Pairing: Miranda/Andrea
Raiting: PG (This chapter)
Words: 3,904
Raiting: PG (This chapter)
Words: 3,904
Disclaimer: Miranda Priestly, Andrea Sachs, Emily Charleston, Nigel Kipling and any other recognizable character have been borrowed without permission but for pure entertainment and without any purpose of profit or commercial gain.
~~~
The only individual in the whole Elias-Clarke building who relished the unforeseen turn of events in Paris was Emily. Three weeks after her accident, the no-nonsense woman had returned to her usual ‘cheery’ self and was loving every minute of the undivided attention Miranda had no other choice but to dispense her. For the first two weeks Miranda purposely avoided the subject of hiring the new second assistant and Emily had been happy with the new arrangement; that meant she got to do everything for Miranda. Soon after though, she realized that there were not enough hours in the day to tackle the colossal task and that sadly, despite all her feverish pleas to unseen entities, she could not physically be in more than one place at once.
Sighing she had reached the point of -regretfully- arranging the resumes and scheduling the final appointments.
“Miranda, I have chosen the resumes and have arranged the appointments for the second assistant vacancy...”
Miranda looked at her with irritation.
“No”
Emily was about to ask what did she mean by that when Miranda pressed on.
“You take care of it, Emily...Just...”
“Yes, Miranda..?”
“Don’t hire anyone named Andrea...”
“Very well Miranda...”
“Oh...and no smart, fat girls...Just get any bimbo with no college degree named...uh, I don’t know...Kimberly or something! Just don’t bore me with that again, that’s all...”
The redhead nodded and turning around, left the office. Miranda sat on her chair, leaned back and sighed. ‘That’s that...’ she thought.
But an impulse, greater than herself made her turned to her left and open one of the drawers. Silently, she gazed at the envelope. Se extracted it and unfolding the piece of paper, she read it once again as she had so many times in the past three weeks. Her lips pursed and she inhaled, forcefully. The words both stung her and soothed her in a very peculiar sort of way. She folded the paper, placed it on the envelope and tucked it away once again.
It was all she had left.
***
“These clips are excellent...this thing on the Janitors union, that’s exactly what we do here...I have a few questions...Runway? You were there for less than a year...What the hell kind of bleep is that?”
Andy’s blood pressure soared and her ears went shooting red. Somewhat embarrassed but not entirely, she answered truthfully. “Learned a lot...in the end though...I kinda of screwed it up...”
“I uh...called over there for a reference, talked to some snooty girl and the next thing you know I got a fax from Miranda Priestly herself...saying that of all the assistants she’s ever had you were by far...her biggest disappointment...”
‘Shit...there goes this job...’
“...and...If I don’t hire you I’m an idiot...”
At the sound of those words Andy turned her eyes and locked them with the ones that so kindly looked at her.
“You must have done something right...”
Thirty minutes later she walked down 6th Avenue with a spring on her step and a grin wider than the Hudson River. She had tried to stop it but couldn’t; her happiness poured out of her like the glee of a teenage girl with her first crush.
Life was good.
No, it was great, actually.
She had a new job as a junior reporter.
And Miranda didn’t hate her.
“Yes!” she hissed in satisfaction.
If she had been a cowgirl she’d gone “Yeeee Haaaaww” right in front of the Rockefeller Centre.
The Mirror offices were mere five blocks away from the Elias-Clarke building. Now, wasn’t that convenient? She thought; she could always walk this way and perhaps, if she was lucky enough...
And suddenly, there she was.
Miranda.
***
“I really fail to understand the conundrum...it’s simple physics...time and space...the car needs to be at a certain time in a certain space...” she muttered to herself as she jerked her wrist, flipping the phone off and effectively terminating the communication. She tossed her phone on her large, black, leather Prada handbag and with the corner of her eye she noticed the car pulling over. “Time and space...” she mumbled again.
