Pairing: Miranda/Andrea
Raiting: PG (This chapter)
Words: 3,511
Raiting: PG (This chapter)
Words: 3,511
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.
~~~
That evening Miranda made it home just as her children were about to go to bed. She shed her coat and shoes and walked to their bedrooms to kiss them good night.
An hour later, in somewhat better mood, the evening found Miranda nursing a scotch and gazing over the books in her ever growing home library. Lazily letting the liquid wash away her anxiety, her fingers grazed her left eyebrow, absentmindedly; Nigel had been right and his words brought her back to a distant past she had her outmost to forget.
They had met in Paris in 1980. He was 21 years old and fresh out of the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York City, with a double major in Fashion Design and Fine Arts. He was funny, obscenely smart, talented and kind hearted in ways Miranda had rarely seen. She was 22 and had already been working in fashion for the last 4 years. What he lacked in experience she provided with gusto and what she lacked in schooling and technique, he brought in to the mix and together they became ‘les enfants terribles de Paris’ under the rigid helmet of the grand Pierre Battaille who at the time was the editor in chief of Runway France.
Nigel and Miranda had talent and youth and the personalities that complemented what they had to show for. Their first layout together was a piece for Chanel with a shocking background of garbage, decay and decadence. It was shot in Black and White and it was frankly, dark and gloomy.
But it worked.
And the two friends were on their way.
Miranda smiled gently, remembering the endless nights of the Paris summers when neither of them had any commitments except work and free love. Nigel had fallen in love and in lust with Charles Benoit, a fellow graphic designer that made Nigel sigh and babble whenever he would turn about until he finally asked Nigel out. The torrid romance lasted about three months and Miranda was there to pick up the pieces of that first, unrequited love in the life of her friend.
Miranda -on the other hand- decided that sex was much easier than love and fearing the pain she now knew could befall her as it had Nigel, opted to push anyone who came to her with an open heart.
Open hearts were dangerous, she concluded; they always come expecting love in return and she had no idea how to go about that. So no, absolutely not. Sex was easier and safer.
So she did sex...lots of it.
And the few times she slipped like in the case of Francois Girard And Elaine Bertrand, she either slept for days, drank herself to oblivion or made sure that the unsuspecting victim never came too close to her heart.
With Francois she drank and drank until she forgot his name. With Elaine she pushed and pushed until the girl left.
Francois dismissed her after a couple of months of sexual encounters and slipped information she had no idea she was giving out. He made her feel not only like a cheap play toy but like a horrible traitor.
Elaine showed up one afternoon in her apartment with a bunch of white gardenias and a smile on her face. For just a month Miranda caved in into her desire not just for sexual pleasure but most importantly, for love and connection and companionship and loyalty and understanding. But one morning, as she woke up next to the girl with enormous brown eyes who slept soundly next to her, Miranda found herself falling too deep, feeling too much, needing too...well, needing.
And needing was a feeling Miranda just could not do.
It was too much and it was certainly, too close. Close was dangerous. And life was dangerous enough by itself; no sense in making it worse.
So she slowly but inexorably, inevitably, pushed Elaine out until the girl, in complete devastation, left the magazine and Miranda’s life.
And Miranda -absolutely heartbroken- could not even get out of bed in days and when she finally did, she unleashed the hounds of hell towards everyone. Such was the hate and repugnance she felt for her own self.
So Nigel had been right.
Everything that had been going on in the past few days had just been more of the same; more scenes of a movie Nigel knew by heart. To negate the obvious would be an exercise in futility.
And the obvious was so simple.
Andrea was gone.
And Miranda missed her; ached for her.
She sighed, longingly. Closing her eyes she brought her hand and rubbed her eyelids and her forehead as her head shook in utter confusion.
There was more.
‘Shit...’
Missing Andrea was perhaps, obvious, she thought. They had been working together for a year and even if it pained Miranda to admit it, the girl had caught up quickly. Those alert brown eyes were not only beautiful to look at but smart, crafty, able; able to pick up on the desired and quickly disregard what offended the editor’s sensibilities.
After the initial weeks of adjustment where Miranda found it amusing to see the girl jump through hoops and come on the other end, scratched but proud, Miranda’s attitude changed. It went from pure diversion to a challenging game show of sorts; it became a point of honour for Miranda to see how further she could push Andrea and how much Andrea would ask for more.
