by Stacy Gail
“More so now, thanks to you,” came the blunt reply. “And the answer is yes. I would’ve listened to you. I’m called Scout for a reason—I scout out problems before they can blow up in our faces, and I find ways to make those problems go away.”
Since Scout looked like she wanted to call a hit out on her to make her go away, Ivy carefully put the brush aside. “If I’d come to you, what would’ve made you believe that I was telling you the truth?”
“You mean besides the fact that both you and Tag are from Back of the Yards, so it’s totally plausible that you and your work could have crossed paths?” Scout grabbed a black file off her desk and flipped it open. “Let’s see… When you were nine, you won the top award given by Chicago’s Arts and Education Foundation for a painting and poem you wrote for your recently deceased father. I have to say, when I read it I actually cried, and I almost never cry. When you were twelve, you won a full scholarship to attend Chicago Arts and Technical Education high school—CATE, for those in the business—a private school where only super-special snowflakes like you are allowed to cross the threshold. I did the math, and I’m thinking you must’ve woken up around five every morning to make three train transfers just to get to school on time.”
Holy shit. “Five-fifteen, actually. I’d shower the night before.”
“When you were fourteen, you won an award for a custom graphics job you did for a local auto paint business, and as far as I can tell in my research, that’s the first official appearance of your gem tag. That’s just the beginning of your artistic life,” she concluded, setting the file aside. “Your tag is now everywhere, because your commercial work is everywhere, though for some reason you seem to prefer doing your art on nails at Clawsome. I like your building, by the way. Kinda stands out in a neighborhood like that, screaming out that an artist of extraordinary ability lives there, you know? Oh, and I have a high-res picture of your gem tag by the front entrance. So yeah, Ivy Gemelli. I totally would’ve believed you. If you’d just fucking talked to me.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that.” Anger percolated in Ivy’s chest at the fierce accusation burning in the other woman’s eyes. With her mouth tightening, Ivy straightened her shoulders and turned to face her. “I’m owning how this is my shit to clean up, when we both know I don’t have to do a damn thing to try to make this situation better. Technically speaking, I’m in the right and House Of Payne is in the wrong.”
Scout surged to her feet. “Say that again.”
Not a problem, lady. “Ever heard of image recognition software? You’re right in saying my tag is everywhere. Well done, you. Yet for some reason, that image didn’t send up a red flag for you before you blundered ahead and went public with it. I certainly wouldn’t have landed on your doorstep if you’d taken that step, now would I? But here we are. I’m doing my best to take responsibility for fucking things up here. Are you?”
As Ivy had spoken, they’d both moved toward each other like a couple of prize fighters ready to duke it out. The fire in Scout’s gray eyes was as hot as the fire burning through Ivy before Scout looked away with a dangerous hiss, her jaw locked and her chest moving with her every breath.
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that, Gemelli?”
“Yeah, back atcha, Scout…whatever the hell your last name is.”
“Fournier. Swear to Christ, you’re pure South Chicago, aren’t you?” Surprisingly, another huff of laughter abruptly escaped Scout before she looked back with the beginnings of a wry grin. “Y’know, I’ve been praising myself lately—so proud of how I’ve mellowed and grown a more genteel veneer that’s far removed from Slag Valley. Then you roll my way. Like that, I’m ready for a knock-down street brawl.”
With the tension abruptly broken, Ivy burst out with a nerve-riddled laugh. “Thanks for not throwing a punch. You probably would have destroyed me.”
“You sure as hell stepped right up for it, though. I respect that.” With a shake of her head, Scout once more leaned against her desk. “What’s more, I trust that. I’ll say this for you, girl—you’ve got a ton of guts, and you always say what you mean.”
“Only because I can’t stop my own mouth.”
That flash of honesty made Scout’s smile widen. “I know this epic shit-show isn’t all your fault, Ivy, I swear I do. And deep down, Payne knows it too. Since we’re being honest here, we’re actually in your debt.”
