Chapter Name: A Thousand Words
Note: This chapter takes place before Chapters 1 and 3, during the episode iWant Locker 239.
His first thought that it wasn't nice to ambush an artist with a drawing that bad, that early in the morning. He almost thought it a joke, after having gone out to pick up a new packet of disposable razor blades, and a few other... things... from the pharmacy as soon as the store had opened at 8am.
He couldn't fake any kind of praise. Spencer knew that bunny was horrible. But Carly wanted his help, and was enthusiastic. That was something he loved about his little sister, her enthusiasm and desire to better herself. Others might simply quit, never ever try drawing or being artistic ever again. Perhaps drawing wasn't her thing. But may, with a little work it could be. Or at least open the doors for her to discover what unlocked her inner creativity.
Although drawing and painting brought back bad memories, he refused to let them stop him from exploring that aspect of his creativity.
To the art world Spencer Shay was a creator of whimsical, child-like pop-art sculptures. Not taken seriously. They made people happy, made money for Spencer, but he would never become more than a name derided by the giants who lorded over everyone else whilst sitting in their ivory towers.
"Stupid lords. Think they're so big and tough. Couldn't sculpt their way out of a paper bag." He cursed out loud, standing in the kitchen as he clutched a cup of iced tea. But he didn't always sculpt. Sometimes he painted. Usually those paintings were the opposite of whimsy or pop-art. Yet he couldn't escape his reputation. That had become clear to him the first few times he'd tried to get his paintings displayed.
'Don't you have something better to do? I don't have time to waste on the likes of you.'
'You should build the hammer wind-mill again, but this time use ice picks. Then stand in front of it.'
'Embarrassment to the Seattle art community.'
'Oh, on the way out, try not to set anything on fire.'
Spencer was content to go through Socko's sister's best friend's boyfriend's brother who happened to know a guy who ran a small art gallery and antique store. Mr Vandelay was his name.
His paintings, signed with SS and his birth year as the only things to connect to him (and no-one had so far), were hung in a small corner of the store in suburban Seattle. Every so often he'd receive a check for a few hundred, or rarely, a few thousand dollars. That depended on what the buyer was willing to pay. Spencer was happy with anything over the $50 his paintings usually cost in supplies, with Mr Vandelay getting a 25% cut. The arrangement was profitable for both parties.
Spencer was shaken out of his reverie by Carly calling out to him, "What?"
"Nothing kiddo... we'll start your training when I get a flash of inspiration that's more on your level."
"Ah.. thanks. Anyways, I'm going out with Freddie for some breakfast pie, you want in?"
"No thanks Carls, but bring me back something."
"How about the classic coconut cream?" Carly smiled. Everyone loved the coconut cream pie. Even Mrs. Benson did when she finally got a taste.
"You know me so well."
"Alright, I'll bring back an entire pie. We'll probably need it whenever Sam turns up. I tried calling her, but she didn't pick up."
Spencer gazed down at the ice tea, sitting on the counter, suddenly reminded of exactly where Sam was.
"Uh.. if she turns up I'll let her know."
Carly ruminated on that for a moment before replying, "Actually, can you keep Sam here? After the whole dingo thing, the drama with Missy and Griffin, I haven't really spent any time just with Freddie. I kinda miss hanging out with him. Plus he'd probably get annoyed if Sam showed up again. Not that he'd ever show it." Carly sighed, picturing that minuscule slump of his shoulders, that barest, tiniest hint of annoyance covered up with a sarcastic insult when Sam walked in the door half-way through explaining to her an anecdote about some techy problem the iCarly website or equipment had.
"Well that's good, I didn't want to say anything but I think he's missed you a little lately too." A little was probably an understatement.
That confirmation washed over Carly for a moment, "I'm sure we'll have a good time. Later alligator."
"In a while crocodile!" He enthusiastically replied. Carly stood up and walked out of the apartment, Spencer heard the knocks on the Benson's door and his thoughts returned to Sam.
He walked halfway across the room, realized he'd forgot to rinse the cup, turned, pondered a moment, and decided to keep going. Long strides covered the short distance to the bottle bot, where he picked up the bag.
He opened the door, and Sam was sitting on the side of the bed, wearing nothing but her jeans, and in the middle of putting on her shoes. Spencer sighed, knowing that Sam would be leaving again, like she always did.
