Patience - Chapter 3
Patience 003. There is always a price.
By : arakan
Beta: distract_me_now
(Runway: Art Director’s Office)
With a grin that would get him declared guilty by a jury on the spot, one bespectacled man- Nigel Kipling busied himself, going through his plan. He could not understand how complicated a woman’s world could be. He’d have to have been a blind man not to see the strong interaction between his friends, Miranda Priestly, who too was his boss, and Andréa ‘Andy’ Sachs.
The respect Andy had for Miranda when she worked at Runway had morphed into a crush that left the poor doe-eyed beauty blushing night and day. She was truly a fool to think that no one, let alone, that Nigel had not noticed. Nevertheless, back then she was still was with the boy, Nate. At this thought, Nigel rolled his eyes mockingly. ‘Oh please! A Cook wannabe against THE Miranda Priestly?’ Shaking his head over the ridiculous comparison, his fingers continued flying a top the keyboard of his laptop. Moreover, Miranda? Seriously? Oh, the Dragon Lady, and the Ice Queen feared and respected by him. But after twenty years of knowing Miranda Priestly; of doing his best to be a friend to her without being seriously burned; Nigel had not need new spectacles to notice the lingering look Miranda shot toward her ex-second-assistant practically every fleeting moment!
During Andy’s tenure at Runway, Niger recalled several times when he’d had to look away and loosen his collar, fanning his face included, from the intensity of Miranda’s gaze lingering over specific body parts that all belonged to one person in particular. And YET! Neither of them had noticed they wanted each other! Unacceptable! It irritated and annoyed him to no end! If he must be Cupid, so be it!
Even though they were two intelligent women from different generations, ranks and social status, Nigel was hell bent that the two complimented each other. If there were anyone who could survive Miranda’s wrath, it would be a certain cub reporter currently running around somewhere in Manhattan chasing news with vigor. If there was anyone who could melt the raging snowstorm and barren tundra inside Miranda’s chest into a warm fuzzy feeling, it had to be Andy Sachs.
In Miranda’s case… well, he was not going there yet. Knowing the Dragon Lady, she would deny everything until the other party made the first move. This little exercise was designed to let Miranda see that it was alright to tread water, with the one who sought her attentions; for Andy it was about giving her the courage holding her hand while she romanced Miranda in a way that not extravagant but that held meaning and genuine fondness. ‘Seriously, Miranda could act so regal and brusque, but beneath it all she was nothing but a shy maiden.’ At this sudden conclusion, Nigel stopped typing all together, staring down blankly to his laptop screen, little by little, his lips forming a grin that had all evil beings nodding their heads in approval. “… A shy maiden… my goodness,” he rubbed his chin letting loose a wick snigger, “why I never thought about it?”
That helped him to understand Miranda’s past behavior in her romantic life. If his guess was correct then it was really great to know his young friend Andy wasn’t that shy. She’d told him over pizza, marathon movies, and five glasses of wine that she enjoyed sex, and that she wasn’t that inhibited when it comes to sex, unfortunately her previous partner, the Cook, never gave sufficient care to her sans his own satisfaction. ‘Yet,’ more wicked plans began forming in his head, ‘the women’s skulls were surely thicker than this entire building, but if he dared to approach Miranda first, she would shut down tighter than Fort Knox.’ Glancing down and at the flash-drive on the left side of his desk, he casually reached for it. Picking it up, he brought the device up and stops not an inch away from his nose. “Well Six, I am sorry, but I’m going to have to up the ante,” inserting the Flash drive into the USB port of his laptop, “you are the younger of the two, and I have faith in your hormones and emotional honesty.” Moving the mouse to open the folder on the flash drive, the lenses of his spectacles turned bright-white reflecting endless images inside the special folder of pictures he has carefully selected for this new hobby of his -- playing Cupid. “And I know just what you need…”
Several hallways from his office Miranda suddenly went rigid as a sudden feeling of dread ran down her back. The Editor scanned the outer office over the rim of her Cartier reading eyeglasses, the new Emily and the real Emily were seated behind their desks doing their usual routines. Clackers would pass by once in a while. ‘Nothing wrong here,’ Miranda thought but then the new Emily picked up a call, nodding her head a few times before placing down the phone; meanwhile Miranda, as usual, did a quick mental run through of her shortlist of types of impending catastrophe.
‘No signs of new enemies I need to squash, Check!’
The new Emily stood in front of the open door, fidgeting slightly at her boss’s serious expression. “Uhm, Miranda.”
‘No signs of new threats I need to prepare and counterattacks rounding the corners, Check!’
