I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. Apparently there has been some disagreement between the Oompa Loompa and Mr. Wonka about their growing dependence on chocolate covered espresso beans. I'm keeping my head out of this one and can only pray that he doesn't figure out who the supplier is.
– Stealth Phoenix
Chapter 13
Veronica frantically searched through her cupboards, looking for anything to make a decent cake out of. It was Saturday afternoon and she had almost completely forgotten about Reggie and Spencer's cake.
Vanilla? Too plain.
Chocolate? Not unless she could get the good stuff, and there was just no time.
Carrot? Get real.
She growled in frustration and began flinging canned goods out of the way to see if there was some hidden treasure lurking in the back.
Nothing.
"Crap!" she swore, slamming the door shut, ignoring the mess for now.
"Is everything alright?" asked Willy's concerned voice from behind her.
Veronica shrieked and spun to face the Chocolatier. He let out his own startled cry and staggered back grabbing his chest. He looked vaguely like some offended maiden in some odd regency romance novel.
"Don't do that!" they said at the same time. Regarding each other, they had to smile.
"Sorry about that – you left the door unlocked and I did knock…" he began
"It's alright – I was just freaking out and missed the knock."
"What are you freaking about? Are you planning a massive donation to the food bank?" He poked a can of peaches with his cane making the can roll toward the kitchen. "If you're cleaning out the pantry trying to get rid of all the 'expired' ones, there's not going to be anything left. Except maybe Twinkies – there's something really creepy about Twinkies."
Willy slipped onto the stool at the counter while Veronica went about the motions of making hot chocolate for him, as had become their routine.
"Archeologist millions of years from now are going to excavate some grocery store somewhere and find those preservative-ridden monstrosities and who knows what kind of perception they're going to build about us from them."
She slid the mug to him and gazed at him with a fond smile, "Judging on the amount of plastic surgery out there and the amount of chemicals that are going in all our food, they'll be able to find quite a few bodies to study - full-sized Barbie and Ken dolls."
The both shuddered at that prospect.
"Freaking?" Willy reminded her, looking at her from over the rim of his cup as he paused to take a sip.
"Oh! Yes! I need to make a cake for Reggie and Spencer for tonight. I completely blew it because I was supposed to make it last night so it would have time to cool, and I was don't have the stuff to make anything decent…" she paused in her rant, hands fluttering in alarm.
"Oh God! I'm going to let them down," she groaned, sinking her head into her hands. "There's no way I have enough here to make something to feed 20 people. I'll have to resort to a flippin' sheet cake from the grocery store! AARGH!"
Charmed at this display of sheer female frustration, he internally clapped his hands in glee. He could fix this.
Trying to be nonchalant, Willy shrugged, "I'll help. Let's take a look at what you've got."
He rose to his feet and glanced at the cans on the floor. "Peaches! That's good…mandarin oranges…" he opened the door of the cabinet and perused the contents thoughtfully. "Hmmm…do you happen to have vanilla, rum, and orange extract?"
"Of course I do. You brought it over during the taste trials and never bothered to take them back."
He nodded in satisfaction, his violet gaze distant then grinned, "How about fruitcake?"
She snorted, "Ew! What are you thinking of inflicting on mostly innocent people with fruitcake?
"I mean making one."
"fruitcake is disgusting."
Willy held up one admonishing finger, "Uh-uh! Not mine. It'll work, and won't take too much time to cool since it's not as dense as most – it also has the added benefit of not having to age."
Veronica held up a hand in defeat, "I bow to the master on this one – I love candy - am a whiz at it, but baking anything beyond doughnuts is beyond my reach."
"How did you survive culinary school?"
"Who said I did?"
Tisking with disapproval, he removed his coat and placing the white apron that was hanging on the back of the pantry door over his black vest, dark sapphire blue pants and lighter blue shirt. Then Willy Wonka took control of the kitchen.
It wasn't a metaphorical change – there was an air of command that wasn't there previously and his movements became sharp and crisp as he selected ingredients, inspected bowls and spatulas, and quickly moved into action.
Veronica had to step back and admire him – his lean body moved and flowed as if listening to invisible music. She quietly removed the cans off the floor and started to return them to them to the pantry when he paused in front of her for a moment. She froze under his intense gaze and for a moment, time stood still. Then he grinned and gently removed the peaches and oranges. His fingers accidentally grazed her breast as took the jar of applesauce from her laden arms and she felt the contact like an electric shock. He blushed and murmured, "Pardon me," before whirling and continuing his precise baking once again.
She stammered, "I…I…n..need to go get cleaned up. Spencer is coming in an hour and a half to help transport. Will we have cake by that point? I can decorate it at their apartment."
Still blushing slightly Willy nodded, "Yes, it'll be baking in just a few minutes and should be cool enough to take over there. If you don't mind taking the Wonkavator, we could use the outside air to get it to the point where you can decorate it without frosting melting."
"Wonderful. Please excuse me," she turned to escape to the small bathroom.
"Flip on some tunes if you're of a mind to," she called over her shoulder.
