Pairing: Miranda/Andrea
Raiting: M
Words: 3,647
Raiting: M
Words: 3,647
Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters have been borrowed without permission for pure entertainment and without any purpose of profit or commercial gain.
~~~
Some time later, Miranda woke up to the gentle buzz of the jet’s engines. Her body had turned in her sleep to her right and her azure eyes opened to watch the clouds amidst the bluest sky she could remember. She sighed, feeling tired, drained.
Well, not exactly tired. Something else.
She yawned slightly and looked at her watch; three more hours of flight time. Part of her mind prompted her to move, to find out what was happening, to make things happen. But another, perhaps the other side of her frontal lobe pushed her body down and forced it to remain underneath the covers that kept her warm and to her great surprise; safe.
She reached the glass next to the window and bringing it to her lips, drank some water.
‘Andrea is gone.’
Her eyes closed willing sleep to come back and feelings, to go away.
Besides, she thought, there were no feelings to be felt.
Nigel had been keeping a vigil throughout the fiight. He had posted himself like a guard dog and no one had been allowed to approach Miranda or get close to where she was; not even Irv. Nigel just told everyone Miranda was feeling somewhat indisposed and left it at that. No further explanations were necessary. He sat in front of the desk surrounded with mock ups, faxes, a couple of dozens emails and his VAIO, 17” screen laptop opened up to a Mossimo layout he was not happy about.
Serena was on the phone and Nigel moved his finger across the touchpad of his laptop, changing in seconds, the contrast of the picture. “See..? Much better...”
He must have seen Miranda stir through the corner of his eye because he turned, suddenly, just as she pulled the blanket tightly around her and wiggled her shoulders a little.
“She must be feeling really ill...” mumbled Serena -very quietly- staring at Nigel, who in turn, pressed his lips together but said nothing. Sighing instead, he pressed on.
“What did the lovely Alessandro have to say? Will he have them ready?” he asked, blatantly ignoring her commentary.
Serena nodded, slightly bothered that Nigel had not acknowledged her words. “Yes, he’ll have them ready for tomorrow...”
“Okay, perfect...I think we’re done for now Serena...-said Nigel, casually-...go on, catch some sleep...we’re working tomorrow, darling...”
The woman stared at him, her face undecipherable. “You know Nigel, I know you won’t say anything to me but you’re not the only one that cares for Miranda and if you trusted some of us more...-she paused glancing at Miranda-...actually if both of you did, work life would be...different...”
Nigel inhaled, smiled shyly and nodded gently.
Serena stood up and left for her seat located towards the middle of the aircraft. Nigel smiled again and shook his head slowly in disbelief. He gathered all work related material and shoved it inside his oversized briefcase. He then turned off the laptop and tucked it away. Looking at his watch he realized that they still had a couple of hours until they were to arrive. He unbuckled his seatbelt and went to check on Miranda who upon inspection seemed deeply asleep. He smirked in recognition. He leaned forward and tucked the heavy blanket softly around her neck, turned off the light above her and slid down the shutter on the jet window so the glaring sun of the Atlantic afternoon, would not bother her.
He regarded her for a few seconds more and sighed; it was going to be a long week, he thought.
A very, very long week.
***
Upon her arrival in New York, Andy got a call from Human Resources requesting her presence on Saturday, at the latest. She went back to her -by now- empty apartment and spent most of Friday jet lagged; she only put on jeans, a top and a coat to go to the corner shop for some food before going back to bed.
On Saturday morning, a bit more refreshed and less comatose, Andy took a shower, did her head in a casual pony tail, clad her jeans, a mock sweater and a suede jacket and headed to the Elias-Clarke building. She went immediately to the Human Resources Department where Josh, a young- fresh-out-of-college generalist agent, was waiting for her.
She handed in her immediate resignation letter and signed various documents including a reformatted all-inclusive confidentiality statement forbidding her to reveal information in regards to the workings of RUNWAY magazine or its staff. All this she expected.
What she didn’t expect was to get the three months severance package and the extension of her medical, dental and life insurance coverage for a full year, plus, a full month vacation time bonus and two months, overtime payment.
“Wow...”
The blue eyed man in front of her smirked. “Yeah...it’s odd and coming from her even more so...she never gives anything more than what she is supposed to by law and believe me, it ain’t this...”
“Full year insurance coverage..? Wow...”
The young agent arched his brows and nodded, “Yeah...you must have done something right...”