The new Emily fidget yet again, “There is a call-”
‘No signs of disasters over the next issue dancing their ways from the edge of the horizon, Check!’
“-From Mr. Ravitz-”
‘No signs of- wait, what?’
“-And he insist you take the call,” finished the new Emily, who flinched as Miranda’s lips pursed in displeasure, ‘note and memo to myself, add a new mental list of a bug to that shortlist’ rolling her eyes, “send his call through,” she said indifferently, “get me my coffee, and move the run-through up 15 minutes. That’s all.” She glared down at the phone on her desk positively convinced that the jolt of dread that ran down her back a few moments ago must be because the Irv Ravitz had decided to disturb her day is some unpleasant new way- he had to find something to do until lunchtime.
(--**--)
Meanwhile across the city Andy was gathering her things, she has just finished an interview that would help her write her next article when her Blackberry began buzzing. Thanking the stay-at-home wife she has just interviewed, Andy reached into her jacket pocket and jogged down the stairs to get out of the apartment building.
Exiting the building she checked the new email in the Inbox, not noticing the man who brushed passed her to enter the building. She bumped her left shoulder against him, momentarily distracted. “Sorry.” She apologized to the man who only mumbled under his breath. Shrugging her shoulders, Andy looked down to her Blackberry and her mind immediately went blank.
The new email contained three pictures: an image of a neck that was arching up as if the person head was thrown back; the second picture was of a smooth exposed back; and the last, but certainly not the least, was an ass-clad in Bill-Bass pants.
Three different events were instantly swirling behind Andy’s eyes like a kaleidoscope.
Miranda striding into the office in a pair of tight black pants perfectly outlining her ass; Miranda tossing her head back, laughing her fake laughter at some gala; Miranda standing before Andy for hours at a different gala providing Andy with a generous view of her smooth back.
‘Miranda.’ She was so deep in her own world; Andy did not see where she was going. She did not even register the screams and yells of warning. She did look up, rotating her head to the left staring in horror at the oncoming motorbike; then she thought nothing, she felt nothing, no fear or pain, even as her world spun out of control, she only had one image etched in her mind. ‘Miranda. I miss you.’
(--**--)
(Runway: Twenty Minutes Later)
If the staff noticed Nigel continuing to rub his chin, and glance down at his phone once every other minute, and that he was barely focused on the run-through, they didn’t make a comment. Some would be brave enough to ask him later, but they were just glad their boss did not notice his lack of focus.
Speaking of their boss, Miranda too continued to look down at her notebook with a hint of apprehensiveness that marred her usual perfectly emotionless expression. She kept rolling an expensive Mount-Blanc pen between her right thumb and curled index finger. She also clearly was not focused on this meeting, but even though blatantly obvious to them all, no soul dared make give voice to her perceived oddity.
Nigel was waiting on the usual reply from six, while shamelessly agreeing with the scathing words of wisdom tripping from Miranda’s mouth. The lateness of Six’s reply was worrying him. It was not the reporter to make him wait. ‘But maybe I blew her mind?’
Miranda, on the other hand, was puzzled by the aching sensation in her chest, as if something terrible had happened or would happen to her or her precious girls. She had made a call to her girls merely to check that they were fine, and they were. They were just having lunch at Dalton. She had even called the house cleaner; Rosetta to make sure Patricia was fine. The giant St. Bernard was barking happily into the phone as if wanting to tell her, she was fine.
So what was the reason for her uneasiness -- the continued gnawing in her chest, the dread just a few moments before Irv called? Was the man trying to oust her again? Last time she had checked he was still licking his wound after Paris. Then why--
The insisting knock on the glass door silenced the room and drew all eyes to one of the newest staffers from the Art Department. With a quick jerk of Miranda’s head, he let himself into the room, to everyone's surprise he did not go to Miranda and instead he went to Nigel. The man leaned down whispering in Nigel’s ears. The bespectacled art director’s eyes grew wide. “NYPD?” He looked up at the man forgetting where he was and asks, “Why on earth are they are waiting me? In the lobby?”
“I don’t know. But they said your sister was in an accident.” The man, who had only recently joined Runway, failed to notice all bloods drained from Nigel’s face, he frowned, knitting his brow, “I think the police said… it was, Andy?” He jumped backward as Nigel shot to his feet, mouth parting open and closing before he could squeak, “Andy? Six!?In accident!?”
Andy. Andy Sachs. Andréa… Miranda was blankly starring at Nigel who panic was quickly escalating. “Why is the NYPD down on the lobby then!? Is she alright!?”
“I honestly don’t know,” said the staffer, “but I think it’s serious, they were sent here from the hospital because your name was on her emergency-contact list and the hospital couldn’t reach you.”