"Pass me my shirt." Sam pointed just over his shoulder. The black button up shirt was lying in a crumpled heap, in the position it was dropped when he'd removed it the night before. He dropped the bag by the door, then bent down to the shirt and handed it to her, getting a full view of her body as she slipped on the garment. Sam used her hand to push her long flowing hair out from under the back of the shirt, and started buttoning it up.
He knew it was wrong. Or at least that's what society would say.
'Disgusting. He's taking advantage of her.'
'Can't he find a girl his own age?'
'First law school, now this? You're an embarrassment to our family name Spencer.'
'My best friend! How could you?'
That's what they'd say.
"We can't keep doing this Sam."
"It's just sex. No biggie. I needed to blow off some steam. Don't worry, I'm not gonna turn into some clingy jealous crazy girl, I don't care if you go for other chicks." He was lucky that Sam hadn't bothered to look up from her buttoning. If she did she would've seen the hurt in his eyes at her words.
But he could hear the lack of belief in her words.
He knew it bothered her when he went after other girls.
They were both afraid. Spencer was afraid of the consequences, and of what people might think. Sam was afraid he'd eventually move on, that he'd hurt her. Like everyone else had, but in a new way.
Spencer was about to speak, when he noticed how the light from the morning sun hit her hair just right, giving her already golden locks an angelic shine. The dark shirt, with only the bottom few buttons done contrasted with her hair and skin beautifully. Spencer noticed her bra sitting, half hanging, on his bedside table, Sam obviously not having seen it.
From his position, it was a perfect scene. What would go on the canvas wouldn't quite match the actual event, but sometimes that wasn't the point. A picture tells a thousand words, but those words don't necessarily describe the picture itself.
The messy bed, obvious regret. Disappointment at being alone when the sun rose again. The lingering reminders of heat and passion. That was the story in his head, and he needed to transfer it for the world to see.
"Stop."
Sam looked up, having frozen at his unusual seriousness in his command.
"Just wait.. it's perfect." He rushed about the room, picking up an easel that had toppled on the floor in the throes of desire the night before. Spencer placed upon it a fresh canvas, and started with his favorite #2 pencil to roughly sketch out the painting in his mind.
"Look, Spencer, I hungry, and I'm supposed to be eating pie with Carly right now, so if you don't mind, I'd-"
"Sam, just please wait. Carly's already gone with Freddie. She was already awake when I came back from the art shop. You were still sleeping. She told me to tell you that she'd bring you back a pie, and that she wanted to spend the morning with Freddie. And I'll cook you some bacon later if Carly isn't back yet."
"Fine. But only because of the bacon. I'll give the nub some peace. Carly better bring back that pie." Sam returned to the position she had been in when Spencer told her to stop, sitting perfectly still. Spencer swapped to a fresh piece of paper, deciding to sketch a large version of her facial expression for another painting later. It would also be useful as a reference for the larger scene. Sam was a natural model, he'd learned that the first time he sculpted her. Well, not her. It turned out to be a fish. But Sam had sat there patiently the entire time, with no complaint.
But it was missing something. The expression on Sam's face was wrong. Sure, he needed it on the actual painting, but he'd committed it to paper.
Yet he felt it was wrong for him to stand there when Sam looked like that.
Sam to have to model for him whilst feeling like that. He knew from his training that even dedicated, trained models couldn't help but reflect on the outward emotion showing. It wouldn't do at all. Sam had frozen in place, sad and hurting, and she'd keep thinking along those lines.
No, it wouldn't do at all.
"Sam." He ruminated for a moment, wondering how to capture and produce that intangible, often mystical force that drove artist after artist throughout human history.
She looked up at him, "Yeah?" He knew that the young woman sitting on his bed was the key for him.
The way to find that came to him suddenly.
In a way it was cliché. He was in love with his muse. Cliché, but simple. And effective. His mind made up, he peeked out from behind the canvas, to stare into her deep blue eyes.
"You're beautiful."
Sam smiled wide, a rosy blush settling over her cheeks, her eyes averting his gaze in mild embarrassment.
There it was. It flowed through him, out his hand and into the pencil, brush and canvas. Spencer produced a work of art as good as anything he'd ever created.
AN: Wouldn't that have been great if it was actually 1,000 words? Alas, I'm not that good an author. Next chapter is the last, and will be as short as Chapter 1.