Bad Girls Finish First by Shelia Dansby Harvey Page A

decided to get hair plugs. Minshew’s swollen scalp hadn’t completely healed from getting the plugs put in before he started getting the luxurious locks taken out. Journalists are cruel people, and even within that group the folks at the Austin American-Statesman were a mean-spirited breed all their own. They made fun of Minshew to his face, behind his back and, although they didn’t know it, in Minshew’s dreams. Ms. Piggy with a pen, they called him. His scalp wasn’t bare anymore, but now it was covered with scars rather than hair. It looked like a dog’s chew toy.
    Minshew’s body was harder to look at than his angry red scalp. He carried about eighty extra pounds on his ordinary frame, and he wore the weight more like a woman than a man. Fat ass. Pregnant, low-slung gut. Enormous saddlebags and spare tires all around. Minshew was a major ugh, a uck, a make-a-woman-throw-up type guy.
    â€œThe things we do for love,” Raven muttered under her breath as she rejected another ensemble in her closet. Michael needed the paper’s endorsement, and if she had to turn Minshew out to get Michael the nod, well, that’s just the way it was. That’s why her outfit was so important. “If I choose just the right getup,” she continued talking to herself, “maybe all I’ll have to do is let him look at me.” But Raven was a soldier with a strong stomach, and if Minshew needed more than a look and a quick feel, she fully intended to rub her beautiful, bare body against his unfortunate one.
    Raven changed course and decided to select her shoes first. Shoes talk to men, scream at them or whisper to them, telling them all sorts of things about women that may or may not be true. She chose a pair of lavender snakeskin Jimmy Choo’s with five-inch heels and ankle straps. Once she picked her shoes, the rest was easy. When Raven walked out of the house she had on a sheer black La Perla bustier and matching thong, fishnets, and a little white linen jacket that barely covered her ass.
    Jerry Minshew was about to get punked, Raven style.
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    â€œMrs. Joseph, what are you doing here?” The people who rang Jerry Minshew’s doorbell were usually selling cookies or salvation. So he was understandably frazzled to find Raven on his doorstep.
    â€œI came to talk about my husband. May I come in?” As Raven talked she made her way into Minshew’s apartment. It was spacious and had a great layout, but Minshew didn’t know what to do with it, any more than he knew what to do with his own body. He had a pleather sofa; an ancient, wooden, floor-model television; and dingy walls. Raven glanced toward the kitchen, which was just as outdated. The only thing she liked about the place was the bookshelf against one wall. Not that the shelf looked good, but it gave the room a little personality.
    Raven walked over and read the titles. At least he’s got good taste in books , she thought. The idea put her at ease, humanized Minshew enough to help her do what she had to do.
    â€œI understand you’ve got reservations about endorsing my husband for governor.” Raven stood with her jacket closed and her hands in her pockets. Her voice was throaty. “And I hear that those reservations have to do with me.”
    â€œMrs. Joseph,” Minshew began in an officious voice, “this is quite inappropriate. I’ll have to ask you to—”
    â€œTo what?” Raven challenged. By now she’d unbuttoned her jacket and let it fall open, just a bit. Just enough to let Minshew get a peek. “Whatever you ask me to do, Jerry, that’s what I’ll do.”
    Minshew, bless his heart, was speechless.
    Raven stayed where she was and kept talking. As she talked, she let her jacket open more, more, more. With every inch of her body that she revealed, Raven hoped that Minshew would lose it, that he’d turn and run to the bathroom, sparing her