I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work.

I apologize for the delay updating (by my standards, anyway). If you've been watching the news, Mr. Depp has announced that he's participating in yet another "Pirate" movie and taking up the role of Tonto in "The Lone Ranger." Considering "Tonto" in Spanish means pretty much the same thing as "Depp" in German, I find this quite amusing. – Stealth Phoenix

Chapter 66

Picking up the phone and calling a contact at Food Network was one of most fun things L.A. had ever done. She listened to the phone ring, butterflies of apprehension flapping around her stomach even as a grin set up house on her face and refused to leave.

"Food Network – this is Tom Colburn."

"Tom? This is L.A. from Wonka Inc. How are you doing today?"

"A lot better if you're calling me to tell me that Mr. Wonka approved a filmed tour of his factory," Tom hinted, little hope in his voice.

Tom had been working the request for filming for the past two years and had run into every barrier, blockage and stonewall the L.A. could throw up. Won-Ka's opinion on outside visitors was well known.

"Not a chance. I've got a bigger cookie for you though. Are you interested?" L.A. grinned, leaning back in her crowded office and placing her crossed feet on the top of her desk.

Tom sighed, "Depends on what you've got. How about confirmation about Wonka and Carmichael's engagement? I heard a rumor about it from out Los Angeles office. Not our bag, but we can build around it…"

L.A. coolly cut him off, "Better than that. Remember our grudge match with Slugworth?"

Tom perked up, "Who wouldn't? Wonka accused Slugworth of stealing his recipes and closed the factory. Slugworth's profits have been limping by ever since because his source of 'inspiration' dried up."

"Yeah – there's more bubbling over that. You've heard about Victor Brahm as the new face of Slugworth Candies?"

"Yeah – the wunderkind who is supposed to be premiering some new concoction of Slugworth's in a few months. I haven't heard much more about it though. Do you have anything?" Tom asked.

L.A. was silent, and waited.

Tom wasn't stupid and he was starting to put things together rapidly, "Is the war back on? Has someone stolen another famous Wonka recipe?"

L.A. was silent, letting Tom figure things out for himself.

"No wait…Victor Brahm's grudge was against Carmichael. All that legal wrangling that seemed to have faded out a month or so ago with no resolution. I'm guessing the recipe was hers…and ooh! That's ugly…" Tom winced over the phone.

L.A. just made a noncommittal noise, "I can't tell you what to think."

Tom's voice was cheerful, "But you have some mighty informational silences though. This is one hell of a scoop, but why talk to us?"

"I've got a favor to ask of you then. Could we borrow kitchen stadium in New York for an evening?" L.A. asked innocently.

She could practically hear his eyes narrow over the phone, "L.A., my dove, what is going on over there? You can't drop hints like this and leave me dangling. Who's the kitchen for?"

"Ms. Carmichael and Victor Brahm. Slugworth Candies backing Victor Brahm as their rep for a contest to see who can top whom in a friendly competition just as we've agreed to support Ms. Carmichael."

There was a muffled thud as Tom dropped the phone. L.A. knew he was a bright boy – the implications were vast and the marketing potential even more so.

When Tom picked the phone back up, he was a little giddy, "This is a joke right? A death match between Wonka and Slugworth by proxy and you want to borrow Kitchen Stadium for the fireworks?"

"We'd also need a few impartial judges," L.A. said helpfully, enjoying the man's consternation. "Of course since it's your home court, we'd have to give Food Network exclusive right to coverage."

Tom started to hyperventilate.

"Easy Tom…slow and steady. Take a long breath through your nose and blow out like through a straw as long as possible," L.A. said, sliding her feet off the desk with a thud. It wouldn't do to have him pass out on her.

"L.A. this is beyond me. I need to contact my higher-ups and get back to you about your request. Could I call you back?" Tom asked weakly, even as she heard rapid scribbling in the background.

"Sure. Just let me know sometime today what the progress is. Thanks Tom!" she said sweetly.

"No. Thank you!"

She hung up the phone and looked over to where Tupik-Ra sat in the visitor's chair of her small office. "There you go. I've dangled the worm and the fish are starving. We'll have a date locked in by the end of the day."

--

The small group of people stood huddled around the kitchen counter of her apartment, looking down at the pages before them with various scowls and looks of impatience on their faces.

Each one was a former employee of Victor, each fired when they had rubbed him the wrong way. They now agreed to be her kitchen team in the competition.

Unfortunately, when strong-willed people gathered, it was urinary Olympics until the pecking order got sorted out. Veronica was weary to death of the constant battle to maintain her position of head of the team.

Maybe there was something to Victor's bad moods, she thought wearily.

