Page 10 of Who's Playing You
“I sure hope you do, because by the sounds of it, you’re not sure. But also, youshouldknow.”
I tilted my head in response to that comment, “What do you mean?”
“Well, considering your Instagram game is kind of on point, I guess you do know all about it.”
“My Instagram game is on point? Gina, I don’t know what you mean by that.”
“I mean, Scottie, that you’ve got like 50k followers on your Instagram. So I’d hope that with that kind of following that you somewhat know what you’re talking about,” she said as she grabbed her phone from her back pocket and proceeded to unlock it and clicked an app that brought up what I assumed was Instagram.
Before long she was thrusting her new and shiny phone in my face, with her large and clear screen sans cracks, where - sure enough - was an account that had my name and art on it. And sure as shit, the account actually had 66k followers.
“Holy shit, Gina!”
“I mean, yeah. That’s kind of a big deal. Good for you girl.”
“No, I mean, holy shit - as in, I didn’t do that. I didn’t set that up.”
She pulled her phone back and looked back down at the account. “It says Scottie Anderson though…” She looked up at me, “And I’ve seen some of your art, Scottie. This is your work, right?”
I nodded my head. “Well shit, girl. I don’t know what to tell you. You’reonthe internet. And look,” she leaned on the counter and turned the phone so we could both look down at it. “It’s not like it’s someone pretending to be you. It has your name, your art, your photos, and all the contact info is to you, right? So I don’t know what to tell you.”
“What’s that there?” I asked as I pointed to the profile info.
“Oh, that’s a link to your website.”
“My website? I don’t have a website.”
“Umm, well, you do now!”
She clicked the link and it opened a browser and sure as shit, it opened to the most beautiful website where my art wasplastered all over it, along with photos of me - some of which I don’t think I’d ever seen before.
As we navigated through the site, I realized that it was fairly minimal in that it only showcased a representative sample of my work. And when we came to the contact info page, it linked to my email address as well as the gallery that represented me on occasion.
I quickly realized that I had been naive to think that all the inquiries I’d been getting lately and the work I’d been selling as a result of it in the last few years, specifically in the last two since my divorce, was through word-of-mouth. Or maybe some of it was.
The more likely scenario was that it came through the gallery that represented me. And likewise what would make the most sense is that the gallery set all of this up.Oh!That made perfect sense. I’d have to give Marie a call to not only discuss with her the show she wanted to put on with my work in November and December, but I’d also have to question her about this.
Never did I remember her mentioning that they created social media or a website for their artists, but then again, they’d been representing me for years now. And together, we’d sold a lot of work. It’d make sense they’d do a little extra for their more established artists.
I’m sure this was the gallery’s doing.
“Oh you know, the gallery that represents me probably did all of this,” I said to Gina and brushed it off, while an uneasy and nagging feeling fell over me.
Gina turned her phone off while straightening from the counter, pocketing her phone, and then replied, “Well that’s one hell of a gallery you got yourself there then. They’ve got some top-notch folks doing God’s media work.” And she chuckled, and I joined her.
“So anyway, tell me more about this concoction of yours that Ron’s not sold on.”
Her eyes lit up and she immediately started animatedly explaining her new iced caramel and brown sugar explosion, while grabbing syrups, ice and cups. Looks like my dinner would be nothing but caffeine and sugar, in liquid format.
But what else is new?
6
NICK SOBA
Scottie had nearly given me a heart attack when she walked right in front of that car. I was just a few feet away from her, and was about to give away my position by running right after her to drag her out of the street, out of harm’s way, but she’d quickly stepped out of the street and away from the car that was barreling towards her at the last second.
I made a hasty retreat to the shadows when she did that. I needed a minute after that near-death experience to calm myself. This woman was going to be the death of me.