And it was amusing and good fun until she made the girl cry one time too many than necessary and something -a tiny bit of something she dare not name- dislodged inside Miranda’s heart.
That’s when she decided to ask Andrea to come to the benefit under the excuse of Emily’s poorly state and just as she had predicted, the young woman was not only stunning but efficient; impeccable in her performance. Later came the decision to ask her to Paris and once again, Miranda had not been mistaken; Andrea Sachs was relentless and flawless. Dedicated and loyal with a loyalty she had not seen except in Nigel and more importantly, in herself.
It was the same brand of personal loyalty she herself had displayed toward Monsieur Battaille back in the Paris years, despite her boss’ inclination to sadism. Pierre had been a formidable teacher from whom Miranda had learnt almost everything she now knew but he had been an impossible man who did indeed enjoy, without remorse, the many gratifications of toying with people.
Miranda had learnt oh so well.
But despite what everyone thought, she was never able to completely follow on his example.
And especially, with Andrea.
That is why she had stopped tormenting and taunting the girl; promoting her and choosing her to go to Paris, instead of Emily. That is why she allowed Andrea to see a glimpse, albeit small, of her devastation upon the news of her divorce. That is why she found herself explaining the course of the actions taken to prevent her own demise to a 25 year old -who in reality was- no more than a glorified, corporate...maid.
Ultimately, her unwillingness to behave towards Andrea like her mentor had behaved towards her explained the meaning behind the words she now knew, had caused the girl to flee in contempt.
“I see a great deal of myself in you, Andrea...” she had uttered.
And the girl had looked at her with a mix of revulsion and surprise mere minutes before she had left.
Taking Miranda’s heart with her.
***
As the Moirae would have it, capricious deities as they were, the ‘evil issue’ -as it came to be known- turned out to be one of the best issues in the last few years of Runway’s history.
It had been such a triumph that it had brought -for the first time in a long while- more demands of ad space to be purchased than the available ad space of the next year. Even reticent designers like Dsquared and Junya Watanabe who had never before purchased ad space, did so. Such was the ruckus the infamous issue created in international fashion circles.
Miranda sent it to print and as soon as she had the first ones off the press, she brought them to the directors who showered her with accolades and pats on her shoulder as they all shared a cup of coffee. Once niceties were over, she headed back downstairs.
She entered the lift and waited till its doors closed.
“Idiots...” she drawled. But she couldn’t stop the smile of satisfaction that plastered itself in seconds on her face. And it pleased Miranda immensely.
It also helped her repress some rather unwelcome thoughts and feelings.
And that was just quite fine by her. Unfortunately, the tactic was rather unsuccessful because the moment she stepped into the outskirts of her office and the empty desk appeared on view, her diaphragm would jolt and a little sadness would grip her heart.
Andrea had left her.
And apparently she was not coming back.
***
She had forgotten how cold and really disgustingly miserable winters were in the Midwest. And she chuckled thinking how quickly our memory chooses to forget certain details. Propped in the sofa of her parents’ living room, looking out the window in a somewhat despondent mood, Andy watched as the snowflakes fell on the edge of the wooden fence and formed small piles of frozen fluff.
And a flash memory came to her mind; Miranda’s hair.
And she wondered.
What could have gone through Miranda’s mind after she left? Had she been angry? Had she read her note? Did she understand why she had to leave..?
‘Probably not...and she probably hates my guts...I’d hate my guts if I was in her shoes...’
Andy sighed with sadness; truth was she had not planned to leave Miranda or her job at Runway. In fact, hours before that pivotal conversation in the car, the only thought that her brain had been able to process was to alert Miranda of her -apparent- impending doom. Nothing was further away from Andrea’s heart and mind than leaving.
It had been long and knurled the path that had taken Andy to that day. A path that for so many months, she doubted she’d have the strength to finish.
Most days were bad.
Okay, not bad; atrocious.
From the moment she would step off the subway station right at the corner of 6th and 48th, Andy would feel the twirl inside her gut, the sweat on the palm of her hands and the jolt of anticipation of yet another day full of possibilities...to screw things up.
How many calls would she miss? How many messages she would mess up? Will there be yet another lecture about the importance of fashion or would her finicky boss -tired of Andy’s incompetence- finally fire her right after making sure the girl felt like a crushed bug?
And those were the days when she’d go home and stare at the ceiling while Nate slept. Those were the days she felt frustration, isolation...disassociation; as if someone had -again- changed the rules of the game and had not bothered to tell her. Those days she cried and talked to Nigel and felt desperately lost and worthless.
