I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. Alton Brown and Food Network are not mine either. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. This is it - THE BIG FINALE. Thanks to all my readers for sticking with me this far and the support of those who left reviews. Without you, this story would have died on the vine and I'd still just be a reader rather than a contributor to – Stealth Phoenix
Chapter 70
Victor gritted his teeth and bellowed over the pounding music, "Status?"
Charles just looked at him and pointed at the semi-finished mousse with his chin. The sauce was minutes from completion and the gelatinous forms had already been plated and just awaited the sauce and finishing touches before being delivered to the judges.
The quiet man had timed things perfectly – about 6 minutes before the deadline in fact. The desserts would be fresh and at the height of their flavor.
Things weren't going so smoothly on the other side of the kitchen. Veronica's team had fallen behind in this particular category when the ice-cream maker that Neville was relying on had crapped out. His heart had soared with glee when his shouted report caused her to cease her own preparations on the sugar sculpture to try and get the mechanism working again.
Their combined efforts had been for nil and they were stuck trying to come up with a modified recipe.
"Time," Victor called, jerking his thoughts back to present.
Charles delicately applied the sauce and dressed their offering with sprigs of mint and feather like tendrils of orange zest. Victor collected the plates and screwed on his most charming smile.
The Food Network cameras followed his brisk progress up the stairs to where the Judges sat. Four people, two in chef's jackets with various patches on them indicating their competition experience sat at a long table draped with crimson cloth. They sat waiting expectantly as he placed the small dishes before them. "Our first entry is a lemon mousse dressed with a mango-lingonberry sauce – please, enjoy!" Victor said.
The cool yellow of the mousse and its bed of warm red brown sauce looked amazing against the red of the tablecloth and the dressing of small mint leaves looked especially refreshing. Victor made a mental note to give Charles a small bonus if it pleased the judges.
Victor bowed slightly and made his way back down to his side of the kitchen, passing Veronica coming up the stairs with small crystal bowl of what looked like melting pink sorbet.
He kept the sneer off his face since the cameras were still on him and Victor couldn't afford to look ungracious to his competitor. Returning to the kitchen, he shook Charles's hand and clasped his shoulder, "Good work. You get a 2,000 bonus if it wins this round."
The bald man merely nodded and left the area. His part in this was over and he would wait for final judgment in the green room.
Why can't all my folks be like that? Victor thought wistfully. Obedient, quiet and skilled – Charles was an ideal employee. Too bad the man wanted to return back to New Orleans right after the competition and had no interest beyond his small restaurant; Victor could easily use him at Dolce La Vita.
Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to his kitchen. Brigitte was carefully stirring the molten chocolate, intent concentration and a little worry line between her brows.
Uh oh, he thought crossing over to her. "What's up?" he murmured into her ear as 'Enter Sandman' started blasting over the speakers.
"It's this Slugworth chocolate – it's crap," Bridgette said candidly, her dark eyes watching the trail of the wooden paddle in the dark mix scarcely darker than her own skin. "It's got a low cocoa butter ratio and low cocoa content – it's separating as soon as I get it heated. I keep adding butter to get it to gel, but it's not going to do so well for holding form. It's going to be like trying to build a sandcastle out of mud."
Victor glanced around, frantically making sure that the camera was occupied elsewhere, "Shut up! Do you want to piss off our sponsor? I don't care if it's made out of cat crap – just make it work."
Bridgette glared at him, her dark eyes simmering, "I practiced with Wonka chocolate – how was I supposed to know that Slugworth would replace our supplies with this…garbage?"
Victor leaned in close, making sure to keep a smile plastered on his face. His eyes and low voice promised nothing but menace, however, "If I hear one more complaint about the chocolate, you're going to have a little accident in the kitchen. Just make it work – do what you need to make it hold form – add paraffin. We're counting on you."
Bridgette frowned and slipped by him to stomp off to the supply cabinet where the ingredients for the competition were stored.
Why can't they all be more like Charles, he thought again wistfully.
He glanced over to where Jacques was bent over a pot. The older man was stirring the contents slowly, a dreamy expression on his face.
What the fuck?