And just as she was about to board the car, she looked up to the light of that glorious afternoon reflected on the windows of the building right across the street.
And the air in her lungs escaped her.
Andrea.
***
All noise stopped. All movement around her, ceased. Like in a giant vacuum, all objects seemed to have been sucked into a vortex. Her mind wondered if this was what it would be like to travel through a space wormhole where time travelling is possible. Once caught under Miranda’s spell time seemed to crawl. Miranda’s eyes pinned her still, like an animal; like an unfortunate prey that had fallen out of luck.
Subluminal speed, she thought.
She could not move but she was very aware of her own body screaming out to her; pulse galloping on her temples, her breathing short and shallow, sweat beads that covered her forehead in seconds.
God.
It was in that instant when some neurons fired out and excitement won over fear; Andy nodded and then waved not really knowing what to expect from her former boss. Miranda looked her over for a few more seconds that appeared to last an eternity...and then -in one sleek and graceful movement- got inside the car.
No smile, no nod, no...nothing.
And then in seconds...wham! Out of the wormhole she was, shoved onto that noisy and busy and dirty and smelly sidewalk of 6th Avenue.
Supraluminal speed.
Einstein was right. Time’s up. Game over. Thank you for playing.
Andy looked down and shaking her head very slightly, smiled once more; this time however, her smile hid a bit of sadness tucked away somewhere in a small corner of her heart. Ruffling her bangs over her forehead in a clear but unconscious nervous action, she resumed her walk once again.
‘I mean, did you really expect her to smile, wave back or call your name out loud across the street? Get real, Andy!’
***
Later that evening, Miranda wondered if she was experiencing some sort of dissociative disorder; like the proverbial phantom limb. Except that instead of an arm of or a leg, it felt like as if she was missing her whole body which was in fact, attached.
Be it as it may, Miranda still believed that some sort of disruption was taking place between her lower and higher brain functions; she had almost called the girl’s name out loud.
“God...” she uttered, mortified.
Unbelievable as in fact did sound to Nigel days later, Miranda’s body had almost acted on its own accord, ignoring its owner’s command and actually gasping out the girl’s name, very quietly. Fortunately (or unfortunately...) for the editor, she locked her jaws together, tightened the fifty-two muscles on her face and remained -apparently- unmoved by the sight of her now, ex second assistant.
Inside though, the seven hundred remaining muscles in her body were launching a well-orchestrated revolution against the iron ruling of the Central Nervous System and its lesser siblings. The sympathetic division of the Peripheral Nervous System flicked the switched and activated the fight or flight response whereby Miranda’s heart and lungs beat and breathed faster; she flushed and paled in rapid succession; all digestive activity ceased and pupils dilated. When she managed to get inside the car, she moved to the opposite side of the car to focus better on the girl who was still standing there, looking down now, and ruffling her hair. Miranda exhaled and then chuckled, yet again unable to command her body to quiet down and be still. When she finally ordered the driver to go, she looked down to her hands.
They were shaking.
Even now so many hours after that last ‘sighting’, Miranda still felt its blasting effects. Sitting on the first floor’s study and flanked by her twin daughters who must have sensed her mother’s unusual distracted mood, she tried to concentrate on The Book but was not being very successful. She found herself getting lost in thoughts of Andrea; of the girl’s full lips distended in a broad smile, of her hand waving in space like a beacon of hope, in her child-like hair-ruffling gesture which Miranda found almost...endearing. She flipped the pages of the mock up in front of her and could almost imagine Andrea in many of the outfits in front of her, posing daringly for the camera...provoking her, daring her.
She inhaled with effort; another piece of something fell off her heart.
“Mom..?”
Cassidy’s voice came from afar, as in a whisper Miranda could not quite make up. She finally answered, not sure of what her daughter had said. “Yes Bobsie..?”
“Are you okay..? You seem...I dunno...off...”