“In what way?”
“Thanks to you, we’ve now made it official policy that every design created for House Of Payne must be original content and can have nothing, uh, borrowed from other sources. If any artist breaks that policy, they’re now subject to immediate termination and litigation. That should ensure this never happens again.”
“Wow.” With a sigh, Ivy scrubbed a hand over her face to try to alleviate some of the tension there. “That’s definitely a good policy to have in place, in the event someone comes along and decides to be a sue-happy asshole about what amounts to be an innocent screw-up.”
“We’re lucky this particular innocent screw-up woke us up to a potential landmine. All things considered, you’ve been pretty reasonable about this.”
“Oh, good. You’ve already forgotten about me ripping off my shirt like a wild-eyed maniac in front of everyone.”
“You wish.” Scout was still laughing when Payne and Tag came through the door after a brief knock. Both men looked from one to the other before Payne lifted a brow.
“Laughter, huh? Glad you two are having such a good time.”
“Too bad you weren’t here five minutes ago when we were squaring off to demolish each other. Two South Side girls with a bone to pick behind closed doors? You could have sold tickets.” Scout pushed away from the desk and headed their way. “Are any members of the media bothering to show up, or are we persona non grata?”
“Since I let everyone know Ivy Gemelli was going to do this presser, it’s standing room only downstairs.” Still looking none too friendly, Payne jerked his chin Ivy’s way. “You’re on. Try not to screw it up.”
“You’re lucky Ivy’s not telling us to go fuck ourselves.” To her surprise, Tag rounded on Payne and looked for all the world like he wanted to do far more than that. She was even more surprised when she saw real anger flash in his eyes. “If she walked out right now she’d be well within her rights, but she’s not walking. She’s doing the stand-up thing by putting herself out there to set the record straight, so do me a favor and lash out at me for this shit-show, not her.”
“Lashing out is what got me—and everyone else—in this mess.” Without giving a thought to why she was doing it, Ivy moved between the two men and curled her hand around Tag’s. “Let’s just get through this, and then we can all go our separate ways and never see each other again.”
Ivy never knew so many cameras could be packed into one place.
As she headed toward the throng of press amassed near House Of Payne’s art gallery area where she’d ripped her shirt off nearly a week ago, her stomach dipped down to her knees. Then it shot back up into her throat as if it were on a bungee cord, and for a full second she seriously thought she was going to throw up. She froze in her tracks, terrified she was going to disgrace herself, and she cast about wildly for the nearest bathroom. If she was going to be sick, the least she could do was not spew onto the gleaming black marble floor.
“Come on, tiger.” A large hand landed on her back, and she turned in surprise as Tag bent his head down close to hers while guiding her forward. “Time to jump through those hoops.”
It was crazy, but Ivy took comfort in the solid hand at her back, even though she knew all that hand really wanted to do was push her off a gangplank into shark-infested waters. Little did he know she was paying for what she’d done. He had no idea how difficult this was, opening herself up to ridicule when she was the one who’d had her art used without permission. She was exposed, her name and face out there as she took responsibility for her actions. But him? Pfft. This upcoming
circus was a walk in the park for the mysterious, anonymous Tag.
She could use a little anonymity right about now, but that just wasn’t going to happen. She was the one who ripped her shirt off to show the tattoo of her tag, after all, so she was the one who’d earned this backlash.
She’d shoulder this responsibility.
Alone.
As usual.
As she took a seat next to Payne, Ivy tried to figure out where to look first when people began yelling out her name. That was why it took her a couple freaked-out seconds to realize Tag had pulled up a chair to sit on her other side. He sat much closer than Payne—so close, their folding chairs touched and he was able to drape a long arm across her chair’s backrest.
“Wait.” Baffled and just a bit alarmed that he was so clearly exposed in front of what looked to be every camera in the state of Illinois, Ivy leaned his way so that she could whisper in his ear. “Why are you here? What the hell are you doing?”