"Jacques! What are you waiting for? Time is of the essence here," Victor snapped.
Jacques snapped out of his daydream and looked over to Victor startled, "I have to wait for it to cool naturally. If I speed this up it will become brittle…"
"You need to concentrate on making the forms so I can put it together once your time is up," Victor interrupted rudely, "This isn't your classroom, this is a competition. If you can't adapt, then get the hell out of my kitchen."
Jacques glared at the man, "Crafting sugar is an art, young man, it cannot be rushed."
Victor swung an arm to point wildly at Veronica, "What is she doing then? Are you willing to let one of your students surpass you? Are you that washed up already?"
The older man's face flushed red, but he returned his attention to the pot, stirring the molten sugar more rapidly now and muttering darkly in French under his breath.
Satisfied that Jacques was going to keep working, Victor turned his attention to his own project – the pastry. It was minor in points, but did much to reveal the skill behind the chef – and an added distracter to the competition since it really had nothing to do with candy.
Still, points were points. Thanks to his catering experience, he knew how to make dressy little puffs of delicate flakey pastry stuffed with rich cream and topped with rich chocolate. Victor cut and folded the dough quickly, mind on the competition ahead and easily tuning out the ear-splitting music.
Amateur, Victor thought vindictively. She thinks to throw me off using psy-ops tactics? She should come out to one of the opening night parties that the movie studios throw – this is nothing compared to that.
Grinning at the camera, Victor set to work.
--
Veronica was in the zone. She didn't hear the music, the clatter of kitchen tools or the chatter of Michelle or Sandra as they worked around her. She didn't feel the sweat trickling down her back or the heat of the lamp against her skin.
Humidity was low, temperatures were cool and the sugar and special additives she'd designed were acting precisely how they should for the stage it was at. The beautiful coloring she'd added gleamed under the lights and there was an added bonus of golden flecks forming throughout the mixture.
Something like that would have sent her old master Jacques into a tizzy, foaming at the mouth. However, she liked the effect and could work with it.
She poured the mixture out onto the huge marble table in the center of the kitchen, ignoring the camera as it zoomed in on the other side. She let it set for a few moments while she checked up on her team's progress. Michelle was humming with the music and using an exacto knife to cut and trim her forms for decorations for the plates before her. Sandra was brushing her pastry with egg white and water, preparing to bake it. Things were exactly as they had practiced. No more equipment gaffs to trip these ladies up.
She slipped off the gloves and washed her hands. Then grabbing the can of spray oil, she spritzed her palms and returned to the marble slab. There was a gasp from Alton as she reached out and began to manipulate the barely solid form of the candy before her.
Veronica looked up in surprise at his exclamation, "What?"
"You're working it like play dough with your bare hands!" he exclaimed in horror, "The burns…"
Veronica gave a mysterious smile at the flustered man, "Alton, don't you know that every good chef has his or her secrets? This is one of mine."
Dismissing him from her mind, she began to mold the sugar into shape – forming a delicate body and head on a long sinuous neck, she pulled thick tendrils to form the foundation for wide wings to support the body.
Veronica had the image of what she was making pasted on the inside of her eyelids. For the past two weeks, she'd seen it every time she'd closed her eyes and it haunted her dreams with soft wings of flame. The rich colored material under her hand seemed to just flow into the shape she held in her mind with ridiculous ease.
Sandra tapped her on the shoulder and Veronica came out of her trance with a snap, "Huh?"
To her surprise, the allotted time had already passed and it was time for the next round. She was also alarmed to note that the scoreboard showed that Victor had beaten them in the fruit round by nearly 5 points. Looks like their impromptu recipe for berries and cream didn't go over well.
"It's time. Here's our offering," The older woman said with a smile. She glanced over Veronica's arm to survey the work in progress. "That's beautiful! I can't wait to see how the rest turns out – you've been so secretive with the design."
Sandra's warm matronly personality had provided comfort and stability during the practices. Her presence in the kitchen added order and a sense of home that Veronica felt was critical to how a good kitchen should work.