Okay. This really was not good. That her 11 year old, the one that normally never notices anything had actually just asked her if she was alright was cause for alarm...”Of course I’m alright honey...Mommy is always alright...just tired...which reminds me...time for bed young ladies...”
“Mom just till the end of the song..?”
Miranda nodded and her gaze locked on the screen in front of them. It was a very rare instance that she would find herself correcting The Book in the same room where her children were watching TV but, again they must have noticed something because they had asked her to stay with them.
Very odd indeed.
The man on the screen looked unkempt and sweaty but he did seem to have some degree of talent.
‘...Excuse me please...one more drink...
Could you make it strong cos I don’t need to think...
She...broke my heart...my grace is gone...
Another drink and I’ll move on...’
“Who is this?” Miranda asked with some degree of contempt in her voice.
“Dave Matthews from the Dave Matthews Band...” answered Caroline. “Do you like it..?”
Miranda paused for a second. While she was not very keen on popular music as a whole, this tune had a bit of merit.
Or, at the very least, it made some sense.
“Uh...no, can’t say I do although that song is not entirely...ghastly...”
The twins’ eyebrows shot upwards; their mother was really in a very weird mood. A minute later the song was over and they turned off the TV set. Miranda opened her arms and the girls leaned forward to kiss her good night; one kiss on each pale but soft cheek.
An hour later Miranda poured herself some cognac and swirling the amber coloured spirit, she brought the cup to her nostrils and inhaled deeply. The Grande Hine Champagne Cognac was one of those exquisite delights she thanked the heavens she was able to afford. She rarely had any but when she did she gave herself to the full experience.
And a full experience it was.
Her thoughts had not veered one minute off course.
Andrea.
The editor could not wrap her mind around her own feelings. Had she been asleep all that time when Andrea had been right there, mere meters away? Had she not seen her? Had she been blind? How could she have been so oblivious to her own inner voices, her recurrent thoughts...her feelings? Had her body not reacted this way before? Had her pulse not risen?
No, actually.
It was not until that cardinal moment some weeks ago when she saw the girl leave that a whole hidden dimension of experience was opened up to her. She stood up and turned on the BOSE iPod docking station. She grabbed the iPod and looked for one specific song by Queen thinking that Queen -oh yes- that was good music.
Returning to the leather armchair she let her head sunk into the softness of the cushion behind her as she listened to the words.
‘...bring it back, bring it back...
Don’t take it away from me,
Because you don’t know what it means to me...’
She took the remote control and repeated the song two more times. She finally took one last gulp of cognac and settled it on the small table next to her. She inhaled, closed her eyes and rolled her neck in a counter-clock direction in the hope to release the demons that in the form of knotted muscles, made her soul and body ached.
‘What are you doing to me Andrea..? Don’t you know any better? Don’t you know I don’t know how to be what you need me to be..?’
On the other side of the city a lonely Andrea looked up at the moon and thought of Miranda’s hair.
‘Even if she didn’t wave back or smiled...at least she doesn’t entirely hate me...’
Right before closing her eyes, already in bed and feeling warm and drowsy, Miranda peeked at the moon whose light had snaked its way into her room and onto her bed.
‘She smiled and waved...I may not be her favourite person but...’
And both women sighed, closed her eyes and fell asleep.
***
According to the Theogony, a poem written by Hesiod in which he explains the origin of all the Gods of the ancient Greeks, even Zeus -the almighty king of all gods and ruler of Mount Olympus- feared the Moirae; the fates. He was, along with all mortals and the rest of the Gods, vulnerable to the whims of these three capricious deities.
Accordingly the three sisters spent their existence determining what happened to everyone. One, Clotho, also known as The Spinner, was the one that actually spun the thread of life for everyone. It was she who determined who got to be born into this life and presumably, how this life was going to turn out according to his or her individual, well...fate.
The other two sisters Lachesis and Atropos measured and cut the thread of life when the moment of death was to arrive.
Escaping the fates was impossible and there was no real way for a mortal or a God to alter what they had determined for the life of an individual. What was done could not be undone; not even by the Moirae themselves.
