Nice Girls(75)

My cursor hovered over a video, and it began to silently play, like an X-rated gif. I saw a slim brunette girl grinding on top of a man, then in the next scene, her neck being choked by two large hands, then a full shot of the man’s hairy backside. It was rough cuts of one sex scene after another.

I kept scrolling down the page as more videos buffered. The page seemed to go on forever. It seemed like a standard porn site offering a sample of its wares: lesbian sex, rough sex, group sex, toy sex.

But when I finally stopped, the cursor landed over a clip of a woman with long red hair. She wore a green Mardi Gras mask over her eyes. A group of masked men towered over her.

That was the common factor with Doberman Productions—the faces were hidden. Some videos used a blur effect; others used props, clothing, or strategic camera angles to block out identities.

I saw pale women, athletic women, thin women, curvy women, tattooed women, dark women. They were all different, anonymous.

I clicked around the site, exiting past more suspicious ads until I found the “About” page. It contained three sentences:

At Doberman Productions, we specialize in the production and distribution of anonymous amateur porn, featuring gorgeous women from the ages of 18 to 24. Yes, we might be ageist. Sue us.

Olivia and DeMaria fit the standard: they were both young, female, and attractive. The site promised anonymity—it would’ve appealed to a rising social media star and a young mother. If the site offered payment, then that was the incentive.

I turned off the TV. I suddenly needed the quiet.

I felt like I was creeping through someone’s home, ransacking their drawers, dressers, shelves.

The two of them had died so brutally. Now it seemed cruel that I was dredging up something they’d buried. It was obvious why they hid it—porn had a stigma. Olivia’s father was a conservative Catholic. DeMaria’s mother was wary of her daughter’s past. Neither of the women wanted to upset their families, so they kept it discreet.

But Mrs. Willand was aware of it. She’d somehow seen the site on Olivia’s phone. She suspected something, especially since Olivia had brought in money out of nowhere.

And Mrs. Willand was afraid to talk about it. I doubted she would tell the police. It would be humiliating—people had already seen her daughter’s nude photo. Some of the public had lost sympathy because of it. And if they thought a nude photo was distasteful, then a porn video would be repugnant. Olivia’s image would be decimated. There would be assumptions about her that would never go away.

It would be the same situation for DeMaria’s family. But she’d left behind a son. If her secret came out, it would follow Demetrius throughout his life—other people would make sure of it. Leticia Jackson would be broken.

I took a deep breath and rubbed my eyes.

I was assuming the worst, but I had no evidence.

On the site, there were thousands of videos—hundreds of them featured blondes and Black women. It was impossible to identify anyone.

On the “About” page, Doberman Productions offered an email address and a single phone number. Email was easy to ignore—the best option was to call.

But it seemed useless. No company would disclose their performers.

I cracked the joints in my neck. I could hear the tension that had built up in the past few weeks. Then I called the number on my cell phone and waited. I listened to one ring after another, my heart rate speeding up.

“Doberman Productions, how can I help you?” It was a motherly voice on the other end. She sounded like a saleslady at a candle shop.

I balked.

“Hi,” I said. “I was—I was calling about—”

“Don’t worry, honey. No judgment here,” the voice said serenely.

“Okay . . . cool. I was just wondering—”

“Don’t worry, hon. I’ll redirect you to someone who can help you. Don’t worry.”

There was a pause on the line and then a click. After one ring, someone else picked up.

“Doberman Productions.” It was a man’s voice this time.

“Hi. I’m not sure who I’m—”

“A lot of our girls are never sure,” the man said breezily. “But after they do it, they feel a lot better. It’s like a bandage, you know? You just have to rip it off, and you’ll feel better right after. With us, Mom and Dad will never have to know.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. They thought I was a potential new performer.

“Does that make you feel better?”

“Sure. Yes.”

“We don’t talk about rates over the phone, but just know that you can build your way up,” the man said. “We have two headquarters, in two major cities in the U.S.—”

“I—I don’t think I can do it then,” I said. I was eager to end the call.

“They’re corporate headquarters. You can make your own amateur videos at home.”

“I don’t have the right equipment.”

“You can use a phone camera or a laptop. But if you want more professional help, we got you covered.”

“I don’t think—”

“Where are you located?”

“Liberty Lake? It’s the city in—”

“I got it, don’t worry.”

Doberman Productions knew how to deal with hesitant girls. They were friendly and coaxing, but they also kept things moving at rapid-fire speed. That way, no one had time to change their mind.