Veronica smiled and gave Sandra a hug before grabbing the plates with a beautiful puff pastry surprise on it. Balancing the plates on her arm, she carried them up the stairs to the judgment table. Setting a plate before each judge, she announced, "This offering is an old family recipe from Sandra Wentworth – a cranberry apple turnover with clotted cream."
As she spoke, Victor oozed up behind her and slid his own offering before the judges. His puff pastry had been formed into delicate swans cupping what looked like whipped cream and surfing on pools of berry glaze - much fancier than her offering.
"Cygnet Beignets with berries. Enjoy!" he said shortly before stumping off down the stairs.
Veronica felt upstaged, but rather than linger and seem like she was hovering over the judges while they tasted, she returned back to her station. She saw Jacques, snarling to himself in French, storm off to the green room without saying another word to Victor. He must really have angered the old man since Jacques was the kindest, most patient teacher she'd ever known. For a moment she felt sad before returning her attention back to her own side of the kitchen.
Michelle had constructed four plates of a tall chocolate soufflé with a rich white chocolate topping that waited a bit longer before adding to the soufflé at the last moment before serving. She concentrated now on finishing the delicate scrollwork of orange chocolate that would ornament each plate. It was time consuming work.
Veronica glanced around kitchen stadium, seeing that they were now half way through the competition.
Victor's only worker, Bridgette was laboring over something, her back turned toward Veronica.
Victor paused in his construction efforts of the candy glass showpiece to whisper something at Bridgette. The woman flinched, but refused to look at him and he turned away with a predatory smirk on his face. He noticed Veronica watching and the pretense of a smile dropped. For a moment, they merely stared at each other – daring the other to drop their gaze.
Sheer hostility radiated from the man and she was determined not to let him intimidate her. Little did Victor realize, but the camera was catching this seemingly uncharacteristic display to cut into footage later.
Finally, Victor turned back to his sculpture with a snarl of frustration and Veronica was left feeling like she'd escaped being mauled by a mama bear.
She glanced up at the sponsor's pen and felt Willy's concerned eyes on her. She smiled weakly and nodded at him. He gave her a small wave back, but could see his worry under the plastic grin.
Slightly shaken, she returned her attention back to her work, waiting under the heat lamps. For the next portion, Michelle and Bridgette would be delivering the plates themselves, so she could afford to lose herself in the work before her.
Turning on the butane torch, she slipped back into her work.
--
The cane creaked under the pressure of his fingers. Willy made himself unclench his hand, to stretch the fingers one by one away from the transparent plastic.
Slugworth glanced over at him, but only saw the flamboyant confectioner sitting stiffly upright, as if unwilling to relax into the chair as he had been since the beginning of the competition.
The rage in Victor's eyes - it was disturbing and not entirely sane. For a moment, Willy had feared that the man would throw himself on Veronica, ripping her limb from limb.
"So, Wonka – what's with you and the girl?" Slugworth asked playing with his glass of water.
None of your beeswax, Willy thought sourly ignoring the man.
"Pretty little thing – lovely colored hair. Is that her real color?" Slugworth wondered, watching the Chocolatier out of the corner of his eye.
Willy didn't move a muscle – keeping his breathing smooth and even.
"Of course, there's only one way to tell," Slugworth leered.
Ignore him, Willy.
"So tell me, is she as lively in the sack as she is in the kitchen? Victor seems to think so…"
Grrrrrr.
"Victor has a great many problems – delusions of adequacy being one of them and apparently lives a very rich fantasy life as well," Willy said smoothly from behind gritted teeth.
"I can see why – I'm entertaining a few fantasies myself," Slugworth said, watching Veronica manipulate some molten candy on a pipe and blowing out the shape like a bubble. Of course with his mind in the gutter, it would look rather suggestive.
Willy entertained himself with thoughts of pushing Slugworth into a large cauldron of boiling candy syrup – detailed with screams and blistering flesh.
Slugworth flavored lollies? Ew...
Catching himself eyeing one of the butane torches longingly he shook himself out of that particular line of thought.
"You're a pig," Willy said primly to the older man who was leering at the woman he loved.
"Come now, my boy. If I had a little filly like that in my stable, I wouldn't be quite as sour as you seem to be. What's the matter – she not delivering her goods?"