"Right. Enough of this. Michelle, you take chocolate – I'm honest enough to know that I'm crap at it and you're the best of the best. However, don't stick your nose into Neville's business with the fruit – he's better than both of us combined. Sandra, I don't want to hear shit out of you about my designs. I happen to be very good at this and know what I'm doing, you're the pasty whiz, stick to your expertise and leave me to mine," she finally snapped, making the group jump and look at each other guiltily.

Veronica sighed and rubbed at her eyes. They'd been at it since 7 a.m. and it was only lunchtime.

"Each of you come up with your design. We'll share after lunch for brainstorming after lunch and then go into a practice run in the kitchen. Got it?"

"Seig Heil, mein Fuher!" said Neville snidely in his brash Boston accent. His constant snarking was really ticking her off and undermining her leadership, time to nip this in the bud.

"Do you have a problem Neville?" she asked in a deceptively soft voice, "Because if you do I'd love to hear about it."

"You've been running around, snapping at us all morning, Veronica. I thought this was a team effort," he replied, his own frustration riding high.

"It is. However, each of you has got to look to your own strengths and share weaknesses. At least I'm honest enough to admit mine – but you've got to face up to your own. That's what a team does, we cover and help each other. You've been nattering at me all morning trying to take the lead for the competition just because you're the only one here with a 'y' chromosome."

"Have not," he cried, flushing angrily.

Sandra jumped in at this point, the small dark-haired woman from Yorkshire poked Neville in the chest, "Have too. We're sick to death of your sniping. Bung up or piss off. Veronica called us on our problem and it's up to us to fix it."

"Just because she's working with Wonka doesn't mean she's the boss…" Neville started.

"Actually is does," Michelle, a middle-aged blonde American woman with graying hair interrupted. "Veronica's putting her reputation, her work and her money on the line – what are you doing? She flew us all here and is hosting us on her own dime to win this competition. Is the only reason you're here is for a little revenge and that's all? If that's the case, then I think you should go home."

Veronica nodded thankfully to the two women, "Thank you. I'm glad it wasn't just me that was getting annoyed. Now Neville, think you could put your ego aside and actually work with us or do I need to find a replacement?"

Neville's ears were bright red with humiliation, but he nodded, "Alright. I'm just so damn frustrated that I'm ready to burst. First I lose my job to that jerk, and now when I get the chance to show my stuff – that he was wrong – I guess I'm letting my anger get ahead of me. I'm sorry."

Veronica suddenly grinned and patted the sheepish man on his shoulder, "Believe me – I feel the same way. Tell you what, let's slip out around the corner to the pub and get some lunch, on me. I think we need a good break."

While her team was still anonymous enough at the moment, the media would still be hounding her steps. The local pub was a haven against the intrusive presence thanks to dark smoked glass windows, a group of regulars highly protective of their local celebrities, and a unobtrusive back entrance and exit thanks to a sweet bribery to the owner of the pub. It wasn't perfect, but better than nothing.

The group started to gather up their umbrellas and coats in preparation to leave when the phone rang. Sandra who was closest, snatched up the headset, "Hello?"

Veronica watched as a flurry of expressions passed over her face as she listened to whoever was on the other end. Confusion, followed by amazement then shock and finally, she blushed beet red and after shooting Veronica a flustered look, dropped her eyes, "Um…hold on Sir, I think you've just propositioned the wrong girl."

She handed the phone to a laughing Veronica and muttered under her breath, "You're a lucky woman if he can actually do what he was just telling me he was talking about. Meet you at the pub, dear."

Veronica blushed a bright red and ignored the winks and nudges as her team left the apartment. After the door closed she answered the phone, "Willy?"

"I'm never going to live this down am I?" he answered followed by a faint thudding noise as he gently bashed his head against what sounded like his desk. She could hear his thunderous blush over the phone.

It was a bad connection as static snapped and crackled making him sound like he was half a world away when he was actually probably waving at her from across the street.

"Depends on what you were just saying – if it's good enough, I might ask for an encore. Sandra looked pretty impressed and she's been married for ages," Veronica said cheekily.

"Something involving orange marmalade, some strategic dots of whipped cream and …well…um…never mind. How's things going?" Willy asked, lunging for another topic like a man going after a life preserver.

"Rough. We're take a breather and heading to the pub for lunch. How about you?"

"Well, Food Network is willing to lend us Kitchen Stadium on April 17th. Slugworth and Brahm have already confirmed and now the details are being battled over by Tupik-Ra. It's a point of contention over the number of workers. They're pushing for three assistants and then eliminating one per hour until judgment."

Veronica winced as she took a seat. That kind of personnel shift would require a lot more precision planning and practice – and it was only two weeks away.

