Late Night with Andres by Debra Anastasia Page A

the cut in her mouth. She was instructed not to eat salty stuff. Her bruises would fade. She knew the hospital was keeping her because the world was losing its mind.
    Gage Daxson’s death had shaken the very fabric of the entertainment business. He was being compared to Elvis and James Dean with the inevitable addition of, “But he died as a hero!” It was a slow news month, so every news or entertainment program filled their airtime with Daxson. There were interviews with childhood classmates, groupies, and his manager. All had glowing things to say. No less than ten women claimed to be carrying his child. And that was just what Milla was allowed to see. She knew there was also an aspect of it that related to her. Their last kiss was apparently a big deal. There were whole articles devoted to the love that would’ve been. The media were great at creating stories—big, hairy stories that suited whatever clip art they had on hand.
    She was allowed to visit Sydney the bodyguard in a wheelchair pushed by her mom. He was in and out, and mostly slept, but every once in a while they spoke. He didn’t seem to know about Gage, and Milla didn’t want to be the one to tell him. After a few days, she tapered off her visits, afraid she would have to lie to him. There must have been plans for a funeral, but Milla had avoided any coverage of that. Maybe she’d visit his grave someday.
    Milla hated night at the hospital most of all. Her parents got to know the staff well enough to feel comfortable leaving her there. They slept in a nearby hotel. And she told them that was fine. Night was a better time to cry anyway. Only nurses making rounds interrupted her throughout the night. The situation had been traumatic; she knew that. It would take time. She just wished she could stop wanting to feel Gage’s kiss again.

    It was night, and the TV flickered in the room like a technotronic fireplace. Milla wondered if she could have a seizure if she stared at it too long. Out of the corner of her eye she saw light slice into the room as the door released the hallway’s brightness on her. She wiped her eyes and sat up. She knew the drill: blood pressure and temperature. There’d been talk of her going home tomorrow. She wondered if she would cry herself dry once she had no night nurse to interrupt her.
    But the silhouette was wrong. Very wrong. The nurse now in the room was tall, the hair way too long. It didn’t fit any of the nighttime nurses’ descriptions. Fear choked her. Her mind reeled, completely paralyzed by the thought of having a stranger lock her in a room again. The giant nurse rushed her, and Milla gasped. A hand pressed over her mouth. She could only see flickers of what appeared to be the ugliest woman in the world. Milla began shaking like a runt Chihuahua getting electrocuted.
    “No, don’t scream. It’s me. Shit. I’m sorry.”
    She recognized the voice. How could she not? The TV did nothing but air clips from past interviews. She shook her head violently to free her mouth.
    “Daxson. You fucker.” Milla began slapping him. Now that she had a context for the ugly nurse, she could tell it was him—with a horrible wig and pink scrubs.
    He took her blows while he shushed her. “No. Seriously. You’re safe. It’s me. It’s me.”
    Her slaps tapered off. “You’re alive? I thought you were…” She reached up and pulled the wig off his head.
    In the bluish light he smiled, his face scruffy with the new growth of a beard. “Yeah, sorry about that.” He glanced over his shoulder.
    “You’re lucky I don’t have a loaded gun right now. You scared me.” She’d wanted to make some sort of joke, but her comment ended with her voice cracking.
    “I’m an asshole. Why did I sneak up on you?” He pulled her gently into a hug.
    It should have been weirder, hugging this guy she barely knew, but he smelled good, and his arms were comforting.
    “I’m so glad you’re alive. I just didn’t know how to feel. No one