Chapter 1 - One

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrote this one about a decade ago for an audience of one—a feedee test reader (she knows who she is) who seemed to enjoy it. Now that there's an "expanded Wonka universe," I figured I'd dust this off. Everything old is new again.
--T.J.
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Charlie Bucket's life had begun to settle into a familiar rhythm—even something resembling normalcy—if such a thing could exist within Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. Now grown, Charlie stood as the heir apparent. He was still an apprentice, but nonetheless he was primed to take the helm when the time came.

The past 15 years had seemed like an endless tempest of activity in the wake of the fateful Golden Ticket tour. But eventually, the Bucket family acclimated to their new home, and Mr. Wonka had begun to teach Charlie the inner workings of the operation. And so Charlie’s days were now spent exploring the endless rooms and corridors of the great facility, day by day unlocking more of its fascinating secrets.

Now that Charlie’s grandparents had passed on, he was keenly aware of Mr. Wonka's advancing age, but the elderly chocolatier seemed as lively and quick-witted as ever. Was Mr. Wonka now the oldest person Charlie knew? Though Charlie had seen firsthand the chaos caused by Wonka’s elixir of youth—the equally miraculous and disastrous Wonka-Vite—he suspected that Mr. Wonka might indulge in a furtive tipple or two of the potion every now and again, if only to hold back the encroaching clutches of time.

The vastness of the factory stretched out before Charlie, and it would take him years—perhaps even until the last of Mr. Wonka’s days—to learn the nuances of candy-making, manufacturing, distribution, and all the other strategic business considerations that still seemed to him a world away.

Mr. Wonka managed to reserve a sliver of time for his own personal projects. Today, with an air of both glee and important business, they traversed maze-like hallways, until at last Mr. Wonka directed Charlie towards a red door bearing the sign: "Inventing Room - Private - Keep Out." Charlie remembered this room fondly. It was Mr. Wonka’s favorite room in the entire factory. He still guarded it very closely and until this day had forbidden Charlie—or anyone else—from entering.

“Charlie,” said Mr. Wonka, producing an ornate key from the pocket of his plum-colored coat and opening the door, “I want to show you a wonderful invention of mine. It’s a little project I started working on after I sent out the Golden Tickets.” From a small refrigerator, he removed a tray covered in waxed paper and placed it on a table. “Voilà!” he said, peeling off the covering with a flourish.

"It looks like fudge," said Charlie, a hint of disappointment in his voice. After all the wonders he had seen in this chocolate factory, a pan of fudge seemed so...ordinary.

"Indeed it is fudge," Mr. Wonka declared giddily. “But this is no ordinary fudge. Do you, by chance, remember the three-course meal gum?

“The one that turned Violet Beauregarde into a blueberry?” asked Charlie.

“Precisely,” said Mr. Wonka.

"Oh yes, of course I remember that gum," Charlie replied.

It was an understatement.

Charlie could hardly forget Violet's monumental metamorphosis. He had replayed those few astonishing minutes in his mind many times after the tour: Violet, ballooning with each defiant chew, as Mrs. Beauregarde's panicked shrieks echoed through the Inventing Room; and the other guests gawking, speechless, as the Oompa-Loompas whooped and whirled in their blueberry ballet, maneuvering the colossal blue orb towards the boat.

But later, as he watched from up high in the glass elevator while Violet and her parents departed the factory, a wave of relief overtook him. It appeared that the de-juicing had worked! All the same, a part of him thought Violet deserved to remain a blueberry forever. It gave him an almost vindictive delight to know that she was still out there somewhere, just as strikingly violet from head to toe as she had been when she left the factory…her purple pigmentation a permanent penance for her transgressions.

Yet Violet's transformation baffled Charlie. Why that particular punishment? Mr. Wonka, aware of Violet’s gum-chomping prowess, surely knew she wouldn’t be able to resist the world’s very first three-course-meal gum.

A different but far less powerful gum, perhaps with a particularly putrid aftertaste or excessive stickiness, could have served as a lesson. But no, Wonka’s magic chewing gum turned her into an immense round fruit. Was it for the guests' amusement? A dramatic comeuppance, altering Violet's very identity so that she became the literal embodiment of “just desserts”? Charlie marveled at the perfect justice of it all. She had brought it on herself.

Mr. Wonka spoke up again, disrupting Charlie’s reverie.

“You’ve already seen my patented ingredient-compression methods at work," Mr. Wonka went on. "To all appearances, that gum was just an ordinary, thin stick of chewing gum like any other...but somehow I managed to compress heaven-only-knows how many gallons of blueberry juice into it. Hundreds. Maybe a thousand, even.”