But as the first rays of sun peeked on the horizon of the grand city, Andy would wake up determined to try over, to start again, to give it another shot.
There were good days.
Sometimes.
The days when she could finish Miranda’s sentences or train of thoughts those...those were good. Those were the days she felt accomplished; intelligent...capable. Those days she yapped and yapped to Emily about anything simply because she had to, somehow, channel the rush of adrenaline that a slight, approving nod from Miranda had produced in her.
It was either talk Emily’s head off or do a little victory dance right in front of Miranda’s office.
The course of action was obvious.
But the days where she could almost see the fleeting idea of a smile forming on Miranda’s lips those...those were the seconds Andrea Sachs lived for.
Those were the moments that justified the rest of the misery she had gone through; the caustic soda poured over an open wound, the piercing stares that tore at her fragile heart, the belittling that seemed would never end. It was during those instants of absolute, uncorrupted and untarnished joy when Andy felt a couple of inches taller, a few pounds lighter; a hundred degrees happier.
Those were the days she would go back home or go out to dinner with Nate and Doug and Lily and she would carry on entire conversations with the image of Miranda’s face playing inside her head like in a never-ending loop. Those nights she would go home with Nate and have sex and for seconds, the experience would be heightened by the memory of the woman’s perfume in the air.
She liked Miranda, pure and simple.
She liked that her overpowering presence kept her on her toes, kept her wanting, wondering, searching. Like a sweet obsession in her soul she could not or would not, renounce.
No other thing or person became as fundamental to her as Miranda was.
No company, no conversation, no hobby, no interest, no pleasure could come even close.
Nothing else could do.
No one else would do.
Not Nate, not her parents, not Lily or Doug.
Just Miranda; glorious, unpredictable, cruel and beautiful Miranda.
And she’d left her.
***
“So, it is with our outmost pleasure that we are launching ‘Fortis’ our newest publication for men for which we have chosen one of our very best, Nigel Kipling!”
The auditorium roared with the sound of clapping. While the audience did not include the top designers that were present in Paris, Nigel was equally ecstatic. After a few words of gratitude, the small act was over and the clapping finally died. Champagne flutes were raised in toast, laughter was heard and music filled the elegant room.
Miranda stayed for just five minutes after the announcement. With a genuine smile that hid a great deal of pride for that man she had known for so long, she nodded to him and then left; there was only so much cheer she could handle in one day.
It was 7:30 pm and it was a Friday and she had dispatched Emily home despite the woman’s complaints. The girls were to stay at a friend’s home until Sunday evening and Miranda was in no hurry to go home. She stepped outside her office and walked towards the kitchen in the back, coming back with a bottle of Pellegrino and a glass. She stopped at the empty desk and without thinking, she opened the first drawer in the search of...God only knew.
“Ran out of post-it notes, darling?”
She snapped her head back in surprise and narrowing her eyes at Nigel, she closed the drawer. “Ha ha...funny man...” she muttered, bitterly.
“Yes well, whatever...I’m here to take you to dinner...”
Dark eyebrows shoot upwards in a flash, “You are..?”
“Yes...” he said with a abroad smile “...and before you even attempt to turn me down I know the girls will not be home for the weekend, you have no engagements tonight and the last time I checked, you were still not dating anyone so...”
“My, my...aren’t we the busy little bee..? And why is it exactly that I should dine tonight with you, Mr. Kipling, may I ask...?”
Brandishing a Crystal Brut 1990 bottle of champagne, he added “We’re going to celebrate!”
Pursing her lips she uttered, “Well, since I seem to have such little choice in the matter...by all means lead the way...”
After a sumptuous dinner, Miranda tasted once the delicate plum sorbet in front of her. Sipping some more champagne, she leaned back on her chair and sighed. “You were right, you know...”
“Oh...was I? About what?” he asked knowing perfectly well what Miranda was referring to.
“Andrea Sachs...”
Setting his flute back on the table, he turned to his friend, “Right...Andy...what about her..?”
The editor inhaled deeply buying time, pacing herself. “Last week’s fireworks...”
“Yes...”
“She left...”
“You pushed her away...”
Miranda leaned forward towards the table and closer to Nigel. “You see Nigel, that’s the thing...I still find it baffling...”