"Other than that, it's the usual mumbo jumbo." he said. There was a moment of awkward silence and dimly she heard him whisper, "I miss you."

Since he'd issued the challenge, Veronica had been working late night and dealing with the logistics of bringing team members from across the globe to work leaving her with little or no time to spend with Willy. She was almost working as hard as she was to complete the Schnozzwhanger for the Eclipse Ceremony.

This used to be so much easier when I didn't realize what I was missing, she thought.

"I miss you too," She sighed, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes against the ache in her heart.

This wouldn't do – what was life without something to look forward to?

"If we can get things rolling later this afternoon, maybe I can get over there and we could have a night in with a good movie?" she suggested, toying with one errant strand of hair. Her heart ached just to see his face at the moment and she knew he felt the same way.

"You've got yourself a deal, young lady," Willy perked up.

Whatever else he said was lost to an especially loud crackle and then the line disconnected.

Strange.

Considering that the building was well over 100 years old already with the ancient jury rigged wiring, not terribly surprising. Still, it was the first time having such a problem.

Shrugging, she collected her jacket and her replacement bag and headed out to join her team down at the pub.

--

"Did you get anything?"

The cramped van stuffed with electronic gear was parked up the street and around the corner from where the apartment building was, out of line of sight of the looming factory.

Two men sat in the surveillance van, one up front, deceptively casual as he read his paper and sipped a cup of tea, the other concealed in the back working the equipment. This was different from their usual haunt around the schoolyard for marketing analysis for Slugworth Candies.

"Yeah. We've got a drop -just idle chit-chat about the competition and some rather inventive dirty-talk from Wonka. I never knew the swish bastard had it in him – I figured him more for messing with the lad."

Both of them, at one point or the other during their careers had been busted for illicit use of the eavesdropping equipment. Moonlighting was highly discouraged by Slugworth Industries, especially for blackmail purposes – and not offering them the lion's share of the money. So when they'd been approached with 'official' orders to assist some American bloke by tapping Carmichael's line – they'd jumped on the opportunity just for the sake of breaking the monotony.

"Never mind that. File the report with Vic would you," The other man sighed and returned back to his crossword.

The surveillance man opened his laptop and sent a message

--

Willy hung up the phone after it had disconnected. "I'll have to get Orville to take a look at that. Can't have lines dropping out like that - It's rude," he said to himself as signed yet another paper off the stack Doris had brought him.

He worked steadily for another ten minutes, reading quickly and signing with a flourish of his purple inked pen until the chicken shaped egg timer on top of his computer screen let out a loud squawk indicating that office time was finally done.

"Thank goodness that is over," he sighed in relief, throwing the pen down and twirling in his seat and staring up at the peppermint swirl on the ceiling until he felt dizzy.

Responsibility is all fine and well, but in measured doses!

Sometimes makes me wish I had the same focus on paperwork that I get on candy invention, Willy thought himself, allowing the chair to drift to a stop with his eyes closed. Then again, it's what makes me the World's Greatest Chocolatier.

That was one of the reasons he loved Veronica. She was the same way when it came to work – the ability for narrow focus for extended periods of time to the exclusion of time, bodily needs or social convention. He never had to explain, nor she to him when a simple "Work" was all that needed to be said.

Willy crossed his legs and propped them up on the desk, lacing his fingers together and resting his head against them as he relaxed for the moment.

It was amazing how his whole world could shift in such a short time. If someone had told him last year had said that he would meet a woman with the same interest and obsessive focus on candy, he probably would have asked, "At which mental institution?"

If that same person had told him that she would be a toothsome copper-brown beauty with a rapier sharp with and mind, he would have probably have slowly backed away and locked himself in the Invention Room until Sherman could be summoned to take the lunatic away.

"I wish you could have met her, Dad," he whispered, thinking to the austere man who had shaped his early life and expectation of the female of the species.

She would have either impressed the hell out of the old enamel engineer or frightened the heck out of him.

Both responses would have titillated Willy and he had fun for a moment visualizing his father's face to either scenario.

Now only if she would break the habit of scaring the tar out of him!

Gallivanting across the states and getting kidnapped aside, her absent-minded way of stepping out without letting him or anyone else know where she was going was going to be the death of him. Just yesterday, she took her crew out to the British Museum to look over some artwork for inspirations without letting anyone at the factory know. When they'd returned, it was only through the security cameras in the building that he'd known and managed to suppress his instinct to run over and shake some sense into her.

Knowing her as he did though, it would be futile though. Too many years of independent living and a long habit of underestimating her appeal prevented her from seeing the worst case scenarios every time she stepped outside the door.

It was part of her charm even if it did drive him to distraction. Her sweet smile and warm hugs easily wiped away the worry and concern once she was back in his arms.