Willy rolled his eyes behind the dark goggles.
Right – enough of that.
"Hey look – what's Victor doing?" he asked, pointing and raising his voice in outrage.
Slugworth swiveled his head toward his champion, leaning forward and twisting to get a view through the myriad kitchen equipment blocking the way.
Lightning fast, Willy reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a small test tube with a few drops of clear liquid inside. He uncapped and dumped the contents into Slugworth's water smoothly before returning the test tube to its hiding place.
"He's using a soldering tool to attach that bit of ornamentation," Slugworth said indignantly.
"So why's he hiding behind the table then?" Willy asked petulantly.
"It's a short cord – why else? Do you really think the man's going to cheat using a soldering tool?"
"With you or him, anything's possible." Willy sneered, leaning back into his seat and resting both hands on his cane.
Slugworth snorted and gulped the rest of his water before returning the glass to his table with a thump.
"Do you know what your problem is Wonka? You're too uptight – no fun. If it's not something a five-year old would enjoy you wouldn't …oink!"
Willy swiveled his head toward the older man, "Excuse me?"
"You…oink!...never…oink! oink!" The older man covered his mouth with both hands and looked mortified at the animal noises escaping him.
"I'm sorry – please do speak up, I'm a bit deaf in one ear," Willy grinned at the discomforted man.
"OINK!" Slugworth glared at him accusingly.
"You were saying about me not knowing how to have fun? Well, I have to refute that statement and just say I know how to get my kicks when I need to," he said smiling.
Then the smile turned sharper, more predatory, "Oh, by the way – talk about my fiancée like that again and I'll do more than make you emit animal noises, 'kay?"
Slugworth sat back with a sullen expression.
"Excellent – now let's behave ourselves and watch what happens next. I do so love this part of the competition – the stress, the drama and the passion that goes into this makes for a great show."
"That was mean Willy," Charlie said softly in his ear, but he could hear laughter in the background and his heir's voice was colored with amusement.
Willy made some noncommittal noise, just defending my lady's honor.
--
Michelle tapped Veronica on the shoulder to announce, "Taking up the chocolate. Good luck."
Veronica turned off the torch and turned to the American woman, "It's beautiful! Thank you Michelle – we couldn't do this without you."
Michelle grinned at her, "Anything to stick it to Vic – see you after the competition."
Balancing the curved plates of cream colored porcelain, she started to make her way toward the stairs. One the opposite sides of kitchen stadium, Bridgette was doing the same.
The tall narrow columns of chocolate were delicately balanced on the plates and she moved carefully, joining Michelle at the foot of the stairs. Unfortunately, one of the plates was angled too steeply on her arm for such movement and began to slip.
Trying to catch herself, she suddenly moved her arm forward, jostling Michelle's arm.
Almost in slow motion, Veronica could feel herself shooting forward with dumbstruck horror, "No!"
A electronic scream of guitars seemed the perfect soundtrack for the unfolding tragedy.
The plates tumbled from Michelle's arms to hit the ground with a shatter, throwing shards of glass and chocolate into the air. Bridgette's foot hit the mess and slid out from under her, jerking her knee painfully to the side as she tried to save her plates. Michelle, tripped over the falling woman and tumbled forward, headfirst into the staircase, palms thrown out to catch herself.
More plates hit the floor and shattered.
"Goddamit!" Victor swore from his side of kitchen stadium, eyes wide in surprise, hands grabbing his hair in frustration.
Veronica slid to her knees before the women, "Michelle, Bridgette! Are you alright?"
Bridgette looked up at her, tears running down her face, "My knee! Oh god it hurts!"
Michelle crawled to her hands and knees, "Ugh."
Alton was there and a few more of the Food Network employees, tending to the fallen women.
"Stop the clock," Veronica called, holding Bridgette's hand as the set EMT prodded her knee.
"No – keep it going!" Victor bellowed.
Veronica twisted to glare at him, "People are hurt!"
"So what? It's not either of us – keep the contest going. Unless you want to give up?"