--
Veronica stepped out of the shower less than 15 minutes later. She had wet, scrubbed, lathered rinsed, declined to repeat; and shaved legs and underarms at lightning speed. It was a personal speed record. The thought that Willy was moving around in her apartment just beyond the door gave her a frisson of chilled delight straight down her spine.
Quickly rubbing lotion on her abraded legs, she heard music playing. She cocked her head trying to place it. Ah, yes. "Black Betty by Spiderbait," she announced with a wide grin.
Veronica hurriedly threw on her underclothes, jeans and a tee shirt before opening the door to let the steam escape in a cloud. She wrapped her hair in the towel and left the bathroom to see what Willy was up to.
He was dancing. He waltzed, glided and rolled his way around the kitchen, apron still on and top hat firm on his head. She could see him mouthing the words and generally getting down with his funky bad self.
She gently cleared her throat and he paused, looking at her with startled eyes. Then, to her surprise, he smirked and danced over to her offering his hand with a courtly bow, "May I have this dance M'Lady?"
With a haughty nod, she gracefully took his hand, and proceeded to ruin the aristocratic bearing by breaking out into the 'cabbage patch'. He grinned and returned with the even more inappropriate 'hustle'. They took turns trying to outdo each other with the most inappropriately horrible dances ever created.
It was as they were both attempting to do the 'electric slide' to "Crazy by Gnarles Barklay" when Spencer walked in – and immediately covered his eyes in horror.
"Oh God! I'm blinded. Your brother is so ashamed of you, young pwdawan."
She laughed and came over to give Spencer a hug. She indicated to Willy, "Spencer Talbot, I would like you to meet Mr. Willy Wonka, my employer."
Spencer was decked out in one of his 'suits' which resembled a Victorian walking out suit in an astonishing peacock blue. He held out a purple clad hand to the astonished Chocolatier. "Mr. Wonka, a pleasure to meet you. I have been an admirer of yours for years."
Willy regarded the hand and the man for a moment before taking it and shaking heartily, "Likewise. I've heard quite a bit about you from Veronica. Love the suit! "
"Thank you. I designed and made it myself. I've got to ask, who is your tailor? I just love your fashion sense."
"It's a private label, but I'd be glad to refer you if you'd like."
Spencer grinned before returning his attention to Veronica with a scowl. "Why aren't you dressed, young lady! The ceremony starts in little under two hours, and you look like you just got kicked out of a Gap ad. What the hell?"
"I got behind on the cake. Mr. Wonka was kind enough to lend a hand. As for the dress - no chance in hell."
"But this is your brother's wedding day, Ronnie! You know how important it is to him."
"Then he should look lovely in it. "
Willy felt like he was at a tennis match. Veronica glared at Spencer, arms crossed over her chest, Spencer glared at her right back.
"I didn't want to do this Ronnie, but you are forcing my hand with your unreasonable attitude." Spencer shook his head sadly and then regarded her with the most pitiful expression on his face.
She quailed. Not Puppy Eyes™!
Willy recognized the expression from Charlie and had to shake his head at the inanity of it all. It was a good thing that he was immune to such blatant emotional blackmail. The woman stood no chance.
"Damn it Spencer! Fine! I surrender. I hope you're bloody happy. Where's the flaming dress?" Veronica was a very sore loser.
Spencer turned and re-opened the door to grab the clothing bag that was hung there.
"Here you go darling. I designed it for oh…what's her name from Spiderman, but she never called back to pick it up or pay. She's got similar coloring so it'll look simply faboo on you." Spencer thrust the dress bag into her arms and started shuffling her into the bedroom to change. She protested vehemently, "But I've still got to decorate your bloody cake! I can't do that in a dress!"
"Bull. Mr. Wonka managed to whip up the cake in full Edwardian attire, you can mange in a skirt and heels. Scoot!"
She slammed the door and Spencer grinned at the Chocolatier. "You know she wants to do it, but won't let herself play. It's my job as the evil fairy godmother to make sure she does."
Willy wisely said nothing. The timer dinged and he turned to oven, slid on the fish shaped oven mitts and carefully opened the door to regard the multiple cakes within. Spencer could smell the heavenly odor of fruit, vanilla and sweet bay rum as Willy slid the cakes, one by one from the oven and flipped them out of their pans onto a cooling rack with a practiced hand.
"Is that it?" Spencer asked watching as Willy opened the window to let the cold November air in and set the cakes on the ledge to cool.
"Yup. It's a fruit sponge cake I came up with improve those nasty Christmas fruitcakes in a can."
"Fairly traditional for the festivities as well." Spencer fiddled with the cuff of his jacket for a moment, ignoring the low stream of cussing coming from the bedroom. "Mr. Wonka…"
"Willy, please."
"Willy, I just want to thank you for everything you've done for Veronica." Spencer glanced at the bedroom door, safely closed. "She's had a hard couple of years. You came along at just the right moment. Although it was apparently a rocky start due in a very small part to me," He had the grace to look abashed, "You gave her back her ability to work, thrive and dream. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you."
Willy looked embarrassed at the praise. "I really didn't do anything but give Veronica a chance. She did everything else herself."
Spencer gave a speculative look at the man, "Ronnie's a special girl."
