NOTE: Slightly shorter chapter this time. Only by about a page though. Writing for Veruca is fun; she's definately my favorite of the bunch. Please review, and tell me if you see any mistakes in this, please, it'd really help me. And yes, I know the poem sucks. xD
Chapter Two: The Spoiled Girl
After she drove the Gloops back to their hotel, no one much seemed to want a cab. The driver had long since given up on trying to get passengers. Instead she pulled over to the side of the road and leaned back in her seat, notebook out and pencil flying. It was a very private notebook, and the cabdriver was the only one who had ever seen the contents of its pages. Only she knew that the little blue book was filled with page after page of poems. The cabdriver's passion was her poems. They weren't very good. No one knew about them. But they helped her pass the time.
Even though Augustus hadn't given her nearly enough information to become famous on, he had at least inspired a poem from her. As she wrote lines and scribbled out lines and squeezed lines into margins, a poem came to form:
Chocolate River
A brown river flows through a secret room
As I watch it seep into every corner
I know that this could never be so
And yet, here it is, right before my eyes
A river of chocolate
An impossible miracle
As the miracle streams past, parting ways
A boy clambers up the water's edge
He is young and stout
And he sniffs the water
Delicately
I call out, but he doesn't hear
In slow motion, the wheels begin to turn
The boy tumbles into the river of brown
The river of chocolate
The impossible miracle
The boy splutters; he is scared
His mother lets out a hair-curling scream
I watch from the sidelines, but I can do nothing
Little men come to play
One, two, four, nine
They fish the boy out of the brown water
A long stick jabbing at the boy's ample flesh
He is covered in chocolate
A chocolate boy
An impossible miracle
Yet here it is
By the riverside
She read over it again and shut her notebook with a soft woosh of air. It wasn't very good at all. She sighed. None of them were. It was to be expected, with no formal training or anything of the sort. And she was so tired right now too, not at her best. She leaned her seat backwards and slowly shut her eyes. Outside voices reached her ears, none of them really distinct, until two people walked by whose conversation caught her attention.
"Daddy, why do we have to walk?"
"I told you, Veruca, dear, we are not riding in the car with this all over us! Do you know how expensive it would be to clean all the garbage off those seats?"
"But, Daddy, I don't want to walk back to the hotel! Can't we get a flying glass elevator, like Mr. Wonka has?"
"Veruca… we are not getting a flying glass elevator."
"But, Daddy, I want one!"
"That's enough of that, Veruca!"
The cabdriver's eyes snapped open dramatically and her head flew forward, narrowly avoiding a nasty impact with the steering wheel. A what? Had someone really said a flying glass elevator?!
But that was impossible. Surely it was impossible.
And as far as the driver knew, there was only one person who could perform the impossible…
Quick as a wink, the cabdriver stuffed her notebook and pencil into the cab's glove compartment and flung open the door. She hurried out into the street in time to meet a little girl and her father, the girl now throwing a fierce tantrum over the fact that her father wouldn't get her an elevator like Mr. Wonka's. The cabdriver let out a little gasp, and then beamed in delight. Both the girl and her father were covered from head to toe in rotten garbage: banana peels, moldy fish remains, and something that looked suspiciously like a few walnut shells caught in the girl's curly, brown hair. This could only mean one thing as far as the cabdriver was concerned, especially as the girl had spilt Wonka's name… twice now… amidst her ranting.
"Daddy, I don't care if you're too lazy to get me an elevator—I am not moving from this spot until you get me one!" The girl's bottom lip pouted, and her arms crossed defiantly across her chest. She rooted her feet to the ground with a wide stance, refusing to move even another inch.
"Veruca, dear…" Her father sighed, exasperated, and tugged on her arms in a silly attempt to uncross them. Needless to say, she was unmoved. "Really, this is just getting ridiculous."
"But, Daddy, I want it!" The girl had seemed firm as nails from the start, but the cabdriver caught her tone raise a few notches now, her eyes betraying the emotion of surprise. Apparently she wasn't used to being disobeyed.
"Veruca—"
But her father never got the chance to reply. The cabdriver walked up to them just then, grinning eerily and whistling a stupid little jingle from a soap commercial. Veruca's head snapped around as she followed the source of the tune, her eyes finally locking on target with an angry "pfft." She made no attempt to hide the fact that she was downright glaring a complete stranger in the face. "What do you want?" Veruca demanded, hands on her hips and a very grown-up look about her.
"Well, I couldn't help overhearing your conversation," said the cabdriver, careful to choose the right words. "If you and your father still don't want to walk home, I could always give you a lift in my cab."
Veruca stared at the driver for a minute, thinking this offer over, her eyes still narrowed dangerously. Finally her head swirled back to face her father, her dark curls bouncing as she moved. "Daddy, I do not want to take a stinky, rotten, dirty old cab! I want to take a flying… glass… ELEVATOR!" She spoke the last three words very loud and clear so they could not be confused with anything else, such as a taxicab, a taxicab the driver was all too aware that it was very, very mundane.