"Well," he explained, "I'm working along a similar principle with this fudge here. Do you remember when Augustus got stuck in the pipe on his way to the Fudge Room? And the Oompa-Loompas burst into song and taunted the Gloops about their son Augustus being blended up into fudge?"

Charlie nodded. "I was afraid he'd be boiled and chopped up, just like they said he would."

"They were just joking, of course," chuckled Mr. Wonka. "You know the Oompa-Loompas never let a good joke go to waste. Augustus was very much all right, as you saw for yourself. I never would have let such a terrible thing happen. But for me, the puzzle's the thing...the challenge...and I started to wonder...what *would* Augustus-infused fudge be like? What would its properties be?

"I decided, first and foremost," Mr. Wonka went on, "that it would have to be tremendously fattening. And it would stimulate the appetite no end. As you'll remember, Augustus was always ravenous. He had an infinite appetite.

"The problem, as I pointed out to Mrs. Gloop, was that Augustus-flavored fudge would taste terrible. But what if I could distill all of those Gloopy qualities and purify them and somehow make a delicious confection worthy of the Wonka stamp of excellence? What if I could condense more sugar and fat and flavor and sheer empty calories into a square of fudge than an entire cartload of the stuff should rightfully be able to hold, to make it the richest, most dense, and absolutely the most decadent fudge ever created?

"Well, Charlie,” Mr. Wonka announced triumphantly, “This is it! This is that fudge. It's extremely high-quality stuff. I only use premium ingredients, naturally. My finest dark cocoa, which can only be used when the lights are off. And confectioner's sugar made from sugar cane watered exclusively with sugar water. And my patented cold butter, from Arctic cows. And lots of super-heavy cream. Super-heavy cream is one of the secret ingredients. It's so heavy that it takes two Oompa-Loompas just to lift a single cup of it!”

"Pudge Fudge,” mused Charlie with a laugh. “Who would buy such a thing?"

"Ah," sighed Mr. Wonka dejectedly. "Therein lies the problem. I'm afraid I won't be able to find a market for it. You see, the public is becoming much more health-conscious, and a fudge that's positively overloaded with all the things that make fudge so delicious just doesn't fill the bill nowadays."

Sometimes Charlie just couldn't fathom the way Mr. Wonka's mind worked. Mr. Wonka and the Oompa-Loompas had chastised Augustus Gloop for being overweight and greedy, yet now Mr. Wonka had invented a new, extremely fattening, appetite-stimulating treat. Nevertheless, Charlie thought it was an oddly wonderful idea and was instantly glad that Mr. Wonka had created such a thing. It could solve world hunger someday! For Charlie, whose family had been so poor that they had little to eat besides watery cabbage soup and stale bread thinly spread with rancid margarine—and for one bleak moment even teetered on the brink of starvation—something like Pudge Fudge would have seemed like a proper nutritional supplement.

"I've not given up hope on this stuff," added Mr. Wonka cheerfully. "It's really no more frivolous than some of my other ideas...like exploding candies for your enemies, or marshmallow pillows, or mint jujubes that stain the teeth green. Pudge Fudge has got to be useful for something."

“Like what, Mr. Wonka?” asked Charlie. It was a rhetorical question. To Charlie’s mind, this “Pudge Fudge,” if it could do what Mr. Wonka claimed, was intrinsically useful.

"Well, for instance, think of all the romantic disputes it could prevent," suggested Mr. Wonka. "Say a lady's beau presents her with a box of Pudge Fudge for Valentine's Day. She'll never bother to ask him again if an outfit makes her look fat. They’ll both know the answer to that!”

Charlie was struck with an idea of his own. "You could give it to your date before the big dance...and make her a queen-sized prom queen!"

"Now you're thinking, Charlie! You're getting an agile mind for business already!"

"Who needs thin chocolate-mint cookies when there's Pudge Fudge!" laughed Charlie.

"And it will be a godsend to mothers-in-law everywhere," proposed Mr. Wonka. "If a meddling matriarch thinks her daughter-in-law is underfed, she can simply slip the young woman a bit of Wonka's Pudge Fudge, and right before her very eyes, the wispy wife will burgeon into a bulging bride." Charlie knew the ways of mothers-in-law, having lived with all of his grandparents. Mrs. Bucket herself had been accused by Grandma Georgina of being underfed, but then, so was the whole family.

Mr. Wonka sighed. "But the very idea of such a candy seems sinful even to me. And in any case, it remains reservedly untested. Not to worry, my good fellow...I'll figure it out someday."

