Double Life

Disclaimer: Don't own Wendell and Vinnie, don't own iCarly

A/N:

Chapter 2 (Trash)

Spencer fumbled around the shop he was working at these days, open from nine o'clock to five o'clock Monday through Saturday. It was a pop-culture and memorabilia shop that he opened a couple months prior. There were items from classics such as Star-wars and rock and roll treasures. He would often auction out items and purchase new memorabilia to put on display and to sell. In the heart of LA, Spencer had a very good sales rate. His employees were excellent as well.

He had three regular cashiers; Manuel, Arlene, and Beckett. Manuel was an average sized Hispanic male in his twenties, sporting a stubby goatee and shaggy hair. Arlene was college student with blonde hair that often came in popping gum and wearing flashy outfits. Beckett was an eighteen year old guy from Canada that usually wore leather jackets and had shaggy hair that he would keep up in a ponytail for work. There were janitors who came in after hours and during business hours to keep the place clean, as well as a few managers that were scheduled at varying times throughout the week to keep employees in line. Being the owner, Spencer did not always have to be at the location.

Today he was admiring a new item to be put in display, a vintage and authentic bracelet worn by the great Elvis Presley. It was Friday evening, around closing time, and this was his escape from the constant trauma at home. Taryn was spending some quality time with Wendell, thus letting him get out of the house. As per the afternoon hours on Friday, Beck was the cashier on duty. "The seller gave papers saying it was authentic," Beck said while pointing to a document on the top of the display. Spencer slowly nodded, rubbing his chin.

"All right, so maybe we sell it at full price then." Typically if an item came in that was the authentic, real deal, and there was proof of it, it could be sold at full price. If an item was a replica, then it would only be half. Other factors also determined the price range, such as the recognizable factor, the quality of the item, and just how much someone might be interested in buying an item for. May times a buyer would come in and offer a higher amount of money for a purchase. Some items that remained in the shop for longer than three months, Spencer would have to auction.

Usually auctions were held in some studio nearby in downtown Los Angeles, they would advertise to collectors for about a month prior. That being said, auctions were held every month. People from all walks of life would come, either to gaze at the items being auctioned off, or to purchase them for themselves whether for personal reasons or business.

Spencer found it ironic that he owned a shop like this. A shop where a person could choose what they were going in and coming out with. For most it was nothing, but to him it was a symbol of his own internal struggles. 'You can't choose family' was the quote that he'd always heard, and he'd done that, but at great personal cost that he was beginning to see.

Being unable to speak the truth about certain matters, due to his own fears, was hell. He understood clearly that people may very well think of him as being an asshole, and he wouldn't deny it. His wonder was how he could bounce back.

Clearing his throat, Spencer lifted the bracelet up and narrowed his eyes. "You've contacted one of our experts, I hope?"

"Yeah. Mr. Perkins is coming down to look at it in about an hour."

Every new item that came into the shop, whether there was documentation showing its existence, would be inspected by some expert in pop culture. There were four people they usually contacted, and they paid a good fee for them. Most of the items in the shop were the real deal, some people would attempt to sell them cheap knockoffs, but it was very hard for people to do so successfully.

"Great. So what else did you want to talk about?" He set the bracelet down, still gazing with heavy skepticism. Items such as bracelets or other accessories were very hard to prove as the real deal, even with documentation. That's what the experts were for, they could inspect an item's model, genetic makeup, and other furnishings. As well as documentation that was brought in, they could check the signature to see if it matched with the signature of the person people would claim to sign.

"Oh, an old friend of mine is showing her new roommate around town. I told her to bring her by here, thought maybe there'd be something here she might like to purchase."

"All right. When do you think they'll show up?"

"Anytime now. What do you want done with the bracelet, sir?"

"I'll take it to the back of the store until John gets here." The full name of their main expert was John Perkins. He was an older man nearing the age of sixty. He had a grey goatee and nearly a full head of hair usually combed back. He was often trying to convince Spencer that he needed to make his shop into a full blown antique store and build from there, but even if he wanted to do that, it would take time. A process he wasn't too sure if he wanted to do just yet. "Whenever your friends get here, if they want to buy something, I guess you can offer a bit of a discount. Say, twenty percent discount?"

"Really? Thanks! I'll let them know."

"Sure." Spencer smiled kindly and took the bracelet and documents before moving through the doorway behind Beck and through the hall leading to his back office. Beck was one of his better employees, he didn't always let Beck offer discounts or other luxuries, but there were moments. If Beck recommended the shop to someone, for instance, he'd allow it.

Now his office wasn't very large, it was just a small ten by six foot room with a desk beside the door and a computer. He had a printer and copier next to the desk, and a fax machine beside that. The desk was strategically placed so he could lean back and look out the door to see what was going on in the front. He had a file cabinet as well as boxes scattered about the room with items for inspection. These were just there when the display case in his office was full. His office had a door on the opposite wall that led to the much larger storage room where many items awaited auction. These included items that would never make the shelf, whether real authentic items or novelty items.

There were times where he'd close the door, not wanting to be disturbed by his employees unless it was necessary. This was not one of those times, but he did close the door, leaving it open just a crack. He set the bracelet down on the right of his desk and took a seat, sighing as he rubbed his hands over his face.

Stress from his earlier confrontation with Wilma was still eating at him. As if it wasn't bad enough that he had a kid he never knew about, his sister hated him, and his daughter knew nothing of his situation, he was still dealing with the fact that his brother passed away and he never even got to attend the funeral. Not that he thought he was deserving of it.

"I guess I should see where sales are at…" He powered up the computer, a relatively old style computer desktop with an XP operating system. He was very protective of his own personal items and used this computer mainly for business purposes, he never brought his Windows 7 laptop to work with him, for fear of it being stolen. More appropriately, he called his computer the 'dinosaur' of the office.