She finished reading and signing the required documents and headed to her old desk to clean it out. Thankfully the gang had not yet arrived; only a couple of people from the Art Department saw her but just waved assuming she was there to work. She turned the key to her desk and the mechanism released the lock on all drawers at once. She opened the first one and gathered her notebook, a few notepads she had brought from home, some pens and an assortment of lipsticks and chap sticks scattered in the bottom of the drawer. From the rest of the drawers she drew some books, a picture of Nate which she had shoved inside the desk before going to Paris, a picture of her parents and finally, larger picture of Miranda’s troupe she had forgotten she had.
It had been taken during the Christmas in-office cocktail. It showed them in the smaller conference room at the other end of the hall and even Miranda had spared a moment to partake with her closest employees. The picture showed Miranda and Nigel at the centre -arms laced in friendship- with Emily flanking Miranda, Serena next to Emily, Jocelyn and finally Andy, on the other side of Nigel.
The irony of it all, she thought and sighed heavily.
Once she picked up all her personal belongings and placed them in the bag she’d brought along, she sat and looked around knowing she was going to miss this more than she was willing to admit. She inhaled and took in the smell of Miranda’s perfume that lingered in the space around her; it reminded her of ginger and saffron and wood. She stood up and walked towards Miranda’s office and looked around trying to decipher the woman behind the pictures and the flowers and the myth and the gossip and the whole year of experiences lived at close range with the so-called Dragon Lady.
But no revelation came to her.
No moment of insight illuminated her psyche.
She felt sadness and a sense of failure and disappointment and a bit of anger and anxiety mixed in -for good measure-with surprise and some guilt.
More feelings than she ever imagined she’d feel the many, many times she’d envisioned this moment; this moment of saying goodbye to this woman who had been her tormentor, her nemesis, her ghost, her example, her guidance, her point of reference.
‘Her...’
She stopped.
How could all those roles be filled by one single person?
She didn’t know.
She sighed one more time and stepped out grabbing her bag and her belongings. She stopped in front of the elevators and pushed the button. When she heard the car arriving she turned to look back one more time.
“Bye Miranda...” she whispered.
And left.
***
When they arrived in New York, Miranda only spoke to Nigel turning her back to the rest of her “cubs” who looked -for a moment- lost and miserable. She said she would not go in during the weekend and donning her Prada sunglasses, turned around and walked to her awaiting car.
“You’re not going in tomorrow?”
“No...-she paused and turned-...the girls are arriving tonight to spend the weekend with me so no, I will not be at the office during the weekend...”
She pivoted again towards the car as Roy waited for her at the door.
Nigel nodded and watched her in silence before turning around and settling the time to resume work at the office the next day.
When she arrived, the house was warm and inviting. It was around 3:30 pm and it was Friday and she had lied to Nigel; the girls were spending the weekend with their father in St. Bart so, the fact was, she would be alone. The cook had left her food ready and as Roy brought the suitcases and the rest of the luggage inside and handed them to Rosa, Miranda’s housekeeper, she dismissed them all. Rosa hauled the suitcases to Miranda’s upstairs study and came quickly downstairs to change and leave.
An hour later the editor found herself alone in her gigantic home. She had showered and changed into a comfortable robe and wandered downstairs, aimlessly. She looked out through the ample window of the kitchen overlooking their spacious and well-tended backyard and the soft breeze made her gazed at the dying sun through the few leaves remaining in the trees. The mother star shone gloriously and for some odd reason, Miranda felt the need to do something she had not done in dozens of years.
She inhaled, raised her chin and closed her eyes. “Slicha...” (1) she mumbled in Hebrew.
She turned and walked to the entrance of the study and found the bronze Shabbat candlestick holder. She grabbed it with one hand and with the other; she opened one of the drawers underneath and extracted two candles and a box of matches. She then walked to the kitchen and placed the candlestick holder on the table. She then walked to one of the enormous chrome shelving units, opened a drawer and brought out a silver plate which she placed on the metal top of the -otherwise- wooden table, next to the candles. Just as she was about to start by striking the match, she remembered the small coin bank she kept somewhere in the depths of her desk in the study. She retrieved it and came back, placing it also on the table.
Finally she stood and looked up through the window as to check that it was still light out. She then breathed in deeply and deposited a quarter on the coin bank just as she was taught by her father to do as a reminder that -on Shabbat- there should no money handling. She also remembered that her father used to say that they ought to start Shabbat with a good deed for those less fortunate than ourselves. The coin bank, once full, was always taken by her father to the synagogue and the money collected, given to other families in need.