Michelle grabbed her other hand, the woman's face was covered in chocolate and a scrape from the stair was on her chin, "Go. Don't worry about us, we're in good hands – beat that bastard."
"We've got them – go to it," said the EMT with a wink, in the act of wrapping an inflatable cast around the fallen woman's injured knee. "Nothing you can do right now."
Nodding slowly, she walked back to the sink and mechanically washed her hands again.
"Just you and me," Victor leered from across the kitchen. His façade was down and he seemed to have forgotten the cameras entirely.
"Just as it should be – no one else gets hurt," she promised, glaring at him.
Turning back to her station, she closed down her concentration to what was just in front of her – no Willy, no Victor, no time but the present. Her whole world focused on her hands and what needed to happen next.
As she worked, she slipped deeper into the creative trance than she'd ever gone before – to the place where imagination and reality was the thinnest.
She could feel it, the movement of the candy under her hands, the way that the heat gave life to her creation. Something within her was guiding her movement and she was no longer entirely sure that it was within her control.
It was the feeling she had when tasting one of Willy's creations – that special something extra that made the impossible possible. That gift that he shared to help others believe in and reach their dreams. That something…magical.
It felt like joy.
Time seem to compress and lengthen and she was able to make every adjustment, every correction to detail to make the creature under her hands perfect. Feathers and licks of flames sprang to life under her scarred fingertips and a deep swirl of blue green water tipped with curling white foam seemingly frozen in time cradled the mythical bird rising from its depths.
Fire and water – rising from the ashes – her phoenix reborn.
The music cut out suddenly and a voice called from the loudspeakers, "5 minutes to judgment"
Veronica was jerked out of her trance again at the announcement and she stared up at the clock in shock.
"I've got to quit doing that," she muttered, using her soldering iron to fasten the last of the licks of flame to the wings of the great bird.
The detail was spectacular even if she said so herself.
On the other side of the kitchen, Victor wiped the sweat off his head. This was the last piece of ornamentation to attach – using the soldering iron like Jacques had shown him during practice, he glued the last flower on with a heavy hand. He trembled with exhaustion and nerves. The constant stream of things breaking and the terrible anticipation weighed him down and threw him further off balance.
Everything was riding on this one sculpture.
Standing up, he stretched his back and glanced over to her side. Then he froze…
…and knew he'd lost.
Veronica's sculpture was a bird caught in flight emerging from a crashing wave of water. The level of skill and detail made his contemporary piece seem graceless and ill conceived.
No – I'm not giving up. He snarled to himself looking at the scoreboard with the point tallies. Veronica's team had somehow managed to pull even with him during the pastry round – her lump of dough somehow appealing better than his elegant creations.
The chocolate round had been a complete failure – neither side making it to judgment. So the tally still held a tie.
"She still has to move it," Victor muttered as the horn sounded indicating the end of competition. He prayed to every conceivable deity and devil for bad luck to strike his opponent.
Food Network workers appeared, surrounding Veronica's magnificent showpiece. Two men, with careful chorography lifted her sculpture and with slow steps carried it to the presentation table at the front of Kitchen stadium where the judges had descended to wait.
One of the men seemed to stumble for a moment and there was a massive gasp from everyone watching as the showpiece wobbled.
YES! Victor crowed silently, hope springing from his heart.
It held together and stabilized.
Hope plummeted like a meteorite.
The men carefully set the sculpture down and Victor had to bite a fist to prevent his scream of frustration from escaping. She had made it.
The two men approached his sculpture and Victor quickly stepped out of the way to allow them the room to work.
His head swimming with the strength of his emotions, he felt reason slip between his fingers. If they can just make it with mine, I can bluff my way out of this. I can still twist this to my advantage…
With the same care and attention, they lifted his sculpture and carried it to the judgment table. They had just set it down and were centering it when Victor's worst nightmare came back to life.
One critical joint, the one he'd been struggling with for the past 10 minutes before end of competition folded in on itself and the slow topple began.
There were cried of disappointment and a piggy squeal from Mr. Slugworth as Victor's sculpture collapsed to the floor.
"NO!" he screamed, tearing out chunks of hair in agony.