“Nothing, at the moment.” To her absolute shock, the arm that was draped across the back of her chair moved so that it curled around her head to keep it where it was, his hand coming to land against her hair. “You know what I’m not doing? I’m not hiding behind a fucking gimmick.”
The words vibrated through her, and all at once she didn’t care that he was holding her head very much like a lover. “For crying out loud, are you serious? I didn’t mean anything by that comment. It’s not too late. Please, just get up and go back to Payne’s office, okay? I can do this without—”
“You didn’t get here on your own, tiger. You’re not gonna face this shit alone.”
“But, your career—”
“Is my concern, not yours. Shut up,” he said when she opened her mouth to protest. Then she went stock-still when he bent his head further and brushed her lips with his. “Stop bitching at me and save your words for the press conference. Which has already started, by the way.”
Numbly Ivy turned back toward the sea of reporters, but it was useless. Her brain was now scattered in a thousand different directions, and it was all she could do to not touch a hand to her lips. He’d kissed her. As a means to shut up her babbling, sure, but still… he’d kissed her. In the short time since she’d known him, he’d been an enemy, a thief, an artist, a protector, and now…
He’d kissed her.
Where the hell did that fit in?
His hand again brushed her hair. “You going to answer that one, Ivy?”
She blinked and stared out at the people looking at her expectantly. Hello, nightmare. “Uh, sorry, could you repeat the question?”
A skinny, bespectacled older man with a Warhol tie prominently displayed on his sunken chest held out a phone, clearly recording her. “You said your tag was stolen. Payne’s just announced that it was your late brother—a friend of Tag’s—who borrowed it. Tag’s use of your signature was, according to Payne, his way of memorializing your brother. In point of fact, Tag has been using that gem-shaped design for years, yet you’re just kicking up a fuss about it now. Why is that?”
Nervously she cleared her throat. “I have a new client who is an avid fan of Tag’s. Things were going along splendidly until she asked why I finished up her manicure with his gem design. That’s when I learned that another artist was using my gem tag.” It went without saying that she didn’t handle that news very well.
“You’re saying you didn’t know?” The man’s tone dripped with skepticism. “Or is it that you are hoping to get monetary compensation for it now that Tag’s work is getting commercial play here at House Of Payne?”
The implication that she was looking to score pissed her off, but she managed to bite back a growling response. “Let me answer that with a little anecdote about how I view money. About a month ago I was approached to design the façade and interior for a certain digital company not too far from here.” She pulled out her phone and with a couple keystrokes, had her email open. “Let’s see…ah, here it is. They offered me a hundred thousand dollars to do a custom design for both the exterior and all the interior spaces of their new facility. But there was a catch. I had to change my name from Ivy Gemelli to I.V. Gemelli, and never publicly reveal that I was a woman.”
“What the actual fuck.” Scowling, Tag took the phone from her and quickly read through. With every word, his scowl worsened. “Jesus. Those cocksuckers.”
She took her phone back when he offered it to her. “I don’t know why this particular digital company wanted me to play it like that. Maybe they thought I couldn’t be creative and have a vagina all at the same time. Who knows? All I know was that I told them to go fuck themselves. So you see, money doesn’t mean jack to me. Protecting my work, and being who I genuinely am, is what matters.”
“But the question stands. Do you really expect anyone to believe you never noticed he was using your gem tag until now?”
Well, this is awkward. “I…haven’t really paid that much attention to Tag’s work, until now.”
A huff of what could have been laughter escaped Tag, making her all the more aware of him sitting a few inches away while another journalist stepped forward.
“Has Tag or House Of Payne offered to monetarily compensate you for the use of your work? Or for this press conference?”
“No.” Then she grinned. “Should I have asked for compensation? Holy crap, am I doing this wrong?”
At that, Tag laughed outright, along with several others in the room.
“You’re saying House Of Payne didn’t pay you to make all this go away, then?”
“Nope, not a dime.”
