone. It was a big step for the both of them, never mind the fact that they had been living together for almost five years now.
"Sounds wonderful! Let me know the details and I'll be delighted to contribute to the cause by making the biggest, most flaming cake there will ever be," laughed Veronica.
"We shall. Wait! Here's your brother again"
The phone changed hands, this there was a delay as it was dropped to the floor and muffled laughter followed and sounded like a quick kiss. "Ronnie? Thank you! We wanted you to be a part of this. You're all I have left and I needed to share this."
"Your only family member related by blood. You've done an admirable job of making your own family that you chose rather than got stuck with," she felt her mood start to plummet again and had to get away. "Listen Reggie. Give my love to Spencer, I've got to go."
"Right, love. We'll talk later."
"Love you!"
"You too, kiddo!"
She hung up the phone with shaking hands and sat for a moment on the floor staring at the ductwork exposed above her head. Loneliness crashed down on her once more and shook with the intensity of it. Reggie was so lucky to have Spencer. It was lovely to see them happy. However, it just brought home again how damaged she was and would probably never have the same opportunity to find love.
She studied the scars on her hands. They weren't the only ones on her body, but it was the most apparent – the most dramatic. She could ignore them most of the time – no function was impaired. But at times like this when the world centered in on cut off she was from her family and any other adults other than her brother and their crazy friends – she couldn't ignore it anymore.
The phone rang again, startling her from her morbid thoughts – she sighed and already knew who it was.
"Hello?"
"Hello? Is Veronica Carmichael there?"
"Speaking."
"Yes, my name's Willy Wonka…"
"No – I'm not going you pull your Laffy Taffy." She sighed and hung up.
Stupid Spencer.
The stunned candy magnate stared at the phone in his hand.
"What happened?"
"She said she wasn't going to pull my Laffy Taffy and hung up."
Charlie laughed until he fell out of the chair.
Willy hung up the phone and rolled his eyes at his apprentice, now hiccupping at random intervals along with grasping his side and attempting to clear the tears from his eyes.
"You know, you're not supposed to even know what that means beyond the obvious. Don't let your mother know or she'll kill me.
"Sorry," Charlie sputtered and actually managed to get a deep breath to regain himself before glancing sidelong at the chocolatier and started off again.
"I guess I'll have to try again at another time." Willy reclined behind the desk and set his pointy-tipped boots on the desktop to study the ceiling further and tried to ignore the hysterics of his heir.
Persistance was, after all, the key to success.