Nigel wanted to bang his head on some solid surface. Of course, they could not reach him! He had forgotten to change the setting of his phone that blocked any new numbers! Whipping around to grab his phone, “I’m sorry Miranda, but I need to check with the officers downstairs,” and with that Nigel rush out not waiting for a reply. ‘Oh my god, oh my god, Six! Must be because of the pictures!’ Racing down the hallways and corridors, Nigel skidded to a stop in front of the elevator. “Come on, come on!” He kept repeating, tapping the panel-button and almost near crying in joy when one of the elevators finally stopped and opened for him.
Hurling himself into the elevator Nigel smashed the button to close the door but someone caught his eyes, which grew wider than saucers, as he frantically jabbed his finger at the button to open the door for Miranda Priestly, who thrust his coat into his arms and turned on her heels to stand beside him, nodding her head sharply.
On the ride down Nigel put on his coat on, glancing sideways at Miranda standing to his left. Her fur coat was already wrapped around her, her purse held tightly by her hands in front of her… maybe this would not be such a disaster. Wisely, he never asked why Miranda had decided to go with him to meet the officers, who calmly informed him that they had been dispatched to pick him and take him to the hospital because his adopt-sister Andy Sachs wasn’t conscious and someone need to make medical decisions on her behalf.
“The Doctors were still running tests when we got sent over here, Mr. Kipling.”
“Did you get the biker that hit her?” Nigel drilled them.
“No, unfortunately, it’s was a hit-and-run.” They escorted him and Miranda out of the building, and Miranda gestured for Nigel to join her in her car instead the patrol car. Sitting in the back seat with Roy, they followed the patrol car; Nigel again glanced over at Miranda who had her lips pursed. He has decided not to ask, but curiosity got the better of him. “Miranda, why are you going with me?” He inquired hoping the Editor would not be too angry with him, this car even though a luxurious Mercedes-Benz certainly did not provide enough space for him to avoid her wrath.
“I didn’t write a recommendation for that silly girl so she could get run over by a motorbike, Nigel.” Miranda hissed through clenching teeth. She didn’t say anything afterward only glaring out of the window, yet the way she clutched her purse made Nigel look away, “Indeed,” he commented quietly and inside his head added, ‘well Six, at least you got her attention.’
By : arakan
Beta: distract_me_now
(Runway: Art Director’s Office)
With a grin that would get him declared guilty by a jury on the spot, one bespectacled man- Nigel Kipling busied himself, going through his plan. He could not understand how complicated a woman’s world could be. He’d have to have been a blind man not to see the strong interaction between his friends, Miranda Priestly, who too was his boss, and Andréa ‘Andy’ Sachs.
The respect Andy had for Miranda when she worked at Runway had morphed into a crush that left the poor doe-eyed beauty blushing night and day. She was truly a fool to think that no one, let alone, that Nigel had not noticed. Nevertheless, back then she was still was with the boy, Nate. At this thought, Nigel rolled his eyes mockingly. ‘Oh please! A Cook wannabe against THE Miranda Priestly?’ Shaking his head over the ridiculous comparison, his fingers continued flying a top the keyboard of his laptop. Moreover, Miranda? Seriously? Oh, the Dragon Lady, and the Ice Queen feared and respected by him. But after twenty years of knowing Miranda Priestly; of doing his best to be a friend to her without being seriously burned; Nigel had not need new spectacles to notice the lingering look Miranda shot toward her ex-second-assistant practically every fleeting moment!
During Andy’s tenure at Runway, Niger recalled several times when he’d had to look away and loosen his collar, fanning his face included, from the intensity of Miranda’s gaze lingering over specific body parts that all belonged to one person in particular. And YET! Neither of them had noticed they wanted each other! Unacceptable! It irritated and annoyed him to no end! If he must be Cupid, so be it!
Even though they were two intelligent women from different generations, ranks and social status, Nigel was hell bent that the two complimented each other. If there were anyone who could survive Miranda’s wrath, it would be a certain cub reporter currently running around somewhere in Manhattan chasing news with vigor. If there was anyone who could melt the raging snowstorm and barren tundra inside Miranda’s chest into a warm fuzzy feeling, it had to be Andy Sachs.