"Veruca," her father warned. He was not used to disobeying his daughter, the cabdriver could tell, from listening to his distinct lack of enthusiasm in scolding her. Not to mention his lack of originality.
"Oh, that's all right," the driver told Veruca as brightly as she could. It was clear, as it should have been from the start, that this was going nowhere. Veruca, it would seem, would not move an inch unless it was in the elevator of which she spoke. Once again, the cabdriver twisted words in a way she hoped would charm the girl's father and end the day with the two of them riding in her cab. Being a poet, she was good at this sort of thing. "So, when exactly did you see this, um, flying elevator, sir?" she asked, addressing Veruca's father this time.
He raised his eyebrows at her suspiciously. "What's it to you?"
The cabdriver shrugged untruthfully. "Just curious."
Veruca glared at the driver with the intensity of a roaring fireplace, but she complied with an answer all the same. "Mr. Wonka's got one. We saw him and that rotten Charlie boy riding in it. And Daddy refuses to let me have a ride, even when that stupid Charlie Bucket gets all the rides he wants!" She flipped her hair once more, the fierce spotlight glare of her eyes focused on her father. "You love Charlie more than you love me!" she said in a very accusing, hurt-sounding tone. The cabdriver, being an avid movie lover, couldn't help being impressed with how fast Veruca could switch emotions. She was an actress, that was for sure: one minute a furious brick wall, the next an innocent, pained little girl with curls and a pink dress on.
"Now, sweetheart, you know that's not the case," the man told her hurriedly.
She didn't look comforted in the least. "Hmph. You do."
"Charlie Bucket?" the cabdriver asked, innocently prying apart the argument that was close at hand. "Who's Charlie Bucket?" And why is Mr. Wonka giving him rides in a flying glass elevator?! she wished she could add. Unfortunately, that wouldn't be a good idea unless she wanted to get Veruca even more riled up than she was now.
"Charlie was one of the other Golden Ticket winners," Veruca's father explained apologetically, pointedly looking anywhere but at his daughter.
"So your girl—Veruca—she was a Golden Ticket winner too?" the cabdriver pressed on. She'd known it all along, but if she'd learned anything from the Gloops, it was to take these things slowly, one step at a time. However, unlike Veruca, she was not as good an actress, and could barely keep the rising excitement out of her voice.
The man nodded pleasantly, but Veruca somehow became even more agitated then before. "Daddy, how come this nasty woman doesn't recognize me?" she cried incredulously, stamping her foot loudly on the ground. "I thought I was on TV all over the world. I thought everyone in the universe would know my name!" To the cabdriver's horror, Veruca stormed across the street without warning and shoved her arms onto the driver's shoulders. "My… name… is… Veruca… SALT!" She said this in exactly the same tone she'd used about the elevator, and once more the cabdriver realized nothing would be able to change this little brat's mind once she had it set on something.
"P-pardon me, Miss S-Salt," the driver spluttered, a little afraid now that she was quite literally in Veruca's hands. "Now I do r-remember seeing you on TV, I-I think." She didn't really remember very well at all; the five Golden Ticket winners and their names were all a jumble in her mind, but of course she wasn't about to tell Veruca so. She tried her hardest to wriggle out of the girl's grip, to no avail. She was becoming seriously worried of what Veruca could do.
"That's more like it," muttered Veruca, and she let go of the cabdriver, who promptly tumbled to the ground, seriously shaken.
"I… I…" The cabdriver stood up, shook herself off, and gave a sharp nod to Mr. Salt. "I can see that this is a lost cause. I'll go back to my cab then." She tried to make her voice sound offended and uncaring, but really her heart was full of fear. Pure, heavy, heart-wrenching fear.
"GOOD!" cried Veruca, stamping her foot on the ground dramatically. "And don't ever come back!"
The cabdriver didn't need telling twice.
"Veruca, dear, why don't you run along and get into this nice woman's cab," Mr. Salt muttered.
Veruca gave him a look so deadly that he promptly shut his mouth. However, he seemed to regain his composure a few moments later, as the cabdriver could hear them arguing over the matter as she slowly walked the hundred feet between her cab and the Salts.
She was about three steps away from the taxi's door, when she distinctly heard Mr. Salt say in fury, "Veruca, if you do not cooperate and get into that cab this instant, I will be forced to fly home on our jet tonight and sell each and every one of your ponies to the highest bidder."
"You wouldn't!" The driver heard Veruca's voice rise dramatically once more, but this time it wasn't in anger: it was fear, the same fear the driver herself had felt only moments earlier. She knew this kind of fear. Once you felt it, there was no turning back. The cabdriver whirled around, beaming like an idiot, and opened the door to her cab for Veruca to hop inside.
--
"Daddy, there is brown stuff all over these seats and it's going to ruin my dress," Veruca whined, as the cab pulled away from the city and into the direction of the Salts' hotel.
"Your dress is already ruined," Mr. Salt told her heatedly. "Now do us all a favor and stop complaining."
"How'd you two get covered in… ah… garbage, anyway?" the cabdriver inquired before Veruca could retort, trying project the impression of being merely curious.