“So, you’re suggesting we believe you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart?”
Geez. “I’m saying I want to make sure I set the record straight. I don’t know if you know this, but the life of an artist basically sucks. It’s hard enough living day to day doing your thing and trying to make an honest buck, without someone rolling in trying to tear you down. I protect my name and my work, and I think everyone gets that by now. Since I respect House Of Payne’s desire to do the same, I wanted everyone to know I got the wrong end of the stick. Bottom-lining it, Tag didn’t steal my gem design like I’d thought. He’s a good artist who doesn’t need to steal from anyone.”
“Just a good artist?” the Warhol-tie guy piped up, looking like he smelled something bad. “You called him a talentless hack right here in this room, and now you call him… good?”
What did he want her to say, that rainbows flew out of his ass when he painted? “Do you have a point?”
The Warhol fan had the audacity to look affronted by her hard-edged tone. “When you accused Tag—a brilliant, revolutionary voice in the world of urban art—of plagiarism, you tore his reputation to shreds when you are, to put it bluntly, a nobody. And now you sit there and compound that insult by decreeing he’s merely good. Do you know how arrogant you sound?”
“And do you know that you sound like a shit-stirrer?” Tag leaned forward with an ominous expression even as Ivy’s skin burned with humiliation. “I know who you are. You’re Jonah Buckwald, the guy people call the heart of Chicago’s art scene, because you’re some great advocate for up-and-coming artists, yeah?”
Warhol tie guy drew himself up. “That is correct.”
“Yeah, well, that title’s bullshit. You don’t even know about Ivy Gemelli’s work, someone whose artistic genius was first recognized by real people in the art world at the age of nine. Know what that means to me? You’re not some great advocate for this city’s up-and-coming artists. The only thing you seem to be good at is yelling the loudest about artists that other people—real art aficionados and real journalists—have already discovered.”
Jonah Buckwald again pulled an affronted face, something he was quite good at, Ivy realized. “Who are you? I don’t recognize you, so are you another nobody? This woman’s insignificant other, perhaps? Payne, what sort of amateur-hour presser is this, when you bring—”
“You know me as Tag.
”
Ivy’s gasp was drowned out by the shocked gasps of everyone in the room, quickly followed by the deafening roar of countless camera shutters going off.
Oh, no.
The world had known the name of the anonymous Tag for years, but not the man. His artwork showed up in the most unlikely places, from city alleyways to posh high-rise buildings, even to war-torn places around the world. But no one knew who he was.
Until now.
Because of her.
He’d revealed himself to defend her.
Why?
She watched in silent horror as he leaned toward the microphone on the table while the strobe-storm of cameras going off continued. “I won’t sit here and listen to some blowhard calling this woman a nobody, you got that? Make no mistake, Ivy Gemelli is almost as good an artist as I am, so before you open up that bullshit mouth of yours and embarrass yourself even further, do your damn research on just who this woman is and how prolific she is as an artist.”
“Wait. Almost as good?” Just when she thought she was going to be crushed with guilt that Tag’s identity was now out there in the world because of her, his words stopped her from sinking deeper in her chair. “Did you say almost as good? This isn’t about who’s better than whom. This is about setting the record straight. Don’t go there, because you won’t like the outcome.”
“I’ve seen your work and you’ve seen mine, so I’m giving credit where it’s due. When it comes to painting nails, there’s none better than you. I could never win against you there.”
“You could never win against me anywhere, in any medium.” Shocked and surprisingly hurt by the condescending tone when he’d just sacrificed so much by revealing his identity in order to defend her, she balled her hands into fists and told herself her eyes were stinging out of fury, and not pain. “All art is subjective, so pitting one artist’s work against another and talking about winning… that’s just absurd, not to mention pointless. But I have been more diverse than you ever dreamed of being—and successfully so—in all the myriad projects that I’ve tackled. From the tiniest human nail, to car exteriors, to freaking buildings that people live in, my art is second to none.”