In Miranda’s case… well, he was not going there yet. Knowing the Dragon Lady, she would deny everything until the other party made the first move. This little exercise was designed to let Miranda see that it was alright to tread water, with the one who sought her attentions; for Andy it was about giving her the courage holding her hand while she romanced Miranda in a way that not extravagant but that held meaning and genuine fondness. ‘Seriously, Miranda could act so regal and brusque, but beneath it all she was nothing but a shy maiden.’ At this sudden conclusion, Nigel stopped typing all together, staring down blankly to his laptop screen, little by little, his lips forming a grin that had all evil beings nodding their heads in approval. “… A shy maiden… my goodness,” he rubbed his chin letting loose a wick snigger, “why I never thought about it?”
That helped him to understand Miranda’s past behavior in her romantic life. If his guess was correct then it was really great to know his young friend Andy wasn’t that shy. She’d told him over pizza, marathon movies, and five glasses of wine that she enjoyed sex, and that she wasn’t that inhibited when it comes to sex, unfortunately her previous partner, the Cook, never gave sufficient care to her sans his own satisfaction. ‘Yet,’ more wicked plans began forming in his head, ‘the women’s skulls were surely thicker than this entire building, but if he dared to approach Miranda first, she would shut down tighter than Fort Knox.’ Glancing down and at the flash-drive on the left side of his desk, he casually reached for it. Picking it up, he brought the device up and stops not an inch away from his nose. “Well Six, I am sorry, but I’m going to have to up the ante,” inserting the Flash drive into the USB port of his laptop, “you are the younger of the two, and I have faith in your hormones and emotional honesty.” Moving the mouse to open the folder on the flash drive, the lenses of his spectacles turned bright-white reflecting endless images inside the special folder of pictures he has carefully selected for this new hobby of his -- playing Cupid. “And I know just what you need…”
Several hallways from his office Miranda suddenly went rigid as a sudden feeling of dread ran down her back. The Editor scanned the outer office over the rim of her Cartier reading eyeglasses, the new Emily and the real Emily were seated behind their desks doing their usual routines. Clackers would pass by once in a while. ‘Nothing wrong here,’ Miranda thought but then the new Emily picked up a call, nodding her head a few times before placing down the phone; meanwhile Miranda, as usual, did a quick mental run through of her shortlist of types of impending catastrophe.
‘No signs of new enemies I need to squash, Check!’
The new Emily stood in front of the open door, fidgeting slightly at her boss’s serious expression. “Uhm, Miranda.”
‘No signs of new threats I need to prepare and counterattacks rounding the corners, Check!’
The new Emily fidget yet again, “There is a call-”
‘No signs of disasters over the next issue dancing their ways from the edge of the horizon, Check!’
“-From Mr. Ravitz-”
‘No signs of- wait, what?’
“-And he insist you take the call,” finished the new Emily, who flinched as Miranda’s lips pursed in displeasure, ‘note and memo to myself, add a new mental list of a bug to that shortlist’ rolling her eyes, “send his call through,” she said indifferently, “get me my coffee, and move the run-through up 15 minutes. That’s all.” She glared down at the phone on her desk positively convinced that the jolt of dread that ran down her back a few moments ago must be because the Irv Ravitz had decided to disturb her day is some unpleasant new way- he had to find something to do until lunchtime.
(--**--)
Meanwhile across the city Andy was gathering her things, she has just finished an interview that would help her write her next article when her Blackberry began buzzing. Thanking the stay-at-home wife she has just interviewed, Andy reached into her jacket pocket and jogged down the stairs to get out of the apartment building.
Exiting the building she checked the new email in the Inbox, not noticing the man who brushed passed her to enter the building. She bumped her left shoulder against him, momentarily distracted. “Sorry.” She apologized to the man who only mumbled under his breath. Shrugging her shoulders, Andy looked down to her Blackberry and her mind immediately went blank.
The new email contained three pictures: an image of a neck that was arching up as if the person head was thrown back; the second picture was of a smooth exposed back; and the last, but certainly not the least, was an ass-clad in Bill-Bass pants.
Three different events were instantly swirling behind Andy’s eyes like a kaleidoscope.
Miranda striding into the office in a pair of tight black pants perfectly outlining her ass; Miranda tossing her head back, laughing her fake laughter at some gala; Miranda standing before Andy for hours at a different gala providing Andy with a generous view of her smooth back.
‘Miranda.’ She was so deep in her own world; Andy did not see where she was going. She did not even register the screams and yells of warning. She did look up, rotating her head to the left staring in horror at the oncoming motorbike; then she thought nothing, she felt nothing, no fear or pain, even as her world spun out of control, she only had one image etched in her mind. ‘Miranda. I miss you.’
(--**--)
(Runway: Twenty Minutes Later)
If the staff noticed Nigel continuing to rub his chin, and glance down at his phone once every other minute, and that he was barely focused on the run-through, they didn’t make a comment. Some would be brave enough to ask him later, but they were just glad their boss did not notice his lack of focus.
