Lay the Favorite by Beth Raymer

My fear had gradually dissipatedand all that was left was genuine boredom. Outcall dancing had become just another job. I no longer wore matching bra and panty sets, nor did I shave my legs or dab my neck with perfume. My dance style grew less seductive and more athletic. A two-minute headstand became the centerpiece of my routine.
    “Girl-on-girl Web sites,” Webmaster said on the exhale. “That’s where the real money is.”
    I let my legs come down to the floor.
    “If you ever want to cash in, just get a friend and bring her on over.”
    I was open to a new line of work, but I was hoping to go into something that would allow me to travel. I often fantasized about working on a cruise ship or as an international stewardess. I wanted to have a lounge act. I wanted to bake cookies for passengers flying from Miami to Hong Kong. Of course, having a puppy at home made traveling too difficult. A girl-on-girl Web site seemed interesting, but if I was going to go out on a limb and pose naked on the World Wide Web, I certainly didn’t want to share the profits with anyone.
    Unless …
    The photo shoot took place on location in the barbeque area of Webmaster’s condo development. After spending several hours on the computer, erasing blemishes and the telephone lines in the background, we clipped and snipped pictures of myself until I fit snugly, and convincingly, beside pictures of myself, and
Voilà
! My vision was realized: a pair of twenty-three-year-old incestuous twin sisters. Graduates of Georgetown, I explained in their bio, daughters of a U.S. Supreme Court judge.
    I enjoyed doing something artistic, and spent a lot of time developing the twins’ characters by writing little vignettes so the subscribers could learn about their individual personalities. The Web site was easy to market, profitable, and I didn’t have to share my earnings with anyone but Webmaster, who received 15 percent for his services. I quit my job and introduced the Nightmoves girls to Webmaster and they too launched Web sites. In return, I receiveda finder’s fee and twenty percent of their monthly take. The local library offered a seminar on operating online businesses and, after completing the course, I applied for a business license. On June 30, 1999, Repenterprise Enterprises was born. As president, I promoted all of our Web sites, came up with ideas for future shoots, bought the props and outfits, responded to fan e-mail, kept track of tax-deductible items, and handled the online banking. I recruited more girls and bumped up my cut. Each morning, before my first cup of coffee, I scuttled to my computer to see how many people subscribed overnight. I discovered that there is no bigger thrill than making money while you sleep.
    This joint venture with Webmaster lasted seven months and the ending was not amicable. Webmaster’s motivation wasn’t just to photograph young naked bodies and improve his Webmaster skills. He wanted a girlfriend, and any of us would do. We all started receiving gifts, though he acted as though his affections were exclusive. Pink roses appeared on my doorstep. Dallas received white ones. Jasmine, red. On the afternoon of our photo shoots, black velvet boxes awaited us on the bathroom counter where we did our makeup. Not intending to become Webmaster’s girlfriend—ever—we accepted the necklaces and earrings and promised to meet for dates that we canceled the morning of. It seemed easier than to say no and risk hurting his feelings or making him mad, especially since thousands of naked pictures of us, many unflattering, were saved on his hard drive. To make matters worse, nearly every single girl who worked for me had insurmountable problems stemming from drug addiction and poor taste in men. Often I was confronted by their unemployed boyfriends, husbands—fathers, even—who felt that I was taking too much of a cut. The men radiated aggression and most days I felt more like the headmistress of a woman’s shelter