She smirked with sadness and contempt for herself but proceeded nonetheless.
Lighting the candles with one single match, she then placed the match on the silver plate and let it burn out by itself because according to the Jewish Law, one is not allowed to extinguish fires during the Shabbat. She then, moved her hands and arms in a circular motion three times and then covered her eyes with the tip of her fingers.
She then recited the blessing, “Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu Melekh ha-olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Shabbat...” (2)
She watched the flicker of light off the candles and exhaled, closing her tired eyes.
It felt good she thought but was unable or unwilling -or both- to bring about a reason behind her actions. She watched the flames a bit longer and then sat on one of the comfortable chairs around her kitchen table for a while.
***
After the unexpected surprise of such generous severance package and under the gentle sun of that New York morning, Andy found herself somewhat lost. She walked the streets knowing that besides her own apartment, she really had no where else to go; Nate was gone and Doug and Lily had made it very clear that her friendship was not welcomed anymore.
She finally stepped into a cafe and sat down to watch the world go by as she ate.
A couple of hours later she found herself entering her apartment and calling her parents; a short, few days visit would do her good.
So once she spoke to them and packed a bag, she found herself in a cab heading to La Guardia’s airport.
She would be home by 9pm.
***
The week was long indeed.
And ripped right out of the archives of the “The Twilight Zone”.
Miranda decided, for some whimsical decision of the fates, that the next issue needed to be ready by Thursday at midday. To that purpose she called Nigel on Sunday evening informing him of her intentions to arrive and effectively start her work day; not at eight, or at seven but at whooping six am, so everyone needed to be there at that time.
Nigel, anticipating Miranda’s wishes, had already worked the team until late during the weekend and had already told the cubs to be at work -including Emily- at the appointed time.
‘No’ was the only word heard during the first three days of that week.
The only word uttered by Miranda the first three days of the week.
From slides, to models, to printed mock ups and dresses on racks...nothing was good enough. Not on single item of anything appealed to the woman who seemed to have been possessed by some sort of mighty demonic entity who was-apparently- even more evil than the regular monster they were all used to. Nothing pleased Miranda, nothing whatsoever. Things had gotten so bad that both Valentino and Jean Paul Gaultier pulled ad space they had purchase under contract months in advance making a really bad situation, worse. This was, of course, reason enough for the Board of Directors to call her attention to a meeting through which she only sat for five minutes before storming out of the conference room in defiance.
By Wednesday afternoon, even Irv had found his way into Nigel’s office.
“What the fuck is wrong with her?” yelled the unpleasant man to a very amused Nigel who could not understand how was it that Irv Ravitz had ended up in his office.
‘Repulsive little turd...like I would tell you even if I knew...’
“And how is that I am supposed to know this, may I ask..?” asked Nigel as he moved to take a better position on his stool; Irv Ravitz in ‘raving and ranting’ mode was even better than ‘Queer as Folk’ reruns.
“You’re the only one in here she trusts! You have got to know something Nigel!”
The bald man pursed his lips and smiled; knowledge is power...absolutely; he thought. “Unfortunately Mr. Ravitz truth is, I really do not know. That is not to say, of course, that if I knew I would tell you. I would not, as you probably have already guessed...sorry...”
The director locked his jaws and narrowed his eyes. Threatening Nigel with termination was incredibly tempting...but a futile endeavour; any lower Manhattan washed-out lawyer would have him and Elias-Clarke, for lunch.
“...having said that...-continued Nigel, undisturbed-...I can try to find out and see if I can -perhaps- appease the situation...” Nigel finished with a completely faked smile for he was not stupid; he’d been around the block enough times to know that you just don’t go around defying one of the board members without risking major consequences.
Even if you had every right to do so.
“Thank you...” said the troll-like man and left.
Nigel’s alert eyes followed him until he saw him leave the immediate vicinity. Then and only then, Nigel let out a loud laughter that attracted all clackers around.
“What’s so funny Nige..?”
But he never answered them. He let the laughter died out and shooed off the girls out of his office; he had other things to take her of. Glancing at his watch, he realized that it was already 7 pm.
‘Seize the day...’
What a load of bs, he thought.
But bullshit not withstanding, he walked towards Miranda’s office
***
He found his boss collapsed in her chair, eyes closed.