Speaking of their boss, Miranda too continued to look down at her notebook with a hint of apprehensiveness that marred her usual perfectly emotionless expression. She kept rolling an expensive Mount-Blanc pen between her right thumb and curled index finger. She also clearly was not focused on this meeting, but even though blatantly obvious to them all, no soul dared make give voice to her perceived oddity.
Nigel was waiting on the usual reply from six, while shamelessly agreeing with the scathing words of wisdom tripping from Miranda’s mouth. The lateness of Six’s reply was worrying him. It was not the reporter to make him wait. ‘But maybe I blew her mind?’
Miranda, on the other hand, was puzzled by the aching sensation in her chest, as if something terrible had happened or would happen to her or her precious girls. She had made a call to her girls merely to check that they were fine, and they were. They were just having lunch at Dalton. She had even called the house cleaner; Rosetta to make sure Patricia was fine. The giant St. Bernard was barking happily into the phone as if wanting to tell her, she was fine.
So what was the reason for her uneasiness -- the continued gnawing in her chest, the dread just a few moments before Irv called? Was the man trying to oust her again? Last time she had checked he was still licking his wound after Paris. Then why--
The insisting knock on the glass door silenced the room and drew all eyes to one of the newest staffers from the Art Department. With a quick jerk of Miranda’s head, he let himself into the room, to everyone's surprise he did not go to Miranda and instead he went to Nigel. The man leaned down whispering in Nigel’s ears. The bespectacled art director’s eyes grew wide. “NYPD?” He looked up at the man forgetting where he was and asks, “Why on earth are they are waiting me? In the lobby?”
“I don’t know. But they said your sister was in an accident.” The man, who had only recently joined Runway, failed to notice all bloods drained from Nigel’s face, he frowned, knitting his brow, “I think the police said… it was, Andy?” He jumped backward as Nigel shot to his feet, mouth parting open and closing before he could squeak, “Andy? Six!?In accident!?”
Andy. Andy Sachs. Andréa… Miranda was blankly starring at Nigel who panic was quickly escalating. “Why is the NYPD down on the lobby then!? Is she alright!?”
“I honestly don’t know,” said the staffer, “but I think it’s serious, they were sent here from the hospital because your name was on her emergency-contact list and the hospital couldn’t reach you.”
Nigel wanted to bang his head on some solid surface. Of course, they could not reach him! He had forgotten to change the setting of his phone that blocked any new numbers! Whipping around to grab his phone, “I’m sorry Miranda, but I need to check with the officers downstairs,” and with that Nigel rush out not waiting for a reply. ‘Oh my god, oh my god, Six! Must be because of the pictures!’ Racing down the hallways and corridors, Nigel skidded to a stop in front of the elevator. “Come on, come on!” He kept repeating, tapping the panel-button and almost near crying in joy when one of the elevators finally stopped and opened for him.
Hurling himself into the elevator Nigel smashed the button to close the door but someone caught his eyes, which grew wider than saucers, as he frantically jabbed his finger at the button to open the door for Miranda Priestly, who thrust his coat into his arms and turned on her heels to stand beside him, nodding her head sharply.
On the ride down Nigel put on his coat on, glancing sideways at Miranda standing to his left. Her fur coat was already wrapped around her, her purse held tightly by her hands in front of her… maybe this would not be such a disaster. Wisely, he never asked why Miranda had decided to go with him to meet the officers, who calmly informed him that they had been dispatched to pick him and take him to the hospital because his adopt-sister Andy Sachs wasn’t conscious and someone need to make medical decisions on her behalf.
“The Doctors were still running tests when we got sent over here, Mr. Kipling.”
“Did you get the biker that hit her?” Nigel drilled them.
“No, unfortunately, it’s was a hit-and-run.” They escorted him and Miranda out of the building, and Miranda gestured for Nigel to join her in her car instead the patrol car. Sitting in the back seat with Roy, they followed the patrol car; Nigel again glanced over at Miranda who had her lips pursed. He has decided not to ask, but curiosity got the better of him. “Miranda, why are you going with me?” He inquired hoping the Editor would not be too angry with him, this car even though a luxurious Mercedes-Benz certainly did not provide enough space for him to avoid her wrath.
“I didn’t write a recommendation for that silly girl so she could get run over by a motorbike, Nigel.” Miranda hissed through clenching teeth. She didn’t say anything afterward only glaring out of the window, yet the way she clutched her purse made Nigel look away, “Indeed,” he commented quietly and inside his head added, ‘well Six, at least you got her attention.’