I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. I wouldn't mind a few Oompa Loompas though to help out around the house in exchange for obscene amounts of Nutella though. – Stealth Phoenix
Chapter 5
Veronica goggled at the chocolatier, "That's impossible."
Willy Wonka straightened from his examination of the candy carousel. "No it's not. I've been me for a long time – I should know – I know me personally."
She forced her stunned mind into action, "Hang on. You were 19 when you opened your shop, ran it for two years before opening the factory, closed the factory after three years and then were gone for like – 15 years was it? Yes. Then you named Charlie Bucket your heir three years ago – making you, what…41?"
He looked mildly perturbed at the reference to his age, "I always thought age was more of a state of mind, really."
Shock rendered her inner censor blind, deaf and dumb, "It must work because you're HOT!"
His eyes widened at the comment and a delicate pink flush colored his cheeks. He lifted his hand to gently stroke the hair from his warm cheeks, "Um…yes...Thank you. I do try to moisturize."
Her mind quickly caught up with what had just escaped her mouth and she flushed the deepest crimson ever accomplished to date. "…I mean, you looked more like a well preserved mid-twenty something…excuse me for a moment."
Willy said nothing as she returned to her original workplace at the counter, placed both palms flat on top, bent from the waist and proceeded to bang her head repeatedly into the Formica countertop. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." She muttered with each bang.
Mildly alarmed by the act of self-violence said, "All flattery aside – you've passed my test. Are you interested in undertaking a project? I warn you, I am insisting on the most stringent security measures to ensure full confidentiality."
Veronica paused and looked up. There was a bright red spot on her forehead just above her eyes. The self-abasement seemed to have done the job banishing her embarrassment, she could think again.
"Frankly Mr. Wonka, I would like to know a bit more about what I'm getting into before I agree to anything, "she said.
Willy paused and contemplated for a moment. "I don't feel comfortable discussing it here. Feel up for a ride?"
"I rode a bicycle here. Would it fit in the trunk of your car?" Veronica said worriedly, not willing to abandon her last means of transportation.
He pulled the goggles from his pocket and set them back onto his face. It obscured his expression.
"Oh, I don't think it'll have any problems fitting in my vehicle."
She was puzzled by his request to grab her bike and head for the roof of the YMCA. She ignored the strange looks as she wheeled the bike into the stairwell and started the long process of hauling it up to the roof. Mr. Wonka was well known for his eccentricities – so at this point, no request would really puzzle her.
Although with the "hotness" comment still haunting her, she was hoping to overcome her persistent unintended candid comments and hopefully return to a level of professionalism that she was currently lacking.
Stopping on the landing on the second floor with another two ahead, she paused for a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow.
She gave some thoughts to Victor and his sinister machinations – the bastard. She had known that he was a pig before she was approached for the confectionary competition. Veronica had heard rumors of him pressing his attention on women workers, but figured that her self-protective meek shell would ensure that his attention wouldn't wander in her direction.
However, either her defenses weren't as strong as she hoped or he was just that desperate, but he began hitting on her during rehearsals and draft meetings. She gracefully turned his attention to other topics as soon as he approached her, but apparently to Victor, her inability to fall blindly, madly in love with him was annoying.
She tugged the bike to the next landing – Christ, maybe she should consider roller skates, they were SO much easier to lug around.
The competition was the last straw – he couldn't use her talent and she wouldn't fall into bed with him, Victor had decided to ruin her reputation as revenge. How high school petty could you get?
She grunted as she reached the top and had to do some fancy maneuvering with one leg to open the door and using her arms to push the recalcitrant bike through the door, untangling the handlebars from her messenger bag slung around her body as she went.
Veronica kicked down the stand and let it rest on its own, then sat on the top step to catch her breath before heading outside where Mr. Wonka was waiting.
Mr. Wonka - now there was an enigma. Reggie absolutely adored his fashion sense and had several sharp suits in a similar style. There were no outstanding pictures of the man, so how was she supposed to know what he looked like except at a distance. She had made a complete dunce of herself.
He seemed willing to forgive for now, that was the most important thing. She needed this work badly and knew that this could be a last chance. Veronica had decided that she couldn't turn down the work regardless of whatever "security" measures Mr. Wonka decided to inflict – but asking questions now was critical. No use agreeing to the impossible – with what little she knew. (1) that it was something to do with confectionary sugar art; (2) She had less than a month and a half deadline; and (3) it was a gift.
She added a fourth thing that she knew – it had to be something that he himself couldn't do.
