Author's Note: Thank you for the kind reviews. Any and all feedback is wonderful!
It was a day like any other at the chocolate factory. Meaning, of course, that it started off with an explosion.
Willy left Charlie to supervise the cleanup and headed towards his office to check his notes. He'd learned long ago to keep his paper records safely away from the Inventing Room or any laboratories. He stripped off the heavy coat and gloves he'd been wearing, carefully folding the coat inside out so none of the ice crystals could escape.
As he hurried around a corner in the hallway, he collided with someone. Someone with too much height to be an Oompa Loompa and too much brown curly hair to be Mr. Wilkinson. He had no reason to expect to run into anyone else besides Charlie wandering the halls of his factory, and though he had left Charlie back in the Inventing Room, it still took him a moment to draw his mind back from his calculations and recognize that this person was definitely not Charlie.
With a startled cry, he leapt back until his back was pressing against the far wall of the hallway. The stranger had done the same with a tiny squeak of surprise. Willy noted that his intruder was a woman, nicely dressed and carrying only a small purse, looking not at all suspicious or sneaky like he might expect a spy or burglar to look. His sensible questions like who are you and how did you get in here were over-ridden when she began a hasty apology and reached for the things he had dropped.
"Don't touch that!" he barked, lunging forward before she could touch his discarded coat. The girl leapt backwards, flattening herself against the wall again and watching him with wide, terrified eyes. Willy imagined what he must look like, face flushed and slightly panicked, breathing hard, hair even more askew than normal, and made an effort to calm himself.
"Forgive me, dear lady," he began in a much more soothing tone, "but the ice is as sharp as shattered glass." The hand that had previously been raised to ward her off now gently beckoned her forward and he knelt, opening a fold of the coat to reveal the sparkling shards.
The girl peered down at the ice and her face went white. "Oh!" She slid down the wall until with a soft thump she was sitting on the floor. "I-I'm so sorry! I didn't mean...I mean, I should have-" She shook her head and started again. "I was looking for the washroom and I knew I was lost and I wasn't expecting to just run into anyone like that and I guess I'm a little nervous," she babbled. Her face flushed and now Willy asked the questions he should have asked first.
"Who are you? How did you get in here?" He frowned at her as if she were a particularly frustrating puzzle.
"I...I'm Amalda McCaine. Charlie...I mean, Mr. Bucket showed me in." Willy almost smiled at her slip. It was hard to think of an affable child like Charlie as "Mr. Bucket."
"Oh my," he said, trying to decide if he was amused or vexed with himself. "Is it Interview Day already?"
In the two weeks since Charlie's golden ticket scheme had come to light, there had been plenty of time for Willy to become resigned to the idea of having an assistant. He even managed to look forward to not having to deal with mountains of tedious paperwork anymore. But he had stubbornly distanced himself from the reality of having another person who would regularly be inside his factory, his sanctuary, and what the process of hiring and training such a person would entail. Now here sat one of his five applicants, the others doubtless waiting elsewhere within the factory walls, and he found himself completely, woefully unprepared to deal with any of them.
The girl, Amalda, still sat across from him, huddled on the floor, and this at least Willy knew how to handle. He rose and stepped to a panel on the wall, folding it down to reveal an instrument that appeared to be the horn from a gramophone connected to shiny tubing that disappeared into the wall. "Charlie," he spoke into it, and his voice echoed throughout the factory. He heard Amalda gasp behind him. "Where have you placed our guests?"
After a brief pause, Charlie's voice echoed back to him. "In the Cloak Room, Mr. Wonka!"
"Of course," Willy murmured to himself, folding the device back into its niche. "Come along, Ms. McCaine." He carefully gathered up his coat and held his free hand out to Amalda. She hesitated only a moment before taking it and allowing him to draw her to her feet. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as he led her down the hallway.
"Please, call me Amalda," she said almost immediately. Willy nodded but did not give the expected reply. He wasn't sure if he wanted his assistant using his given name, nor did he know if Amalda would be the one to get the position.