Charlie was now fascinated by the purported properties of this fudge, which so recently had seemed mundane. He positively *had* to see the stuff work its magic. Would it really do all that Mr. Wonka said it would? Charlie had no doubt. Confectionery curiosities were commonplace in Wonka’s factory.

Rest assured that Charlie wracked his brains for weeks trying to think of ways to arrange for a suitable tester of the Pudge Fudge. After much rumination, he arrived at what he thought was an exceedingly clever idea "Mr. Wonka, I've been thinking. What we need here at the factory…," he announced authoritatively, “…is a good marketer! Someone who can promote ideas like exploding candy and luminous lollipops and three-course-meal gum…and Pudge Fudge…and get them into the candy shops!"

Mr. Wonka was impressed with Charlie's business acumen. His protégé was learning quickly. Mr. Wonka agreed that it was a good idea in theory, if perhaps not in practice. He was a cynical chocolatier and knew that his counterparts in the industry would take great delight in ruining him, given the slightest opportunity. It was a surprisingly cutthroat business, this candy world. So Mr. Wonka took pains to keep his factory safe from his rivals, or for that matter, from anyone who conceivably could sell out to his candy-making foes.

You see, Charlie," said Mr. Wonka. "Before I sent out those tickets, the factory had been sealed shut for ten long years. The Oompa-Loompas have been my only workers in that whole time. I haven't hired a single employee since those double-crossing spies —masquerading as workers—almost put me out of business. I don't know that I could ever trust an outsider again. And the Golden Ticket tour only served to remind me that everyone is so untrustworthy."

"But wasn't the whole purpose of the tour to find your heir, Mr. Wonka?" said Charlie indignantly. "Am I untrustworthy? You chose me. Or at least that's what you told me."

Mr. Wonka admitted that he had, of course, entrusted Charlie with the entire factory. After all, it was essentially Charlie Bucket’s Chocolate Factory. Mr. Wonka could only guide him, but ultimately it would be Charlie calling the shots.

Charlie went on. "The candy business is changing, Mr. Wonka. Advertising is everything nowadays. Even if you make the very best candy in the world—and I think you do—no one will know unless the public is familiar with your brand. I'm afraid shopkeepers won't stock their shelves based on advice from Oompa-Loompas. We need someone whose job it is to make sure that the Wonka brand is Number One. Even with the help of all the Oompa-Loompas in the factory, you and I can't do everything."

Mr. Wonka paced for several minutes, deep in thought, tapping his fingers together pensively. "Fine," he said at last. "We'll place an ad. But only in the most reputable dedicated trade journals, my boy. We can't hire just any riff-raff off the street."

And so they set about finding applicants for such an enviable position. Mr. Wonka was not one for stuffy formalities, and so he and Charlie tore through a great many rough drafts using the typical boring verbiage of job postings. But finally it was whittled down to this:

"MR. WILLY WONKA, candy-maker extraordinaire, seeks distinguished candidates for the position of Marketing Director for his world-renowned Chocolate Factory. Qualified individuals will be at the utmost zenith of their professional development and must be absolutely and passionately dedicated to promoting the very finest and delightfullest chocolates and candies known to human- and Oompa-Loompa-kind. No Vermicious Knids need apply."

Many jobseekers who read the ad assumed, of course, that it had to be a joke. Mr. Wonka was nonetheless a shrewd businessman and intended to hold any serious contenders for the job to rigorous standards.

Charlie, of course, sat in for the interviews, but it was Mr. Wonka who conducted them. Charlie still knew little of the practicalities of business, but he observed his mentor carefully and did his best to appear to be a person of influence. But he very much did have a say, as Mr. Wonka reminded him, and whoever was hired to fill the position might very well work directly for Charlie one day.

It proved to be a tedious procedure. Mr. Wonka filtered all applicants through a stringent screening process. Most of the applicants, as you would expect, were weeded out well before they set foot inside the factory. Even with these safeguards in place, a few of those who made it through turned out to be hangers-on who were entirely unqualified. Others were sincere but inexperienced. Still others showed potential but for one reason or another would not be, as Mr. Wonka put it, a good “fit.” Yet somehow almost all of them seemed strangely dull and conservative. What business did they have working in the candy industry? Charlie thought anyone who worked in a chocolate factory should be eccentric and artistic and fun-loving. After all, what was candy, if not the sugary manifestation of fun itself?

Charlie and Mr. Wonka were beginning to think that it was an altogether pointless endeavor. But then, among the last pool of interviewees, came Ms. Cerisa Primrose...