TVA BABY and Other Stories Read Online Free PDF Page A

time—I ramble around the Web, looking for the kind of women I look for when I’m working; the kind who like to be looked at.
    Regarded with a certain intensity.
    Still, I was surprised when I found her on the Web.
    Eula-Cam
. Live. Updated Daily, for Members Only.
    I scrolled through the Free Stills, and there she was, sitting on the couch in her black slip over black tights, ghostly, talking to a guy on the rug.
    His back was to the camera but I knew who it was.
    Me.
    “You might have told me,” I said on Monday, laying my Camels on the bar.
    “What?”
    “That we’re in the same business.” I raised two fingers and Lou brought two wines, one white, one red. “You’re a jenni. A cam girl.”
    “Busted,” she said. She was wearing the Burberry over the straps. But the jeans were gone, and the tights too. “You’re a smart guy. I figured you would figure it out for yourself.”
    I considered that while we sipped and smoked. The bare legs were intriguing.
    “I suppose I should be flattered,” I said.
    “I would be. Besides, we’re not exactly in the same business, you know.”
    “We’re not?”
    “Your clients are looking
through
you. My clients are looking
at
me.”
    “So are mine,” I said. “Which makes you the principal attraction. The main event. The feature presentation.”
    “Well said,” she said. “Got a problem with that?”
    I didn’t have a problem with that.
    “Me neither.” She picked up my cigarettes and left. I beeped the bill strip and followed.

    She slipped out of the Burberry and hung it over the chair, carefully. I was looking over my shoulder.
    “Looking for the cam? It’s built into the TV,” she said.
    I saw it: a little green light, like an eye. There was a number underneath it: 04436.
    “Those are your numbers? I’m impressed.” I said.
    “But not surprised. It’s on all the time?”
    “It’s green when it’s on and it’s on when I’m here. And I have to be here except between one and three, when I’m on break.”
    “MicroCam pays the rent?”
    “That would be slavery,” she said. She contrived to look insulted. “Or worse. I’m just paying off a debt.”
    She pointed at the computer in the corner. Even I had heard of the XLinteL99. It purred silently like an expensive cat.
    “All I have to do is be myself. And, of course, observe the Protocols.”
    “And what are your Protocols?”
    “Quite strict. The Internet’s not free anymore, you know. I’m on a soft-user open-public band. No nipples, no pubic hair; no nudity except when I’m alone.”
    “Alone with your four thousand guys,” I reminded her, nodding toward the TV.
    “And no visitors, except between three and five.”
    “I suppose I should be flattered,” I said. And was.
    “I suppose you should.” She sat down on the couch across from me. As she crossed her legs I caught a glimpse of white panties. Not the ghost but the real thing.
    “Sorry to disappoint,” she said.
    “Do I look disappointed?”
    She pointed at my wrist. “Your numbers are down.”
    I checked my Fauxlex. Fifty-five. Then fifty-four.
    “That’s them, not me. They come and go. Maybe they don’t like your Protocols.”
    “I thought you said they couldn’t hear us.”
    “Maybe they can read lips,” I said. Hers were deep red.
    “Hope you don’t get paid by the client.”
    I did but I didn’t mind. She stretched out one leg and showed me her panties again. Narrow, silk, edged with lace. “It’s more intimate, this way,” I said. “Just us forty-two. And your four thousand.”
    “Five.” She pointed at the TV: 05035. “You must be good for business.” She leaned forward to set down her wine, holding the top of her slip closed with long fingers, like a card player hiding her hand. It was only barely effective.
    I felt a glow. I told her so.
    “Even with your numbers down?”
    “It must be my own.”
    We talked of movies and restaurants. We shared many favorites. It was not surprising. We were