AlphaBillionaire: ty bb

AlphaBillionaire: big white please

Tiana removed a large peach-skinned dildo from the box.

ImUrDaddy: nooooooo suck the black one

tool1995: fuck u n***a ass bitch

[MOD]HenryVIII: tool1995 has been banned from Tiana’s chat.

ImUrDaddy: lol owned

Tiana rolled her eyes wryly, winked at the cam, then put the sex toy to her lips.

When I looked up from my laptop the room was awash in dawn light.

All night I’d clicked cam after cam, one of those porn zombies who can’t get enough, mindlessly devouring, growing hungrier the more I consumed. In the end, Tiana/Frankie was tame. There was something almost quaint about a girl sucking a dildo for hundreds of anonymous viewers. So uncomplicated, so obviously sexual. The deeper I delved into the rabbit hole, the less it was about sex. Somehow the cam girl who smeared her belly with ketchup and mayonnaise at a generous tipper’s request seemed more vulnerable than the girls who vigorously fingered themselves while their tits bounced. Fetish work was so nakedly about control. About one person’s particular pleasure.

I pay you. You obey me.

The code morganiscute unlocked a private section on Tiana’s page. Videos of her doing virtually everything sexually conceivable: fucking toys, boys, girls, household objects. Photo shoots with ultra-high-res close-ups of her nipples and clit and toes, brown and pink pixels totally decontextualized into blobs of color, like abstract art. Mundane shots of her brushing her teeth or pulling on socks. Oddly, the mundane pics far outnumbered the sexier ones.

Was that a thing? Chore porn?

Maybe it wasn’t solely about getting off. Maybe it was the illusion of intimacy, of sharing a life with this girl you jerked off to. Seeing her doing normal human things. Imagining yourself there beside her, brushing your teeth after you made her come.

I’d expected stuff like anal and bondage, every shade of kink. None of that fazed me. It was the sheer normalcy that made me uneasy. The raw, pulsing loneliness of it. I knew this world. I knew these hungry zombies with gravestone shadows beneath their eyes, emptiness aching in their palms. I was one of them.

Camwhorez.com operated on a token system. One token cost ninety-nine cents USD.

There was no info on the site about what percentage cammers took home, but even at a measly 10 percent royalty rate, Tiana would’ve earned two hundred bucks for two hours of work. My entire month’s rent in one night.

“Numbers don’t lie,” Ellis said once. “Not like fiction. Or art.”

“ ‘Art is a lie that makes us realize truth.’ ”

“Who said that, some artist?”

“Some artist. Pablo something.”

“Oh, shut up. I know who Picasso is.” She looked at me fervently, imploring me to understand. “But that’s the difference. Numbers can’t lie. They’re pure. Our faces, our names, they’re all lies. They’re fictions we invent to tell stories about ourselves.”

“But you like stories.” I twisted a lock of her hair. Long bangs, buzzed on the sides. As if she were two different people. “You like playing make-believe with me. Isn’t there truth in that, too? In the ways we pretend?”

“That’s different. That truth is full of shades.”

“So is life.”

“To us. But when you look at it under a microscope, life is just equations playing out. Geometry and physics. Numbers. Each one has one meaning. It’s so simple and clear. So beautiful. It comforts me.”

I smiled. “I love the way your mind works. It’s so simple and clear. It comforts me, too.”

“Are you calling me simple?”

“No, silly. I’m calling your mind beautiful.”

(—Bergen, Vada. A Beautiful Mind. Copic marker on paper.)

Truth in numbers. Who could argue with two hundred bucks a night?

Maybe it really was that simple.

You pay me. I obey you.

On Monday I walked into the coffee shop and stood in the doorway, soaking up the light. Ceiling crisscrossed with timber beams, exposed brick walls. Once upon a time it had been a warehouse full of men in brine-stained overalls with arms like marine rope.

Strange, to look at something and know it’s the last time you’ll see it.

I wondered what Max said the last morning he saw his son. If he regretted it now, something petty, thoughtless. An omitted I love you because of course he did and it was awkward to keep reminding the kid. No I’m proud of you or I know your life isn’t easy or I’m sorry I wasn’t a better father.

I knew exactly what I’d said to Elle before the headlights flared in the rearview like a supernova.

I’m sorry I’m sorry I love you.

Tanya gave me a cagey look when I stepped behind the register. She wasn’t scheduled today.

“Someone call off?” I said, reaching for my apron.

No answer.

Curtis poked his head out at the sound of my voice. “Vada. Come see me in my office.”

I’d shut my phone off when he wouldn’t stop calling all weekend. So this was the inevitable, then.

“No.”

“We need to talk about—”

“No,” I echoed, louder. “If you’re going to fire me, do it here. In front of everyone. Where you can’t put your hands on me, for once.”

Heads swiveled from the order line. Tanya darted a shocked glance at us. Curt reddened.

A customer walked over and strode right behind the counter.

“Excuse me,” Frankie’s blond friend said in his mellifluous voice. “There a problem here?”

Frankie sauntered up behind him, planting herself at my side.

I could have kissed them both.

Curtis eyed the guy edgily, possibly wondering if he was a jealous ex. “Sir, I’m afraid I have to ask you to—”

“The thing is,” Frankie said, propping her palms on the counter, “maybe I misheard, but I could swear the young lady just described sexual harassment by a superior.”

Her friend shook his head. “And then you were going to fire her? That’s—what’s the word—”

“Extortion,” I blurted, my heart skipping.

Frankie tsked. “And in front of all these witnesses, too.”

“Not smart,” the guy said.

“Not smart at all,” Frankie said.

Curt looked from him to her to me. “This is a big misunderstanding. I never meant—”

“How about you take some time to reflect,” the blond guy said, “and give the lady the day off?”

“Paid time off,” I added.

Frankie caught my eye and smiled.

My boss mumbled at the counter, head down. “Okay. We’ll see you tomorrow, Vada.”

Dumbass. Don’t use my real name.

The three of us strolled out into cool ocean air and cobblestone streets glazed with mist.

“Holy shit,” I crowed once the shop door closed. “What are you guys even doing here? You realize you just saved my job?”

Blondie gave me a shrewd look. “Don’t thank us. If you got fired, you could get unemployment.”

“I don’t want unemployment. I want to work.”

“Pride comes before a fall, Vada Bergen,” Frankie said slyly.

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. They went on a few paces before turning.

“Who are you?” My fists and calves tensed. “Did someone send you?”

“Huh?” said the guy.

“Are you from the insurance company? Am I under investigation?”

They glanced at each other.

“You in some kind of trouble?” Frankie asked.

It seemed ridiculous, suddenly. Trouble. Trouble would be a price on my head, a hit. All I had was a bereaved man seeking closure over his son’s death. Closure I had good cause to prevent.

No one is after you, I thought. You’re just paranoid, Vada.

The blond guy peered up the street. “You afraid of your boss?”

“No. Never mind.”

“This is no place to chat,” Frankie said. “Join us for breakfast? We’re not criminals, I swear.”