So Miranda -being a mortal herself contrary to popular belief- was, just like Zeus or his wife Hera or his daughter Aphrodite, at their irrevocable mercy.
So was Andy, for that matter.
***
Four months later, life seemed to have fallen again into a somewhat secure routine. Andy was enjoying her work at The Mirror although the scope and content of her work was still far from where she’d dreamed she would do. They started her up slowly; writing obituaries, small social notes about gatherings and various soirees and general household interest articles. Nothing too deep or complicated. She was grateful but restless now; itching for a better opportunity to exercise her genuine abilities as a researcher and as a writer.
However, all in all, she really could not complaint. Her paid was decent and she had slowly but surely, made a few friends through her work.
Life was...comfortable.
Not all afternoons she walked by the Elias-Clarke building but she did make sure she did at least, once a week. Never again, however, had she caught a glimpse of the grand Miranda. She normally did the ‘Runway scenic route’ on Fridays when she knew that her former boss tried to leave work early to start the weekend with her children, get ready to attend a social gathering or see the twins off before they left to spend the weekend with their father.
Unfortunately, so far, she had been out of luck.
But she would keep trying.
Miranda’s life -on the other hand- had not changed much. It was late August and the autumn breezes had started to -at times- bathe the city with a much needed rush of cooler air.
On the working table, the December issue; the second most important issue after the one who was about to hit the newsstands. Around the table, Miranda’s production team minus Nigel, who was running around putting together his premiere issue of ‘Fortis’. Miranda really missed Nigel. They had decided that -due to the incompetence that surrounded them both on a daily basis- they would still find time to help each other out. But unfortunately this immediate task she had to do with her own team and they were just not cutting it.
Not even close.
Miranda sighed and closed her leather-bound agenda, pursing her lips. She called the meeting adjourned and headed to her office. Heaven was sitting on her desk, typing away while Emily coordinated Miranda’s travel arrangements for the Bermudas’ shoot next week. Turning her head to the left, she nodded at Emily and the woman nodded back. Quickly she finished the conversation and headed to the editor’s office.
Miranda could not stand the sight of the young and excruciatingly beautiful second assistant that now sat on the desk left by Andrea. ‘Heaven...what kind of asinine name is that?’ she thought almost every time she saw the young girl as she shook her head in contempt. Truth was the girl had ‘stepped onto the plate’ with two strikes against her already and nothing would change that fact. Miranda knew it too. She was conscious of the unfairness of her behaviour but did nothing to disguise it. Tough.
She was not Andrea and everyone knew it.
So be it.
“Mr. Ravitz is coming down to see you in ten minutes Miranda...”
Miranda leaned forward checking something on the bright screen on her laptop. “And to what do I owe the devious honour?”
“He would not say...”
Taking a sip of her glass of chilled water, she inhaled. Irv in her office at 2:30, on a Monday afternoon could only mean one of two things; either something really bad was going on or something really good was about to take place.
Miranda nodded and hoped for the latter.
***
Sipping a Mocha frappuccino from the Starbucks at the corner, Andrea stared to the street down below in a daze, still mesmerized after all this time, by the constant movement of people and vehicles in the city streets. She turned around and walked to her small desk, slumping on her chair immediately after. Wrapping her lips around the straw and sucking the sweet, rich drink, she sighed as she stared at the screen.
She smiled a little.
She heard a noise and pulled herself upwards trying to locate the source of the sound. It was John, her boss, talking to some men as they left his office. Her eyes looked down at the screen and then, back up again locking on John.
It was now or never.
Now?
Now.
That evening she went out to celebrate. Stephanie and Rosemary smiled and cheered genuinely happy for their friend’s well deserved, first break. Earlier on that day, Andy had decided to show her boss the finished article she had been working on for the last three weeks, alongside the rest of her regular activities. It was a piece about the alarming rate of HIV new cases among Manhattan’s homeless population. It was piercing, somewhat dark and poignant but John had liked it and it had been sent off to print for the following Monday along with a different assignment; this time regarding the aging subway system in New York.