Such was the appeal of Veronica's presence in his life.

It was a tribute to his growing understanding in this strange new realm of male/female relationships that he was starting to catch some of the nuances in conversations around him. Whether or not they were already there or if he was just now noticing them was debatable.

When they had joined the Bucket's for dinner one night, Mrs. Bucket had been stomping around, glaring at Mr. Bucket who was looking a bit abashed and confused. Nothing had been said, but he could tell that Noel was in the doghouse for something. It would have been something he'd missed before – or thought that the anger was directed at either himself or Charlie.

Instead, he'd distracted Clara for a few moments while Charlie led his father on a raid to the buttercup patch in the Chocolate room for a bouquet. When the man presented the candy flowers with his typical shy smile on his hangdog face, Clara had smiled brightly and flung herself into her husband's arms with a warm kiss. He was obviously well-forgiven, even if it was never discovered why she's been angry with him in the first place.

He was leaning back, grinning to himself in a congratulatory manner when the phone rang, and startling him so badly he tipped over backwards with a yelp. His head hit the floor with a thud and he rolled out of the seat rather than be stuck sitting on his own head.

Doris poked her head in at the noise.

"Just me - I'm fine," he grunted, waving her off and crawling to his knees to snatch at the phone, "Wonka Inc, home of the famous Scrumdidllyuptious bar and other confectionery delights. If you want to talk to a real person, stay on the line. If you prefer our automated menu, please press "1" now…"

"Willy – it' Reggie," the man interrupted.

"Reggie! Reg-a-rino! Reg-a-rama!" Willy cried happily, "What's up?"

"Veronica's birthday – please tell me you knew about it?"

Willy froze, his warm fuzzy feelings about mastering the art of the relationship drying up and leaving him naked in a blizzard, "Birthday?"

"Christ! She didn't tell you did she?" Reggie groaned in exasperation, "Bloody idiot that she is – she's agreed to marry you but didn't tell you her birthday! How typical…"

"It's not today is it?" Willy asked in rising horror. He knew forgetting to cross-index his information in her file would come back to haunt him someday.

"It's next week – she's almost an April Fool baby. Listen, I need your help to plan something for her."

"Yeah. Planning is good. What though? Is this sort of like Christmas with the gifts?" Willy asked frantically, his faith in understanding the female psyche in this matter completely shot and now clinging to the words of wisdom of a gay man.

Reggie sighed into the phone, realizing that Willy was clueless, "Listen, why don't Spencer and I plan and we just tell you what we've got in mind and what we need from you."

"Yeah – but back to the gifts? What do I get her? Bath salts? No, then she'd say I thought she stunk…um…how about jewelry? No, then she'd think I was trying to buy her off…lingerie? Ugh! Then she'd accuse me of a one track mind. Reggie – help!" Willy was starting to hyperventilate.

This is my chance to remind her of what she means to me and all I can think of are clichés, Willy realized in horror. I'm going to offend her and she'll call off the engagement and she'll never want to see me again.

Reggie was stuck between disbelief and laughter. Willy was panicking over something as simple as a birthday gift? What would he be like when it came to putting together a wedding? Better not remind him or he'd pass out…

"Quit that panting, you're turning me on," Reggie said calmly.

There was a horrified silence on the other end until Willy squeaked into the phone and Reggie finally did have to laugh, "Willy, I'm joking – take a deep breath."

"Alright. This is what I'm going to do for you. You're coming over here tomorrow afternoon and we're going to look online to figure out something for my sister," Reggie said in a firm and reasonable tone, "I'm not going to inflict you on her in your current state and God only knows what you'd grab if you shopped on your own. We can plan the rest here while she's holed up with her gang. Will that work?"

Willy managed a deep breath while his panic abated, "Yeah. That will work. I'm bringing Charlie since I know he'll want in on the planning and it's a Saturday, so no school."

"Right, how does noon sound?"

"Great. See you then," Willy hung up the phone, feeling dizzy from all the breathing.

Veronica's birthday was next week and she'd never even mentioned it. She had probably been so wrapped up in her planning that the days had slipped by again. Well, as her duly appointed spouse-to-be it was his responsibility to see to it that she got what she wanted in a birthday, even if he had no clue what he was doing.

After all, clues were what Reggie was for.

This was an opportunity, he thought, trying to psych himself up for the event. An opportunity to show her how much he utterly adored her, how much he needed her, how much she'd changed his life for the better and made him a better man just for having shared what time he has had with her.

Rather a lot to ask for his original idea of bath salts.

With a frustrated growl, Willy batted at the mouse on his desk to wake the computer up. Opening the desktop he began to surf, looking for ideas for the perfect gift.

He was going to do this right even if it killed him.