"Sans Toi" Part I (The Devil Wears Prada Fan Fiction)

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters have been borrowed without permission for entertainment purposes only, completely devoid of any intent or commercial purpose.  

Pairing: Miranda/Andrea

Rating: M

Word count: 1,680

~~~

The first few moments went by like a whirlwind.  Blue orbs scanned in all directions, a bit too hastily perhaps but at that instant she couldn't quite focus her attention better.  Finally, two long seconds later, they zeroed in the figure that walked against the flow of the rest; everyone was trying to get in and she...she wanted out.

From afar she saw her walked regally, clutch in hand, black taffeta flapping against the breeze coming from the Seine.  Her stride firm and unwavering; no doubts, no remorse.  Miranda’s lips opened slightly and her lungs took in some air, her throat’s muscles tensed in preparation, tongue pressed firmly down, synapses firing, shooting orders with one single purpose; to call Andrea back.

But the sound never came out.

Miranda’s eyes looked one last time as the girl was about to round the corner.  Her eyes followed until she could see her no more. Closing her eyelids, she turned her head and smiled to the crowd of reporters and fans.

So be it.

An hour later she smiled left and right, forgetting, not caring, abandoning, disregarding.  Thoughts and feelings were put aside, ignored.  One champagne flute too many had been her only outwardly sign that her world’s axis had...slightly shifted. Turning around she called Serena and asked her to leave with her. 

Once in the car, blue eyes still searched. 

Stupid. 

Sighing, she willed herself to stop the inadequate train of thoughts. “Serena...-she paused gauging the attention of the blonde beauty-...there have been some rather...-a sharp intake of air surprised her-...unexpected changes and I will need you to take care of some things...” she said softly, as if her words were just afterthoughts.

“Yes Miranda..? How can I be of help..?”

Pursing her lips and smirking as if she was about to yawn, she continued. “Andrea Sachs decided to abandon us...”

‘Us?’

“She decided to abandon RUNWAY this afternoon. Make sure you make the proper arrangements for her to vacate her current room; change her to another room away from our quarters.  Retrieve the key to my own suite from her and sort out all details to make sure she leaves Paris tomorrow...via coach, of course. Call HR and ask them to have her termination papers ready for saturday...-lips puckered up in doubt-...ask them for the 3 months package...”

Serena could not have been more still if her life had depended on it.

“Cancel my agenda for tonight, recover anything you need from...Ms. Sachs...-she lingered on the surname in an apparent effort to convince herself that the girl was actually gone-... and get me Nigel at 8 pm...”

Serena struggled to take notes; she wrote as quickly as her fingers and wrist would allow her.

“Oh and Serena..? You’re with me until we get back...”

***

Miranda heard a faint knock on her door and glanced at her wrist watch; Nigel.

When the man stepped inside he looked guarded.  Miranda glanced at him and with a nod, invited him to sit down as she took a place on the sofa across the armchair where he sat.

“Miranda..?” asked Nigel.

The editor looked at him for a few instants measuring her words; she really had no strength to play her usual role. “How long have you known me, Nigel?”

The question took the man by surprise and exhaling he relaxed slightly. “Many years now...”

“Then you should know I didn’t summon you here to explain my actions...”

“I assumed that much, Miranda, yes...”

She nodded, inhaled with what appeared to be some pain on her face and lowered her eyelids.  “Well...contrary to popular belief, I’m not a monster...”

Nigel interrupted her, “I never said you were, Miranda...”

She opened her blue eyes and smiled sadly, “I’m sure you have concurred with the masses on occasion, Nigel...-she breathed in, again as if in great effort-...however...that’s not what should concern us at the moment.  I asked you here tonight because I have a proposal to present for your consideration...”

“You do..?”

“Yes.  Five out of the six key members of the Board have agreed already and I was working on convincing 

Irv this afternoon when, well...let’s say my attention was required to attend to a more pressing matter...”

“Yes...that matter...” mumbled Nigel with a vast but contained degree of contempt in his voice.

“I have just finished the official proposal to the Board for a new magazine for men...”

“You have? Why?” 

 She looked at him with a gaze he recognized as friendly. “But there’s already Men’s...”

“Yes but this one is somewhat different, with a broader scope...not just about fashion or style...it would also include other topics...columns on politics, macro economics, literature...the arts...-distractedly she rubbed and pressed the pad of two fingertips on her shut eyelids-...altogether something much more complete...”

“Oh...”

“So I’m proposing you the position of Editor In Chief...”