There was a particularly loud thump on the bedroom door followed by sulfurous swearing.
"Yeah, she's a delicate flower," Willy smirked.
"Now about that black eye…" Spencer hemmed in trying to get the real story.
"…you want her to lick my lolly?" asked Willy arching an eyebrow at the man.
Spencer blushed at the retort, "Point taken."
"Indeed."
The door to the bedroom cracked open, "Spencer! Get your flaming ass in here. You designed this monstrosity; you can help me get in it."
"Duty calls." Spencer gave a nod to the man and went into the bedroom.
--
Veronica had flung clothing everywhere, the closet had apparently regurgitated every shoe she owned onto the floor before it. She stood in a strapless bra and underwear with her arms tangled in the straps over her head. The strange creature with the cloth covered head turned at the sound of the door closing, "Help!" she pleaded flapping her hands helplessly.
Spencer sighed, "It's not this difficult Ronnie – it's a dress, not the ravenous bugblatter beast of Traal."
He gently took the fabric, untangled a limb or two and pulled it down to reveal massively tousled damp hair and a very red face. "There, now on top of dressing you, I'm doing your hair and makeup."
"What are you, my sister?"
"As a matter of fact…"
She surrendered. She had learned her lesson not to cross Spencer when it came to his designs. Veronica had seen him flay actors and actresses alike if they attempted to maul his precious creations. Not that she was innocent of similar protective instincts toward her own creations, but still, multi-million dollar stars had been reduced to awkward children in his rages.
"Now, bend over and flip your hair this way." He demanded, grabbing the blowdryer.
Through much cussing and hair-pulling the hair was dried and smoothed. "This is why I don't bother – as soon as humidity hit it, I'm back to a big orange afro." She complained.
"Then it'll look good until then – now shut up and sit still." Spencer approached her threateningly with tweezers.
"What are you doing? I didn't volunteer for ripping hair out of my face!"
"Tough – I'm not having our best lady show up with a unibrow. Hold still!"
--
Willy had taken the iniative to start making fondant to roll out on top of the cake when the screams of pain and anger rang out of the bedroom. He paused with the rolling pin balanced on one hand, debating on whether or not to offer aid, when Spencer popped his head out and offered a plastic smile.
"No worries, she's just getting ready."
Willy wondered, do my smiles really look that fake?
"What color fondant for your cake?" Willy offered instead.
"Oooh! Purple and black with some sort of design if it isn't too much of a bother." Spencer trilled and then disappeared slamming the door behind him.
Willy just shook his head and proceeded to add tint, kneading the fondant with rapid movements. He spotted a neat pattern on a plastic sheet for this very purpose and grabbed it. He rolled out the fondant to a thin sheet and then pressed the form into it, making an attractive paisley pattern. He took a tiny puff brush and some black food ink and proceeded to dust the pattern, making the raised portions darken considerably. He blew off the excess and studied the result. Not too shabby for a short effort, he decided.
He was just getting ready to bring in the cakes from cooling when the bedroom door opened and Spencer strode out. "Ladies and Gentleman, I give you the fabulous Ms. Carmichael."
Veronica appeared in the doorway. A cream colored dress fell to mid-calf in asymmetrical folds, spaghetti straps held the dress over bare shoulders. The heavily beaded bodice came into a flattering v-neckline and caressed slight curves. She wore simple strappy sandals in a gold color, emphasizing strong muscular legs. Her hair was down to her shoulders and shone with health and various products to keep the frizz down. Her skin was a lovely pale golden sun-kissed hue - colors only brought out by the pale cream of the dress.
The face, although beautiful in its simple makeup, was marred by pink welts around her eyebrows and a scowl. "That hurt, Spencer."
"Beauty is pain," he was massively unsympathetic.
"You're the pain."
Willy fought down his initial reaction. She looked stunning and he felt like Prince Charming first seeing Cinderella at the ball - a mildly psychotic Cinderella who looked angry enough to spit nails. Her passion invoked other feelings which he had thought safely contained. Would she be this passionate in other ways? He found himself involuntarily remembering the brief contact with her breast – how soft she had felt. He blushed as he realized blood was starting to pool in a rather conspicuous location.
He heard himself mummer in a throatier voice than normal, "You look gorgeous."
Veronica's startled gaze fell on him and he felt pole-axed at the intensity in her multi-colored eyes. A delicate flush rose in her cheeks matching the irritated skin on her brows as she dropped her eyes, "Thanks."
"Looks much better on you than it ever would on ol' what'sher name." Spencer declared, content with the presentation of his creation. He was not immune to Willy's reaction to Veronica's appearance. A little attraction growing here? You can cut the UST with a knife. He wondered to himself. He was very protective of Reggie's sister and knew of her troubles. I hope he can be gentle enough to coax her into a relationship – they both deserve happiness.
They were staring at each other, lost in the moment – and it was dragging. Spencer conspicuously cleared his throat to break the trance.
"So, let's finish this cake and boogie, yeah?" Willy asked dropping his eyes.
"Lets." Veronica declared, clapping her hands together briskly.
After all, the evening was just getting started.