“Yes Nigel? You better be here to tell me that th-“
“It is, Miranda...”
“When shall I expect the final mock up, tonight or tomorrow morning..?”
“Tomorrow morning...Art is finishing it up as we speak...”
“What about Valentino and Jean Paul..?”
“Back on board...”
She nodded approvingly. She had not opened her eyes during the brief exchange of words. That, however, didn’t last long. An instant later she opened them wide as she heard the door being closed. “Nigel? Is there a good reason why you’re closing the door to my office? You have already kindly informed me what I needed to know so I rea-“
“Stop”
“I beg your pardon?”
Very gently he repeated, “Stop...”
She stared at him with venom in her eyes. “How dare you-“
“I dare because I can...” said the man as he took a seat across the desk from Miranda.
“Leave at this very instant Nigel or-“
“Or what? You’re going to do what? Throw the laptop at me? Call security? What?”
“This is outrageous! You’ve lost your sense of boundaries, of decorum, of sanity!”
“No, no...I have not. You have. What the hell are you doing, Miranda?” His tone had become softer, kinder in complete disregard of the words Miranda has just uttered.
“I do what I have to do...” the editor answered, opening her laptop.
“You need not to do this. You had already approved last week everything you found inadequate this week and yes, you are probably the most demanding person I will ever know but...-he paused to look at her as she leaned over her desk and ruffled up a few strains of grey hair on her forehead-...you always made sense..”
“And I don’t now? Is that what your babbling words are trying to imply?”
“What is this truly all about, Miranda..?”
She looked up at him in utter confusion. Narrowing her eyes and slightly shaking her head, it was obvious she was struggling to make sense of what her fashion editor was saying; as if Nigel suddenly had started to speak in an extinct foreign language like Sanskrit or Latin. “Excuse me...?”
“You heard me, stop the act Miranda. You may be able to fool everyone else but you and I have known each other longer than we both care to remember therefore I am certain that this...-he waved his arms and hands in front of the puzzled woman-...whatever this is, it’s an act!”
“It is not an act, Nigel!” her voice rising again.
“Really darling? Hmm...let’s see...Do I remember Paris circa 1981? Us slaving to please Monsieur Battaille and you deciding that you couldn’t rough it out so instead of working you decided to sleep, hiding away in your flat? Or...hmmm...oh yes! The time when you fell in love with Francois and he never paid any attention to you and you dragged me along every night for drinks so you didn’t have to think of him?
Miranda snapped close the lid of the laptop with way too much force. “Nigel...” she growled quietly.
“Oh wait, I got it! Elaine...Remember Elaine? Pretty, sweet thing that you couldn’t peel your eyes from and who finally left the magazine because you, emotionally retarded moron that you are at times, pushed her away because you couldn’t handle the intensity of your own emotions. Do we see a pattern here or would you like me to continue?” he added with sarcasm.
Miranda stood up in one violent movement that almost knocked the laptop from the desk. “How dare you come into my office, Nigel Kipling, and talk to me this way? How dare you bring out the past? A past we both swore we would not talk about, ever! Get out! Get out...NOW!”
Nigel stood up and pulled his elegant Merino wool jersey down. He looked at her and then turned towards the door. With both hands on the door knobs, he spoke again.
“You can say whatever you want Miranda. You can yell at me all, swear at me, even fire me...which by the way, I would not recommend...but the truth remains the same...I know who you are. I know how you react to things that hurt you or towards things you really want...or love. I’ve known you as long as I’ve known myself and my memory is long...very long...”
He opened the doors and continued.
“I have fed you, bathed you and clothed you when you were so heartbroken you could not even walk. I sat Shiva with you when your granny died and it was I you went to temple with, back in the days we both still...believed. It is I the one that keeps your secrets, Miranda...always have been. So say whatever you want now. You will come to me sooner or later and I’ll be here for you because...well...because, even if it hurts you to admit it, even if it sounds prosaic and vulgar to you...I am your friend...”
And he finally left.
Miranda let her head dropped forward in defeat and closed her eyes. Her jaws locked and her fingers clenched forming a fist. “Goddamned you Nigel! Goddamned you!” she mumbled under her breath.
And she slammed her fist down on the desk with violence.
He was right.
“Fuck...”
(End of Chapter II)
(1)
“Slicha”: “Forgive me”
(2) “Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu Melekh ha-olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Shabbat” : “Blessed are You, LORD, our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us to light the Shabbat candle[s]”
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