With that thought bolstering her spirits, she pushed herself to her feet, dusted off her hands and headed outside with the bike.
Willy Wonka studied the view from the top of the building. It had been a school at one point, so the remains of a basketball court and gently used playground equipment were still evident. The weather was still unseasonably warm for the first week on November, but the scent of dying leaves on the wind indicated that colder weather would be there soon.
Veronica Carmichael was a bundle of contradictions. Professional one moment then charmingly flustered the next. Aesthetically, she was attractive to the his eyes. But, she was thinner than he remembered from the competition – almost boney. Considering her loss of fortune however, that was easily explainable.
He heard the door open behind him and turned to watch her maneuver the bulky bike through the narrow roof entrance. Her light auburn hair was in a messy bun with strands gleefully escaping, the short army jacket and olive cargo pants made her seem more like a militant college student than a professional confectioner. The black tee shirt with a smiley face puckered with its tongue sticking out provided a irreverent contrast.
The black messenger bag became entangled in the handlebars again and she balanced on one leg – the other holding the door open, one hand guiding the bike while the other moved the bag strap away from the brake of the bike.
She had called him "hot." How was someone supposed to deal with that? Especially someone who had been out of society for more than a decade. Willy felt that he had made great strides in rejoining the human race in the past three years since Charlie and his family had joined him, but he was still missing a lot of ...oh what was a good word…context. He didn't have a common frame of reference to communicate from.
Willy sighed as she started to approach him.
Candy would have to be a common frame of reference for now.
"Are you afraid of heights?" he called to her.
She paused and looked at him, her hazel green eyes measuring his level of sincerity. "Not really. Why?"
He started to walk forward…
…only to walk into the corner of something nearly invisible to the eye and spin in almost a complete circle. He clutched his hat and cane with one hand while rubbing his shoulder with a pained expression
"Ow."
Veronica could see edges of something - like a line in the air slightly out of phase with the rest of its surrounding area.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
He raised the cane after assuring himself that the hat had not moved from its assigned perch and gestured to the transparent framework. "Fine, thanks. This is my Glass Wonkavator – our mode of transportation this afternoon."
She raised an eyebrow and studied the device. What she had taken at first for parts of the building ventilation were actually the thrusters on the enclosure itself. The sides, buttons, floor and ceiling were all made of high-impact resistant glass. The only things really visible were four purple velvet loops hanging from the ceiling inside.
Most people would protest at this point.
Willy was half expecting her to try and back out of it.
Veronica was made of sterner stuff however, and rolled the bike closer to study the doorway.
"I'm not sure how to get my bike in there, Mr. Wonka, and still have room for us."
"Iit will fit – it's really much larger than it seems from his angle." He opened the door with the top of his cane and gestured inside, "Ladies first."
Together they managed to wrestle the bike inside, standing it on its back wheel and the handlebar looped through one of the purple straps to hold it upright.
Willy wiped his forehead with one sleeve, "Jeez, that thing is bulky. Have you considered roller skates instead?"
Pausing at the echo of her own thoughts, she considered Mr. Wonka for a second. Maybe he wasn't out of phase with reality as badly as the interviews with the losers of the Golden Ticket contest would have the public believe. Either that, or she was more out of step with reality than she thought.
"Hold on," he said and pushed a nearly invisible button with the tip of his cane. The Wonkavator shot into the sky and Veronica's stomach waved goodbye from the rooftop.
Nope – it was him.
Mr. Wonka seemed impervious to the laws of gravity as they swooped into the clouds. She hurriedly grasped the purple support and hung on for dear life. At one point the Wonkavator did a seemingly random loop-de-loop and her feet left the floor entirely.
"Those are new, by the way," said Mr. Wonka, the essence of relaxed confidence in perilous situations.
"What are?" she gasped as the elevator swung into a large fluffy cloud.
"The straps. The Wonkavator didn't have them originally. Charlie and his family had complained about getting knocked about like pin balls when they rode in it," he shrugged. "Personally, I've never had a problem. However, for their sensibilities, I put the straps in and the Buckets all seem much happier to ride in it."
"That was very considerate of you. I am personally very grateful for their presence."
The glass Wonkavator hung suspended in the cloud, hidden from sight and all intrusions. Mr. Wonka turned to face his guest.
"Interested in why I've been hunting you down yet?"
"Highly."
