A/N: Here you go! I seem to be doing better if I focus on one story at a time and force myself to write. So here's the big first date...part one.
peace, love and lipgloss,
Mlle.Fox
My date with Willy Wonka almost ended as soon as it started. That was mainly because he was about to lead me back to the Wonkavator.
"Heck no." I said stopping in my tracks.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I'm not getting in that spinning death trap from Hell!" I said folding my arms. Willy gestured to the Wonkavator,
"Oh please! You just have to get used to it." Willy said.
"Uh...no! I don't want to get used to it." I said.
"Get in." he ordered.
"No." I said.
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes!"
"Not gonna happen."
"Scoot your butt in there."
"Do you want it in another language? Non!"
"Now."
"No! Besides...I'm wearing a dress. And I would not like half of Sweet Haven to see my business thank you very much." I said.
"You mean the magazine? Why wouldn't you want them to see that? Isn't that the point of the magazine?" Willy asked.
"Not..." I sighed closing my eyes. This was going to be a very long night. I opened them and added, "Let's just say Victoria's got her Secrets, and I've got mine." I said. He raised a perplexed eyebrow.
"Victoria? Who's Victoria?"
I slapped a hand over my eyes. This was going to be a very long night indeed.
Finally, I had convinced Willy to take a car to the restaurant. At least I think it was a car we rode in. It looked more like a metal cloud of smoke. Almost like an old Bentley, but it was light purple and highly stylized. And no, Willy didn't drive. Something about how he passed the test, but he hated the way his picture turned out. I was tempted to say 'It could have been because of that fake plastic grin you're so proud of.', but I did the polite thing and stayed quiet.
Turned out Murray was the one to drive us. He was all decked out in a chauffeurs uniform, complete with the Hitler boots. Looking into the front seat, I saw it had been customized so the pedals could be switched out to use shifts, like what a person in a wheelchair would drive. The only difference being there were about five phone books stacked up so Murray could look over the dash.
The twin backseats was pretty plush. Two seats in a soft pink leather. Willy sat with his back facing Murray...so in turn he was facing me. I looked out the window, laughing to myself as I saw people double take once we reached a stoplight. If they were reacting to the car or to the driver I'm not sure, but Murray did give a sort of 'Whasup?' nod to a delivery driver.
Meanwhile, Willy was trying to look elsewhere, but his eyes kept darting back to my legs. I had crossed them, and leaning back in the seat a bit gave Willy a good view of my thigh. Now Willy always had a song playing in his head. Call it his own personal I-Pod. But when I had crossed my legs it had changed from 'It's a Small World After All' to 'Fever'. He bit his lip and tightened the grip on his cane as he realized he was getting that 'South' feeling again.
Suddenly, Murray had swerved violently to park in front of the restaurant. The sudden stop made Willy stumble forward. He caught himself before falling, but did so by putting a hand on my knee. We just sort of froze looking at each other. Then he retracted his hand as if he burned himself and blushed looking down,
"Sorry."
I smiled softly, deciding to let him off the hook.
"It's okay. Accidents happen." I said. I became concerned when Willy's eyes glazed over with that familiar, 'I'm having a stroke' look to him. But this time I figured he was having one of his 'flashbacks.'
"I'm sorry Mama..." Young Willy had said with big puppy dog eyes and a pouting lips. The redhead fixed her son a raised brow and an agitated stare before sighing and saying,
"It's alright Starshine. Accidents happen."
"Will you tell Papa I spilled the milk all over the kitchen floor before he could get some for his coffee?" Willy asked with trepidation.
"Papa already knows." said a gruff voice from the doorway. Willy gasped and snapped his head around to look at his towering figure of a father. Thick black eyebrows and a stern brown stare were fixed firmly on his young son. The man's hair was gray, his dentist scrubs a pristine white. His hands were behind his back as Willy stood to his feet and admitted while looking at the top of his shoes,
"I spilled the milk."
"I can see that. However...there is an old saying. No use crying over spilled milk. I mean, if Mama isn't angry why should I be?" Dr. Wonka said.
"See? I told you Papa wouldn't be that upset." Mrs. Wonka said squeezing her son's shoulders. Dr. Wonka sat at the kitchen table unfolding his newspaper,
"Now run along to school Willy. Perhaps if you get home on time today instead of dawdling by the candy shop, I'll let you watch me repair an abscess at four."
"Groovy!" Willy exclaimed grabbing his Underdog lunch pail from his mother and rushing out the door. Mrs. Wonka laughed to her husband,
"He's going to be spoiled at this rate."