After an awkward pause, she moved on to a new subject. "What was that?" she asked, gesturing towards the wall.
"That was the Wonkaphone," he replied mildly. "I'm only one person. I can't be everywhere in the factory at once."
He was sure that the word Wonkaphone didn't mean anything to her, but she only asked, "Is that why you're hiring an assistant?"
"Oh, no," he replied with a mischievous grin. "I want someone to do all the unpleasant things that I don't enjoy doing."
They reached the entrance to the Cloak Room before she could respond and Willy found that five chairs had been set up on the small platform where he'd displayed his ridiculously massive contract to a group of children a few years back. An array of hats and coats already hung from the hooks on the opposite wall and he was momentarily disappointed that he'd missed the fun of witnessing that. Again he thought nostalgically of the last time he'd entertained guests...or they'd entertained him.
Four of the five chairs were occupied and Willy bowed properly over Amalda's hand before releasing her to the fifth chair. The other women were sending glares with varying degrees of vitriol at her back as she hurried to take her seat. Women, Willy remembered, could be so much crueler than children. As those assessing eyes focused on him with unforgiving intensity, he found himself frozen just inside the door with no idea how to proceed.
At that moment Charlie skidded into the room, breathless and carrying Willy's hat, coat and cane. "Sorry, Mr. Wonka," he said, holding up the coat to help Willy into it. "I let them in while you were working. And I put copies of the interview questions on your desk. Everything's been prepared, just as you said." Charlie caught Willy's eye and nodded, and Willy marveled at his young apprentice. He had clearly planned out everything.
Accepting the cane and placing his hat firmly on his head, Willy felt more confident. "Thank you, Charlie," he said mildly. "We'll discuss it later. And no more inventing today," he added.
Charlied sighed, "Yes, sir."
"So!" Willy declared, facing the women with more confidence. At least three of them jumped and slid back in their seats, obviously not expecting his changed demeanor. "Who wants to go first?" he asked, pacing the line of chairs.
"Me."
A hard voice, practically cutting over his words, spoke firmly before the other women had barely registered what he said. Willy raised an eyebrow as he turned to face the woman on the far left. She had risen to her feet, fists planted firmly on her hips and radiated such a presence that one almost overlooked her petite size. Dark hair cut in a severe bob and a sensible pantsuit and jacket completed her a no-nonsense attitude. With a slight bow, Willy gestured towards his office and she walked to the door confidently.
"Ladies," Willy said with nod of his head to the others.
As he stepped into his office, he had to slip around the woman. She had stopped just inside the door and now raised both eyebrows at him. "Is this a joke?" she demanded, gesturing to the half-chair that sat before his half-desk.
"Why, is it funny?" he asked with extreme innocence, pretending not to see her scowl. He took his half-seat and gestured to the other half-chair. "Please be seated," he said politely.
She frowned at the half-chair. "I'd rather stand," she said shortly.
"As you wish," he replied absently, scribbling on a piece of paper. "Doesn't...follow...directions," he murmured.
He heard her snort and the half-chair creaked as she sat down none too gently. "Cute. Don't play games with me, Mr. Wonka. If you want a skilled, hard-worker who will get the job done, let's talk business. Otherwise there are four other pretty faces out there who will follow you around and smile."
Now it was Willy's turn to raise his eyebrows.
"Jeannie Lauper," the woman introduced herself with a tight smile and a firm handshake. "I've worked for three of America's top industrial companies, worked my way to the top too."
"And why did you leave those companies?" he asked curiously.
Jeannie gave him a feral grin. "Boys don't like being bossed around by a girl."
Willy barked a nervous laugh. He felt that this woman was already trying to size him up, get his measure, put him in a box, and several other phrases he'd rather not apply to himself.
The interview questions from Charlie sat on this desk. There was actually only one question and Willy smiled at how well the boy knew his mentor. One simple question could tell him so much about each person.
"So," he said with deceptive casualness, resting his chin on his hand. "How did you find your golden ticket, Ms. Lauper?"