Suddenly the door opened and Serena came walking in. “I’m sorry for interrupting, Miranda...”

“Yes?”

“Everything has been taken care of...”

At that moment Nigel realized he had not seen Andy for some hours and his attention perked up.

“No difficulties I presume..?”

“No, none at all...-the blonde paused and glanced sideways towards Nigel...-this was left for you...” muttered Serena as she handed an envelope to the Editor.  “Will there be anything else, Miranda..?”

“No...” Miranda trailed off as she opened the envelope and read the note momentarily forgetting her current company. Nigel sighed and Serena quietly stood there waiting for the customary dismissal. Nigel arched his brow and despite looking up in search for answers in the blonde woman’s face, he found none.  Seconds later, Miranda exhaled audibly, jaws clenching. She carefully folded the single sheet of paper and placed it back in its dainty envelope which she shoved on the pocket of her robe.

“That’s all...” she mumbled very softly, with only a hint of a voice. 

Serena looked at Nigel just for an instant, nodded and turning around, walked towards the door.

“So Nigel...I can give you the details later, when we get back to New York...think about it...you need not to answer me at this very moment...”

“I don’t need to think about it Miranda, my answer is yes, of course...”

“Very well...that’s all, then...”

She slump her head back, closed her eyes, sighed and folded her hands neatly on her lap. He walked to her and stopped a mere meter away from the silver haired woman.  Sensing a presence, blue eyes opened widely. “Is there anything else that needs our joint attention, Nigel?”

The bald man looked down at Miranda whom he had known for so long and images of their history together flashed in his mind’s eye.

He smiled, kindly.

He had just figured it out.

***

The RUNWAY team was grumpy and hung over.  Miranda’s ‘petite comité’ was seated close to her and the furs, the oversized bags and the excess of leather, made them look like a gang of exceedingly well-groomed lap dogs.  They all sat in the VIP lounge of the private hangars at the Charles De Gaulle’s airport.  The lounge itself was quite comfortable, luxurious and spacious but as all airport lounges do, it implied waiting and Miranda simply hated to wait. 

However, something in the air was peculiar and overwhelming and it was not the aroma of so many perfumes mingled with the leather of the lounge chairs. It was something else.

The energy.

It was off.

There was none of the usual texting and calling. Laptops were not fired up; fingers were not tapping or gripping pens in quiet desperation. No one looked hurried or particularly stressed out.  If anything, the troupe looked exhausted and unenthusiastic. 

Even lethargic. 

Miranda sat alone, regally clad in a Balenciaga matching jacket and skirt in brown shantung, topped with a pair of tan suede Christian Louboutin shoes. Her Prada sunglasses in perfect coordination with the rest of her outfit.  The only odd thing about her ensemble was that there really was no need for the sunglasses inside the lounge and the shantung suit, while elegant, was excessively moderate even for Mirada’s standards.

One thing made sense; the customary Hermes scarf adding a dash of colour.

Miranda’s posture was rigid, controlled...even poised. She took her blackberry out and sent one text right before sliding it back inside its leather sleeve and throwing it back inside her Louboutin handbag.  She made no comments about anything, no glares or glances at Serena or Jocelyn.  Not even to Nigel. 

Nothing.

Not one single word. 

They were finally called to board the Bombardier that would take them back to New York and Miranda stood up turning around to gather her bag and coat.  Everyone waited in silence.

Once inside the luxurious jet, Irv headed towards the front with his wife and Armistead Delaney, the other Board member who had attended Paris week this year.  Miranda headed towards what it was usually considered her domain; the tail end of the aircraft. Once she took her seat, the editor turned the spacious leather chair around facing away from everyone, locked it in place and reached for the remote control of the nearby flat screen TV.  She opened a compartment to her right and extracted a set of headphones which she put on.  There were no other armchairs next to her; only a small, two seated sofa-like seats which had been occupied by Andy on their incoming flight.

For this flight, however, they would remain empty.

Nigel sat in another leather armchair close to Miranda’s.  Turning to check on her, he decided against approaching; it was obvious this would not be a regular business, end-of-Paris-fashion-week flight.  He sighed and closed his eyes hearing the distinctive sounds of the ‘No Smoking’ and “Fasten Seat Belts” signs being turned on all along the ample cabin of the aircraft. 

With a wicked smile he muttered -channelling Bette Davis in ‘All About Eve’- “Fasten your seatbelts, children. It’s going to be a bumpy ride...”  

(End of Part I)