"Well. First allow me to get your signature on this," He pulled a tri-folded piece of paper from his pocket and a calligraphy pen. "It's a standard non-disclosure agreement. It would prevent you from telling anyone else about what we discussed – if you did, you would be prosecuted with the full measure of the law."
"What about in a general manner with a family member who I could swear to secrecy?" she asked, a keen glint in her eye.
"As long as no specifics are mentioned and it doesn't end up in the media or my competitor's hands, I don't have any issue with it," he replied handing her the contract.
She glanced over it, and seeing the short paragraph explaining in much greater length and more legal mumbo-jumbo exactly what Mr. Wonka had just said, signed with a flourish. "I would like a copy for my own records please."
"Of course - now on to the fun part!" He took back the contract, blew on in gently to ensure the ink was dry, folded it and returned it to his pocket inside his frock coat.
"When I closed my factory doors all those years ago – I also had fired my workers." Mr. Wonka started to explain. He hesitated for a moment and shot her a measuring glance - as if to see if she was trustworthy of the information. She must have been since he continued.
"It was the worst moment of my life. When you hit bottom like that, sometimes it's helpful to take a break for a while. So, I decided to take the time to travel the world and do some expanded research into new flavors," He sighed shakily for a moment.
"I toured, India, Africa, South America, and Australia – exotic locations I'd always heard about, but never had the chance to go to. Finally, I traveled by Windjammer to a series of Pacific Islands off the coast of Jakarta. It was here that I first traveled to Loompaland."
Enthralled by Mr. Wonka's storytelling, she had to ask a question, "Is that a native's name for the island, or is that what the cartographers called it?"
Mr. Wonka gave her an approving smile, "You know - you are the first person to ask me that very intelligent question. It's the native name. The cartographers didn't bother to give it a name since it's so small and there are so many other islands in the area."
"Anyway - I discovered that the island was inhabited with the Oompa Loompas."
Mr. Wonka related the rest of the tale how he had met the tribe and learned of their plight trying to live day to day in such a dangerous environment. When he got around to relaying how he had brought them to his factory to live and work, Veronica had to comment again.
"How did you manage to get this through the immigration department? What about labor laws?"
"Let's just say paperwork for green cards got processed in record time. A certain Royal, who shall remain nameless, is particularly fond of my Toffee-Coffee Crunches," He winked at her.
"When a letter arrived from the Ministry of Labor asking the Oompa Loompas if they had - or even wanted - a union; Turpik-Ra - one of the Oompa Loompas who had attended an on-line law course - drafted a letter of response, got it signed by the Chief and sent it out without any input from me. The Oompa Loompas are amazingly quick studies and they are quite protective of their ways and don't' take kindly to outside interference," He said with obvious pride in his voice.
"Which, of course, intersects nicely with your own goals," Veronica finished for him.
"Exactly," Mr. Wonka nodded.
He continued. "I would like to hire you to create a statue of some kind - I am open to suggestions, to honor the Oompa Loompa for their hard work and for taking such a brave step into this new world to come work for me. The week before Christmas is the 15th anniversary of them coming to the factory. A massive celebration is being planned and I want to present your work to the Chief. "
"I don't have the time to make something personally – I considered it – but going missing for large chunks of time out of sight of my workers would be highly suspicious and I really want this to be a surprise. Not to mention it would be horribly tacky of me to ask them to make their own gift," He scrunched his nose in disgust at the notion.
"So that's my tale. Think you can whip up something to help me out, or do I need to keep looking?" He stood straight and tall, resting his hands on the nerds cane and waited patiently for Veronica's response. Only the faint squeak of his latex-clad hands twisting the cane betrayed his nerves. His face was blank and his eyes hidden behind the dark goggles.
Veronica studied Willy Wonka closely, trying to read what he wasn't saying as well as what he was. He was obviously fiercely protective of his workers and his factory – but the emotion in his voice had also told her that this wasn't some corporate thank-you gift he was looking for. This was a treasure to be presented to the tribe who had adopted him and moved from their primitive lives into a promised land. The sheer romance of the subject was seductive to her. Veronica also had a feeling that the Oompa Loompas were not just workers – they were Family.
It was a concept she could understand – choosing your family.
Willy Wonka had adopted the Oompa Loompas and chosen to shelter them from a world that would not understand their ways. In return they sheltered him from a world that had betrayed his trust. Something about this spoke to her as nothing else had.
Ignoring any lingering questions about pay, security measures or standards – she replied to the opportunity that Mr. Wonka was offering.
"Looks like we've got ourselves a deal," Veronica said.