“Baffling? You’re joking, right? You ran that girl like a caged hamster, Miranda! Actually it surprised me she didn’t run earlier...”
“Okay yes...at first, yes...I did...but...”
“But what darling, you expected her to stay forever? It was like you were channelling Pierre on a good day...”
“No, no...-she paused, closing her bright blue eyes and shaking her head slightly-...this time it was different, Nigel...”
“And why is that?”
“Because I couldn’t. I couldn’t go on. I didn’t have the he-“
She stopped herself before completing the sentence.
“Oh, really? That’s why she kept showing up in my office crying every other day..?”
“I tried...” she muttered very quietly as if ashamed of her actions.
Nigel took pity on his friend and covered her hand with one of his. “You tried...to be different...to give her a chance...”
“Yes...I did...I did give her a chance, Nigel, actually more than one. Didn’t I ask her to attend the Benefit...then Paris..? I could have fired her way before that...”
He squeezed her hand gently; silently encouraging her to go on. “True...”
“In Paris she was flawless...even I can’t take that away from her. Everything was perfect...I was very pleased with her performance...”
“Yes, I do have to admit that she arranged our lives perfectly...”
“And then everything kind of...morphed. Steven called me up...-she leaned back again-...Jacqueline decided to try a hand of corporate poker...I still tried...” she trailed off, lost in thought.
“Tried what?”
Miranda turned her head towards her friend of so many years. “I confided in her...First, about the divorce...”
“Really?”
“Yes...the best way I could, of course...”
He nodded understanding the limitations that the statement implied.
“And then later, after the whole James Holt fiasco...in the car...” Pausing, Miranda took another sip of champagne as if needing a bit more alcohol to speak bravely.
She actually did.
“I was very impressed by the way she tried to warn me over and over again. She called me, she knocked at Irv’s door and interrupted the meeting I was having with him and finally, caught me right before the beginning of the luncheon. It was...something. I had not seen anyone behave like that in a very long time...not after having gone through everything she’d gone through...”
He smiled, tenderly. “Who would have thought...just like you did...once...”
She looked up and her eyes sparkled. “Yes...she reminded me of myself, actually...”
Nigel nodded again.
“But then, I guess I just...” The woman smirked bitterly and her eyes dimmed a bit...in sorrow. “I guess I could not help being...me.”
“Why? What did you do?” asked a bewildered Nigel; Miranda very rarely questioned her actions.
“It was meant as a compliment...ha! I told her I could see a lot of myself in her...-she chuckled and tapped her hands together in a silent sign of quick motion-...and the girl sprinted away in panic! Isn’t it ironic? -she asked, poignantly- ...The only time I try not to push someone away and by doing so they end up leaving as fast as their legs can carry them...”
The bald man exhaled in understanding. Very softly he said, “She’s just a kid, what did you expect?”
Miranda stared silently at her champagne flute with a dejected expression on her beautiful, serene face. “I don’t know what I expected but...it wasn’t this...not this...”
“What does she know Miranda? She’s 25! She’s a child with all the self-righteousness and the stupid naiveté of her years...We used to be like her...once...”
“Fine...maybe so but...anyway...”
“You want her back?” asked the man point blank.
Miranda whipped her head up in an instant and for a second, perhaps two, she considered the tacit offer.
But it only lasted a second.
Or two.
“No, she left...” she sighed with sadness. “Plus...I already made sure she got a job doing what she wanted to do to begin with so...she’ll be better off...”
“What would have happened if she hadn’t left?”
Miranda who had closed her eyes and had leaned back on the chair once again, exhaled and raised her chin stretching her long and pale neck. “I don’t know Nigel...that question is irrelevant at this point...she’s gone so...that’s that...The one chance I had...is over.”
“You sure..?”
The blue eyes suddenly appeared underneath heavy eyelids. “Yes Nigel she’s gone. It is over. And enough...enough of this absurd ‘heart-to-heart’ Lifetime movie special...let’s go...”
He smirked with delight and offered his hand to Miranda. “Okay Miranda, enough then...”
And together, they left the restaurant.
***
Somewhere above in the dark skies, the deities chuckled. Clotho looked at her sisters, Lachesis and Atropos and the three of them smirked at the hubris of such mortals.
“We don’t think so, lady...sorry but...it isn’t enough...” muttered Lachesis.
“Not by a fat chance...” mumbled Clotho and Atropos at the same time.
And the Moirae laughed.
For a long time.
(End of Chapter III)
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