Andrea sipped from her Cosmopolitan and dragged along by her friends, reluctantly headed towards the dance floor. Josh and Kevin stayed behind on the table while the girls enjoyed the music and the laughter.
Andy was happy and joyful and for the first time in months, she did not miss Nate or Doug or even Lily.
But she always, always missed Miranda.
***
“You must be joking Irv Ravitz! I will not do such a thing!”
“Miranda...-said the Chairman, calmly, with the coolness of those who know that they have already won-...what is it you don’t agree with? Think about it...You’ll have Runway as always, you’ll have some shares which can never be a bad thing, you will command even more power than you do right now, in a few months you’ll become a full-fleshed director...what’s not to like?”
“I know nothing about newspapers and I refuse to step onto my own guillotine, Irv! I have worked too hard and for too long to see all that wasted!”
The man grinned; evil indeed hiding behind a facade.
“Nothing will go to waste...how many times do I need to explain this to you? You will still manage Runway, so your reputation will remain intact. You will have a small portion of shares that -of course- should add to your already abundant wealth. You will become a director in a few months’ time once Armistead steps down...what is it that you are afraid of?”
Miranda’s blue orbs locked on Irv’s.
And her lips curled up.
‘Oh Irv...you cowplop...’ she thought, as she smiled in recognition; he was using defiance against her.
The dim-witted imbecile.
Smiling fully, the editor sighed with genuine satisfaction; once again she had dismantled yet another daft stratagem against her.
“You know Irv...you’re right, now that I think about it...what is there to be afraid of? It is indeed my old friend a...-she paused inhaling- win-win situation, isn’t it?”
“It is...” snickered the little man.
“Yes, very well...send me everything on the new acquisition along the new contract...of course...” she drawled ending up in a couple of dry chuckles. Irv nodded and left.
Almost five hours later, Miranda sipped a neat scotch as she glanced to the street below. She had taken off her jacket and her hair was ruffled up in a rather uncharacteristic way.
“Shit...” she grumbled.
“What’s the matter dear, bad day at the office, dear..?” asked Nigel as he stepped on the dimmed lit office.
“Look on my desk...” she added, not taking her eyes away from the scene below.
Nigel dutifully followed, his eyebrows arching in surprise. “What the hell?” he asked as soon as he examined the documents.
“Hell is right...” she added.
“The Mirror? But why?”
“Some daft business deal Irv is pushing onto me...oh yes, I’m a junior director now...”
“So we’re taking over it?”
“Rather...*I* am taking over it...” answered Miranda, closing her eyes. “The ironies of life...”
“So...uh...this means...downsizing?”
“Yes...I already made a list...she’s on it...-she chuckled, poignantly- ...I have to fire her now that, in a way...I’ve found her...again...”
Nigel smiled. He could almost see the inner workings of his friend’s mind and the sudden and rare conflict so evident on Miranda’s voice, filled him with compassion.
The Andrea issue was...so not over.
“You don’t have to, you know...”
The editor ruffled up her hair again and slump her head backwards, groaning. “I do...-she said painfully-...the girl is the least experienced of all the least experienced reporters. I’ve been working on that chart for the last two hours, Nigel...The Mirror is a money pit and while yes, there’s some talent there, it needs to be downsized otherwise, we can’t make it work...”
“You can always...”
“What?” she asked with sharpness; bothered by how the circumstances were forcing her, once again, to do something against her will.
“Give her a chance...Let her prove herself...”
Hope.
“You think?”
“She may surprise you...she did in the past...repeatedly...”
Miranda waved her hand silently dismissing the offer.
She needed more time to think.
Nigel knew his work was done.
Miranda would give Andrea a chance.
And the fates, once again...laughed.
(End of Chapter IV)
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