Don′t Become a Needle Junkie
Botox injections and fillers such as collagen can work wonders on crow′s feet and marionette lines, but it′s possible to overdo it. Lots of people don′t know this, but having too many cosmetic injections can leave you with needle scars on your face, just like the tracks on a heroin addict′s arms.
If you can′t live without regular infusions of plump-
ers and fillers, consider getting fat injections by a
board-certified plastic surgeon. Here′s how it works:
The surgeon draws a bit of fat from your stomach,
then injects the fat into the crevices and wrinkles
around your mouth and lips. Unlike collagen, your
own fat acts as a long-lasting filler. And isn′t that what
we′re all looking for?
– From The Little Book of Beauty Secrets by Mimi Morgan
I rode the elevator to the fourth floor of Mercy Hospital, then threaded my way through a confusing labyrinth of corridors following the scribbled directions I′d gotten from an emergency room receptionist. It was just past six a.m.; the hallways were slowly beginning to come alive with movement as nurses and technicians pushing blood pressure carts began their morning rounds.
Rounding a final corner, I spotted room 4D. Next to the half-open door was a small whiteboard with a name handwritten on it: Shaina Miller.
Tentatively, I pushed the door open the rest of the way.
Shaina lay curled up in a fetal position in the middle of the hospital bed. Like her mother, Shaina was tiny, with close-cropped, platinum white hair that was combed away from her face. Her eyes above her high, wide-set cheekbones were closed. The left side of her face looked raw and hugely swollen.
I stood at the foot of her bed, trying to decide what to do next. Then I heard a movement behind me.
″Are you a member of Shaina Miller′s family? ″ A nurse asked, lightly tapping my arm. Her voice had a lilting Jamaican cadence to it. ″We′ve been trying to locate them.″
″I′m a friend of her mother′s,″ I replied in a whisper. ″My name′s Kate Gallagher.″
″You′re Kate?″ Shaina had bolted upright to a sitting position on the bed. Her eyes, wide-open now, were trained on my face. ″The cops told me Mom′s dead. She′s not dead, is she? She can′t be. I didn′t believe them.″
Behind me, the nurse murmured something about going to find a doctor. Then she left the room.
I sat on the bed next to Shaina and took her hand. It felt icy cold.
″Shaina, your mom…,″ I began haltingly, groping hard for the right words. In this case, though, there could only be wrong ones.
Shaina made a choking noise and fell back against the pillow. Turning her head toward the wall, she said in a dull, flat voice, ″For a second, I told myself this was all a bad dream. A nightmare. ″
″I′m so sorry,″ I said. ″The emergency responders couldn′t do anything for your mom, Shaina.″
Still staring at the wall, Shaina said, ″It happened so fast. Mom and I had stopped at a stop sign.″
″You don′t have to talk about it right now.″
She continued as if I hadn′t said anything. ″That′s when that guy-that fucker-broke in the window on Mom′s side of the car. She screamed at me to get out; then she pushed me out the door.″
Shaina looked at me, tears welling in her green eyes. ″My mom-she pushed me out the door. My mom saved me, Kate,″ she whispered.
″Your mother was very brave.″
″I fell on the side of the road. I think the hijacker got the wheel, and Mom wound up on the passenger side, where I′d been. That′s when I lost sight of them. A few seconds later I heard two shots. Then a car squealing, like it was driving away fast.″
Her entire body seemed to quake with a sob as she added, ″Why did it have to be my mother? She′s all I have in the world.″
A pain ricocheted off my ribs and hit something deep and soft inside my chest. ″Shaina, I know this is a horrible time for you,″ I said to her. ″I′m going to stay with you until your family gets here.″
″My family?″ Shaina made a bitter-sounding noise. ″There′s no one in my family except for Mom.″
″What about your uncle?″
″Uncle Belmont and my aunt?″ Shaina gave me a beseeching look. ″They′re not the same; you know what I mean? We′re not that close. Nothing like my mom.″
She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. ″Then of course there′s my stupid stepfather-Gavin the gigolo. Like he′s gonna care about me at all. Mom told me last night they were getting divorced. She was dumping him. It was about time.″
″Shaina, you can′t help feeling unbelievably sad right now,″ I said, trying to ignore what she was saying about her stepfather. ″It hurts so much. Believe me I know-I lost my mom, too, when I was young. To violence like your mom.″
″You did? But then, you′re still young, aren′t you?″ Shaina gave me a trembly attempt at a smile. ″I don′t think you′re all that much older than me. You just act kind of older.″
″I was thirteen.″
″Oh my God. That was young.″
″Any age is tough to lose your mother.″
I knew this wasn′t the right time to ask her questions, but an irresistible urge overcame me. ″Why were you and your mom out driving so early this morning?″
″Mom was taking me to catch an early flight to Los Angeles,″ Shaina said. ″She was going to follow me out there in a couple of days. We were going to take a cruise together.″
Already regretting the impulse to probe, I quickly said, ″I spoke to one of the detectives, and they′re doing everything they can to track down the person who did this. They′ll find him, and he′ll be punished.″
Shaina studied me. She was no longer crying, and the surface of her eyes had turned as hard and flat as malachite.
″The police don′t need to look for him.″ Her voice was cold and sounded much older than her twenty-one years. ″I already know who killed my mother.″