Nice Girls Finish Last Read Free

distant and hollow, like someone laughing into a wide-mouthed jar.
    When would this day ever end? Louise was awake too, and looking like she might go sleep elsewhere, so I closed the window and went back to bed, giving her another rubdown, playing my CD again, re-reciting the Serenity Prayer, and, finally, gently, falling to sleep.
    I was in that comfortable, swimmy limbo, the hypnagogic space between consciousness and unconsciousness, when the phone again rang and I heard my machine pick up.
    â€œMs. Hudson, this is Detective Mack Ferber of Manhattan South—Homicide Division …”
    I reached for the phone.
    â€œRobin Hudson,” I said.
    â€œOh, Ms. Hudson. Is this Robin Hudson or her machine?”
    He sounded young.
    â€œThis is Robin Hudson. What’s your name again?”
    â€œDetective Mack Ferber … Homicide …”
    â€œAnd what do you want?”
    â€œUm, Ms. Hudson … did you know Dr. Herman Kanengiser?”
    â€œUm.” I reached past my snoring cat for my alarm clock. Louise Bryant sleeps like an old man, with drooling and little raspy snores, and she gave a full-bodied snort when I moved her.
    â€œMs. Hudson?”
    â€œYeah, I know him, kind of,” I said, studying the glow-in-the-dark clock face intently. It was twelve thirty a.m.
    Actually, I hardly knew Dr. Herman Kanengiser, which is ironic when you think that I almost let the guy see me naked. Dr. Herman Kanengiser was my gynecologist, sort of. He leased space in the building I worked in, the Jackson Broadcasting building. That, direct insurance billing, and the fact that he took evening appointments made him ideal for a working woman, like me.
    It also made it hard to get an appointment. I had finally got in to see him, about six weeks earlier, only to get beeped for an undercover shoot before we even got to the examining table. It took over a month more to schedule a second appointment, which was canceled that day.
    â€œWhat happened? I mean …” I began to say.
    â€œI’d rather discuss it in person.”
    â€œWell, why do you want to talk to me?”
    â€œAre you up? Can I stop by? I really don’t want to talk about this on the phone,” he said.
    I have a saying. My door is always open to men with warrants and/or badges. Legitimate badges, that is. After getting his badge number and calling him back at Manhattan South to confirm, I told him to come on over.
    I was physically awake but mentally groggy, and had called him back on autopilot. But once I got off the phone, I realized what Ferber had said. He was a homicide cop and he had spoken of Kanengiser in the past tense. That meant Kanengiser was dead. Murdered.
    Because I am a tad self-absorbed, my first thought was entirely selfish: whatever had happened, I wasn’t going to get into trouble for it. My whereabouts all evening long could be attested to by witnesses. After leaving work, I had a meeting with Kerwin Shutz about some vigilante videotape, then drinks with my associate producer Tamayo and my new cameraman Mike. From there I went to my cat’s agent’s office and waited for the Teamsters to bring Louise back from her shoot, which had gone into overtime because of her bad behavior. It’s just the nature of my life that I sleep better at night if I have a good alibi, since this wasn’t the first time I’d had an appointment with someone who later ended up dead. It’s like, my karma or something.

2
    C all it vanity, but because there was a man coming over, I felt I had to fix myself up a bit, get out of the flannel nightshirt and into something respectable, touch up my thick red hair, put on some lipstick. I am not particularly proud of this side of myself, but that’s the way it is. The cop might be cute.
    Thank God the maid service had been in that day and the place was relatively tidy. The maid service was an important step on my road to maturity. Left to my own devices, I live