"Well like I said...if you don't punish him...I can't either. I suppose it's the price one pays marrying a wife fifteen years his junior and having a young son as he should be thinking of retirement. And like you said...Accidents happen." Dr. Wonka said welcoming his wife into his lap. Young Willy stood in the shadows of the door watching his parents giggle and caress each other, amazed at their love for each other.
Willy was silent a moment or two before echoing the words his mother had spoken to Dr. Wonka years ago,
"Sometimes...the best things that happen in life are accidents."
I caught my breath as he looked deeply into my eyes. Then the door opened and the valet gestured for us.
"Good evening Sir."
Willy looked at me once more, before covering up those gorgeous eyes of his with those dorky white sunglasses. He stepped out of the car and then paused. A purple latex hand reached down to me, offering to help me out. I took said hand and pulled myself out, looking out at the converted townhouse.
Stain glass just touched the front windows like curtains of grape vines. Inside the walls were rich polished wood. The tables and chairs were antique and eclectic like they belonged in a family kitchen, but no two were alike. Glided chandeliers and a grand staircase led up to a second floor dining area. The most out of place thing would have to be the gold and red trolley car used as a private dining room. This is where the overly excited matre'D led us.
"We are so excited Signori Wonka! I mean...it's so rare you come out in public and to do so now with such a que bella lady friend on your arm...it's simply..."
"Yeah...Okay...Not to be rude or anything...but the reason I bought out the whole restaurant tonight was so I wouldn't be bothered. 'Kay?" Willy said plastering on that fake grin of his. The Italian muttered his apologies and said,
"Of course...Excusi Signori Wonka...I send you your waiter."
I watched the disappointed man walk away before whispering to Willy,
"That was very rude."
"What? I'm just not...into all that gushing over me and stuff and announcing my presence everywhere. I'm not Regis Philbin." Willy said picking up his menu.
"Well you know what Willy? This whole reclusive millionaire act you've got going only makes people want to gush over you more. If they knew a little more about you then maybe they wouldn't be such a mystery and then people wouldn't be as interested. Of course...that's why we're here. To break that cycle and give the world what they want. A glimpse of the Candy Man." I told him picking up my menu with a huff. He was silent a minute or two before saying,
"You just called me Willy and not Mr. Wonka."
Dang it. I had hoped he would not notice that.
"So?" I asked. A waiter in a white shirt and black bowtie came to the table,
"Are you ready to order Sir? Perhaps you would like to start with the wine list?"
"Yes please and uh...tell your boss I'm sorry for being rude earlier...I'm just nervous out in public." Willy told him.
"Right away Sir." the young man bowed before running through his wine selection. Willy and I just sat there smiling at each other.
I dreaded what came after the salad. Salads are a chef's way of luring a person into thinking that they're being good, they're not cheating on their diets and they have amazing willpower. But once those two big plates of spaghetti and meatballs were set before us, I gulped just waiting for my thighs to merge into one big mound of fatty flesh. Whoever thought of carbohydrates drenched in thick high calorie sauces should be drug out into the street and shot. As I sat watching Willy tear into his pasta, I took an extra bread plate (another dieter's trap) and began to work on making myself a smaller portion for myself. I started my interview casually, hoping he wouldn't notice my eating habits,
"So Mr. Wonka...What's your full name? You know first name, middle name?"
"Actually it's Wilbur Winston Wonka the Third." Willy said figuring (begrudgingly) he's better cooperate if he were to get anywhere and explore these funny feelings he had around me.
"Wilbur? I always thought Willy was short for William." I said.
"Well my Dad wanted a legacy or something." Willy told me watching me divide my meatballs as he twirled his spaghetti on a fork.
"And what does your Dad do for a living that he would want a legacy?" I asked digging out my tape recorder and turning it on.
"He's a ...mmphis..." Willy mumbled covering his mouth with his hand as he spoke.
"I'm sorry?" I asked leaning in.
"He's a dentist." Willy admitted with a sigh. I just sat there staring blankly at the man. The World's Greatest Candy Maker and contributor to tooth decay was the son of a dentist?
"That makes...so much sense." I said shaking my head with wonder.
"Now do you see why I don't like to talk about my family much?" Willy asked rubbing his neck.
"Heck no! We're just scratching the surface! Go on! What else about your dad?" I asked biting into my smaller helping of pasta.