Staring at the shards of his sculpture, he was numb, even as he burned with chagrin.
His dreams of stardom – gone.
Money from Slugworh – gone.
Sweet revenge on Veronica – gone.
Nothing was left, he was ruined.
Even Dolce La Vita by terms of the competition was now in her hands.
Feeling all eyes upon him as he burned, he sank to his knees, staring at the shards. Burying his head in his hands, his shoulders started shaking.
"Brahm's showpiece has collapsed, making Carmichael the winner by default," said Alton Brown's voice from a million miles away.
Victor felt hands on his shoulders, "Victor?" asked Veronica's soft voice.
Veronica leaned over the broken man, sobbing into his hands. He made a strange cry and his shoulders shook harder.
Slugworth and Willy had abandoned their seats upon the sculptures collapse and joined the group of people standing beside the table at the foot of the stairs. Willy hovered behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder as if to draw her back.
"Victor – it's alright," she said, trying to calm him down, shaking off his hand to console her defeated foe
She never wanted this. Vindication? Yes. But not to break the man so he sobbed like a child in front of an international audience.
Okay, she admitted, feeling bad about it, Maybe once or twice…
"You are looking horrible on camera," she whispered to him, trying to appeal to his vanity.
Victor sucked in a breath.
"Horrible? I look horrible?" he asked shakily, muffled by his concealment.
He dropped her hands and she knew suddenly that she'd made a terrible mistake.
He wasn't sobbing.
He was laughing.
Deep in those bright blue eyes there was no one home.
Victor had lost his mind.
Throwing herself back, she cried out in alarm.
Quicker than thought, he snatched at her – pulling her close and ripping the gun he carried concealed under his jacket hard against her temple. It was a parody of a lover's embrace and she was cradled up against his chest, the gun cold against her skin.
"You want to know how I feel? What it's like to have your dreams shattered?" he giggled, climbing to his feet and pulling her up with him.
"Let her go," Willy said firmly, clenching his cane tightly. The Chocolatier's voice was tight with barely controlled rage or fear.
Victor backed away, the crowd clearing around him like magic.
"Looks like I win after all – and just look at the prize. Pretty little prize, all wrapped up in a bow. My very own golden ticket!" Victor crooned, stroking her head with the gun.
"Please let me go," Veronica whispered, closing her eyes tight and shaking in fear.
Victor felt her pressing against him and he felt strong, powerful, like he could do anything. No wonder Wonka wanted her – she was magical – she was the source of his strength. The world was swirling around him with a kaleidoscope of color and sound.
What fun it is to ride – whee!
"We'll fly away pretty little golden ticket," he promised, kissing her forehead and smiling down at her. 'No one will bother us ever again. The devil will never find where I hide you."
"Victor please. Let her go – you can have anything you want," Wonka pleaded, removing his goggles and throwing them to the floor. His strange violet eyes were bright with tears and Victor could now see behind the smiling mask he wore in public.
"Pay to play, play to pay – who is paying the tab today," Victor sang, pulling Veronica backward toward him by the neck. He playfully rubbed the little snub-nose .38 against her face and neck.
"What is it you want Candy Man? The prize? She's my prize and I'm not going to share," Victor snarled, jabbing the gun hard against her temple. Veronica whimpered in pain.
There was a clatter behind him and Victor glanced over his shoulder to see two uniformed police men holding guns on him.
"Police! Put the gun down and hands in the air - now!"
This was it – the game was done and it was just a matter of how he wanted to take his prize now.
"Poor little Veronica. You win and lose all at the same time. Say goodbye to your Candy Man – there's no more sweets where we're going," He said softly, looking down at her bright hazel eyes.
Veronica said nothing, but he could see thoughts like quicksilver dancing in those bright eyes. Maybe I can catch one, he thought brightly, tightening his finger on the trigger.
"Willy…" she started to say, turning to the frantic eyes of her lover.
Her sharp elbow suddenly found itself planted in his solar plexus and she was gone, throwing herself toward the gaudy form of the Chocolatier.
"No! My golden ticket!" he screamed, pointing the gun at the pair.
Gunshot filled the air.