"Mr. Wonka's naughty squirrels pushed me down the garbage chute," mumbled Veruca, a bit abashed.
"My dear lady, you have more things to worry about than garbage as far as your seats are concerned," Mr. Salt said with a chuckle. "Do you know that your back seats are coated with chocolate? It's disgraceful; if I were you I'd get them cleaned at once."
"Yeah, well." Now it was the cabdriver's turn to murmur in embarrassment. "Augustus Gloop and his mother rode in this cab about an hour ago."
"Augustus Gloop?" asked Veruca incredulously. "That disgusting fat boy?"
"The very same." The cabdriver had no doubt that they were on the same page. Compared with Augustus, having this whiny brat in her cab wasn't turning out too badly, even if she wouldn't be able to spill any information. No, the information factor had been given up long ago. Veruca would most likely twist every story to make it seem like she was an angel and Wonka was some kind of demon. But at least now the cabdriver could be able to say she'd driven around two Golden Ticket winners if anyone asked. And at least she and the brat could share Augustus stories.
"He fell in the chocolate river," Veruca announced.
"I heard." The cabdriver stifled a smirk. "Does everyone in that factory fall down something or other?"
Veruca gasped in fury. "Augustus fell in because of his own stupidity! The squirrels pushed me! That's different!"
"Sure it is." The driver shook her head and turned the wheel. "So, what happened to the other winners, Veruca?"
"Well, that Violet girl chewed gum she wasn't supposed to and swelled up like a giant blueberry," Veruca supplied unsympathetically. The cabdriver didn't comment. She was beginning to think that soon nothing would surprise her. "And I don't know what happened to the others, but that Teavee kid is now ten feet tall and dreadful thin. And Charlie gets to ride in Mr. Wonka's elevator!" Her voice rose dangerously again as she remembered the elevator in question. "Daddy, when we get home, you are getting me a flying glass elevator just like that one."
"Sure, Veruca…" Mr. Salt wasn't paying attention, watching the buildings fly by out the window.
Veruca must have notice his lack of enthusiasm, because she tapped her father on the shoulder and said in a mock-polite voice, "Did you hear me, Daddy? I said when we get home you're going to get me a… FLYING… GLASS—"
The cabdriver prepared herself for the outburst that would inevitably follow, but it never came. Something inside Mr. Salt seemed to snap after hearing Veruca's plea one time too many, and he announced loudly for all to hear, "Veruca, the only thing you're getting when we get home is a bath!"
Veruca turned her patented glare at him, but for once it had no effect whatsoever.
"Well, at the very least you're going to sue Mr. Wonka for me," she reasoned, trying to stay on top even without her elevator, "because having squirrels push your guests down the garbage chute is most definitely a good reason for being sued."
"No, Veruca." Mr. Salt shook his head, looking at her very seriously. "You know what Mr. Wonka said after you fell in?" He said the last few words very slowly and clearly, just like his daughter when she was asking for an elevator. "They… said… you… were… a… bad… nut. Therefore, you deserved it."
"What?!" Veruca's eyes widened. Her father had not just said what she thought he'd said. That just didn't happen in the Salt household.
"All I'm saying, Veruca, is that suing him would be expensive and pointless."
"Fine then! If you won't sue Mr. Wonka, I'll… I'll do it myself!" Veruca heaved herself lower in her seat into an angsty, sickened position, despite the seatbelt she was wearing. There had to be some way to get revenge on Mr. Wonka. But she couldn't do it alone. She needed assitants, allies…
And then it hit her.
The cabdriver was pleased on how remarkably silent the Salts remained for the rest of their trip. Mr. Salt was exhausted from the first time ever defying his daughter and he was practically falling asleep in his seat. But Veruca's mind was working faster than it ever had before.
She knew exactly what to do.
--
As soon as the cab pulled up in front of the posh, old-fashioned hotel, Veruca swung open the door and flew onto the sidewalk. Her father could deal with paying that nosy driver; she had more important things to do. Veruca hurried through the revolving door and past administration and into the elevator.
The elevator. She was standing in an elevator. It wasn't made of glass, and it certainly couldn't fly, but it was an elevator all the same. And it reminded her of a certain other elevator, the first thing her father had ever denied her…
Veruca shook her head and told herself to focus. There were more crucial things at stake at the moment. If her plan worked, she could have all the flying glass elevators she could imagine. With an obnoxious ding, the doors clattered open, and Veruca threw herself down the hall and into the suite she and her father shared. Next to her bed, there was a phone. It probably wasn't nearly as useful as the one in her bedroom in England, but it would do in this situation.
Veruca pulled a tiny slip of paper from her pocket and stared at in intensely. The only other girl on Mr. Wonka's tour, Violet, that nasty girl who chewed gum all day long, had wanted to be her friend. When the two of them clasped hands and promised to stick together, Violet had slipped her phone number into Veruca's palm. After Violet's dramatic exit as a blueberry, however, all thoughts of friendship with the irritating girl had been driven clean from Veruca's head. Even now, it wasn't friendship that motivated Veruca as she tapped Violet's number into the phone.
It was revenge.