"Well...he lived in Boston...Bean Town you know." He raised his fork up for emphasis and to take a bite, only he did a double take when he realized he had twirled the pasta on his fork to the size of a baseball. As he set it down and scooted the pasta ball off his fork with his knife, Willy continued, "He met my mother...who worked at a drug store...got married and had me."
"Now Grandpa Joe said you started opened your first candy shop when you were just fifteen. What happened that made you leave America, not finish school and leave your family to pursue your dream?" I asked.
"Aren't you going to finish your plate?" Willy asked suddenly. I looked down at my small plate and noticed I had finished and told Willy as much. Then he pointed to the larger plate with the now cold spaghetti.
"Oh..." I said. Then I frowned at him and said, "Hey...what did I say? Don't distract me!"
"I'm just curious to know why you're not eating all your food." he asked.
"There's no law that says one has to clean their plate. Besides, I'm not that hungry and don't distract me!" I told him again pointing a finger at him.
"Are you feeling well? Because if you're sick maybe that would explain why you're not eating and..."
"TAXI!" I called out suddenly, leaning back in my chair, crossing my legs and pointing a finger in the arm.
"Okay! Okay you win! What was the question?" Willy asked placating me.
"Why did you leave home?" I asked.
"Well...my Dad forbade sweets of any kind when I was a kid." Willy finally admitted. I paused, stunned,
"No sweets? Ever?" I asked. Willy shook his head,
"I didn't have my first piece of candy till I was twelve. And that was because I snuck a piece of chocolate."
"Wow." was all I could say. No sweets? And here I was counting calories because my parents let me have too much sweets as a kid.
"Yeah Dad said gooey stuff like sweets would mess up my braces." Willy said finding it easier to confide in me the more he spoke.
"Braces?" I asked skeptically. He winced and set his fork down. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a thin wallet. Willy handed the wallet to me without a word. I took the fine leather in both hands and my eyes went wide with surprise. Next to a Pokemon trading card was a fading colored school photo and a twelve year old boy tried to smile at the camera. But a huge piece of...I don't know what to call this contraption that was on his head. It surrounded his head like a birdcage, and it made his smile into an uncomfortable grimace. The only way you could tell he was happy was the sparkle in his amethyst eyes. The same amethyst eyes that was trying to hide his embarrassment now.
"Yikes..."
"Yup...My dad's own design. The Toothinator 5000. Well at least that's what he named it so I'd think it was cool and wouldn't mind kids calling me names." Willy said.
"What kind of names did kids call you?" I asked looking up at him.
"Oh you know...All the old standbys. Tinsel Teeth...Tin Grin...Metal Mouth...Brace Face...Antenna Head...Birdbrain in a Birdcage...Molar Bear...Wonkastein...Although, I kinda liked that one. It made me sound tough." Willy reflected in though as he picked up his fork and began to eat again.
"Yeah...kids can be cruel..." I said looking again at the sweet little boy in the picture, understanding now how he grew up into the man sitting beside me. Everything about Willy Wonka made a little more sense now. His dentist father not only forbad candy but forced him to wear huge and surely uncomfortable braces that made him subject to ridicule and a walking target. So he drops out of school and gets the ultimate revenge on his father and on all those who persecuted him by becoming the world's greatest and richest chocolatier. But because he missed out on a great childhood, he makes up for it by surrounding himself with fancy and wonderful whimsy. I knew all too well the need to show the world up and for accomplished revenge. I too had many nicknames and harsh monikers growing up 'the fat kid'. It all made perfect sense now. At least...it explained the teeth.
Willy looked at me while I was pondering all this, and he felt strange. Something told him I understood. He remembered the pictures in my room and figured that's why I was no longer eating. He understood I didn't want to be the kid everyone made fun of in school ever again. He knew this because he didn't want to be Brace Face again. But how was he to let me know he understood? Also, he was still trying to figure out how to make that impression on me so I would know he was interested in...more. He looked at his plate...then at mine. Then he scooted a meatball over his plate with his fork, stabbing it, bringing it to my empty dish, and scooted it closer still to me. I looked down at his unusual display with a question in my eyes. He shrugged and blushed slightly,
"I saw that in a movie once."
My breath caught remembering what movie he was talking about. A grin tugged up my lips as I thought it was the sweetest thing a man had ever said to me. I ran a hand though my hair as a blush crept up my neck as I thought,
'Oy...there's that flip flop feeling again.'
Willy interrupted my thoughts again by saying,
"You should smile more often. It makes everything pretty."
"Thank you...Willy." I said while thinking,
'I'm so going to need that bypass...'