As he began opening the necessary programs, he was pleased to see sales were up considerably. On average they pulled in what should come to be about sixty grand a year. So far they'd been a hotspot since they opened, and with their auctions they were ranging anywhere from five to eight thousand monthly. He was able to pay his employees a little more than minimum wage, though it was also based off what they worked. Cashiers made more than janitors, and managers made more than either.

There were also other bills that were paid off each month, such as property taxes. He found himself to be a shrewd businessman, something he never really thought about as a career. He enjoyed it, not only being his own boss but to be a manager and to deal with business economics. It wasn't something that bored him immensely, not like a lawyer's job did.

"One thing I got to fall back on, guess Wilma was right about this…" He put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, sighing heavily. It was Wilma who convinced him, after some prodding to open a business. She even paid for it. With what he made off his business, earning a comfortable salary, he could pay for both Wendell and Carly if he had to. "Admirer of the arts and culture on one hand, shrewd businessman on the other. Not bad, not bad at all."

At least he didn't waste his money on alcohol, or so, he tried not to. Over the years he'd come to realize drinking was an issue for him. Hell, both of his kids were born through alcohol! If they only knew. They'd hate him too.

He squinted his eyes in contemplation, gazing at some poster on the wall above his computer. "I wonder if Wilma would make me pay child support? Though technically…" Carly was still listed as under his care. Sure she was eighteen now, but he'd been her legal guardian for so long. There was no one to pay child support, and he was supporting his other child now. Though, he wished desperately for them to know him as their father, but it just wasn't that simple. He couldn't make it work. Hence, he didn't even want to tell Wilma that he had another kid out there. A scowl formed at his lips, and a growl was birthed in his throat. "World's dumbest father too…"

Suddenly a familiar voice came from the front and he slowly looked through the crack in the door. He could see Beck talking to two girls, one with vibrant red hair, and a second with curly blonde hair. He was half tempted to go out and meet the potential buyers, but something was holding him back. He couldn't tell who the girls were since Beck was standing in front of their faces. It was clear through the movement of arms that the blonde was speaking. The familiarity of her voice was striking!

It was when Beck moved to get something that Spencer finally got a good look at the girls. His heart stopped and his eyes widened as he saw the blonde turn to talk to the redhead. It was Sam! "Shit!" He practically fell out of his chair, fighting to keep from screaming out. When the girls started to look his way at the commotion, he slammed the door shut.

His heart was racing and his head was filling with frightening images of Sam attempting to kick his ass. Did she know? Had she seen him there? He couldn't risk it. She wasn't supposed to be here, not at his store! This was his haven, where he went to get away from everything. She could not be here!

"What am I afraid of? Why is it so fucking hard?" Faces, constantly reminding him of his guilt. He slid down the office door, striking it with the back of his head and groaning as he clenched his eyes shut. If Sam saw him, she'd tell Carly what he was doing, and he wasn't ready. "How am I supposed to tell anyone anything…God I must be going insane…Maybe if I open the door, she'll be gone?"

He put his hand over his eyes and held it there, letting his mind go blank as he focused on deep breathing. His once calm demeanor was now evaporating before his very eyes. The room grew hot and his body numb. If he couldn't escape to here, where could he go? His breathing grew labored once more and his blood pressure was on the rise.

All he could visualize now was Wilma's rage-filled, disappointed and hurt face along with the fears of seeing hatred in the eyes of both Carly and Wendell. He let his hand fall to the floor as tears and sobs left him. Where had he gone so wrong? He questioned that for some time now, dreaming that he could just forget all the times he screwed up.

How could he be a father? How? How was it even remotely possible when neither of the two children he did have were aware! He never imagined himself to be one of those deadbeat, good-for-nothing fathers. Not in a million years, and yet, here he was. A business owner living a comfortable life with a daughter in another country, a son who thinks of him only as 'uncle', and a family that aside from Wilma refuses to even acknowledge his existence any longer.

"Treat someone like trash," Wilma's words played in his mind, stabbing him and punching him with such intensity that he was sure to be damaged, "And you will be treated like trash. You threw us all away, Vinnie. Every one of us…your own family, and you expect your return to be greeted with open-fucking-arms? Even I can't stand you anymore, and I honestly liked you better than our brother! The only reason I spent my time trying to find you was because Gary, on his deathbed, wanted you to step up and be a man for your son. That is the only reason. For Wendell. Other than that, Vinnie? You are trash. Nothing but trash…and you know something else? I say that from the bottom of my heart. Trash!"

Suddenly a knock came on the other side of the door, Spencer felt the vibrations running along and briefly massaging his back. "Are you all right, sir?" Beck sounded greatly concerned, but Spencer didn't want there to be any worry for him. He quickly wiped his eyes and picked himself up, breathing in deeply as he attempted to shrug away his distorted thoughts and emotions.

He cleared his throat, straightened his hair, then opened the door while putting on the best smile he could muster. "I'm fine Beckett." His eyes darted to the front, but the store was empty. "I thought your friends were here?"

"They were, but they left about a minute ago. They did by a vintage record. Buddy Holly, I believe." He raised an eyebrow and chuckled inwardly, he never quite pictured Sam as the Buddy Holly type.

"Interesting…Good, I'm glad they bought something." The front door opened and another customer entered. Spencer pointed and Beck looked over his shoulder. "Go check on this customer, I'll be out in a second."

"All right. Also! Mr. Perkins called, he'll be here to check the merchandise in about ten minutes."

"Thank you." With that, Beck hurried to the front desk where the customer walked to. "Who knows, he might think it's trash after all…" Spencer took a deep breath once more and closed his eyes, slowly regaining his composure.

So what are your thoughts and observations thus far?