Patience - Chapter 4
Patience 004: Awkward Moment(s)
Author Notes: Thank you for my readers. Life as usual really hard and not surprisingly turns harder. But by writing it helped me to calm down, take several deep breaths and steady myself before getting hurled by endless problems. This chapter, I dedicate it to my readers, to they who bother to leave reviews or even decide to follow my stories. Thank you so much. Enjoy the chapter and please leave more reviews. All best, Arakan.
Patience
Chapter 004: Awkward Moment(s)
By : arakan
Beta: distract_me_now
(--**--)
Once Miranda’s Mercedes-Benz arrived at the hospital, Nigel was out of the car and halfway around to the other door before Miranda could climb out. If there was something Nigel learned from his years with the fashion-maven was that she never tolerated other people’s rudeness. Offering his left elbow for Miranda to take, Nigel thanked the officers who easily waved them off and went back to their jobs leaving Nigel to lead them into the hospital. They moved to the nurses’ desk, “Excuse me ladies, he said, gaining their attention, “I am here for Andy Sachs?”One of them, clearly with seniority among the young women gathered round, smiled warmly. “Ah yes,” she grabbed a clipboard look down and reading the papers, “Mr. Kipling?” she peered at him with a nod.
“Yes.” Nigel’s eyes darted down to read the name tag, “Martha. I’m Nigel Kipling.”
“Nice to meet you too, sir. Now, follow me,” Martha gestured them to follow her as she walked down a busy corridor while informing Nigel and Miranda about Andy’s wounds. “She was sent here after being involved in a hit-and-run down on the 67th. Bruises are to be expected but she apparently also hit her head. She’s drifting in and out of consciousness. Also, she dislocated her right shoulder.” She stopped; sympathizing as Nigel visibly winced, while the lady who had not introduced herself pursed her then lips.
“Will Six- I mean Andy, be alright?” Nigel asked, significantly paling.
“She’s still young and she evidently takes care of herself, she got a healthy body, from the legs, it looks like she’s a jogger” Martha looked down to the clipboard, checking the papers and nodding her head a few times as Nigel confirmed her suspicion. “Yes. Andy jogs ten blocks at least twice a week.”
“Mmm. That’s good. She will need a sling as well. In addition to the dislocated right shoulder, the accident resulted in a fracture to her right wrist, it’s not a complete break, but it will pain her from time to time until it heals. Doctor Stevens will give you a further explanation but unfortunately he already scheduled for a surgery. Maybe in the next three to four hours he will swing by.” Martha looked up at Nigel, “she is sleeping from the painkillers and I need you to fill out her paperwork.”
“Of course I will,” replied Nigel looking at Miranda, his boss gives him nothing but a cold sharp look. He knew what that meant. Andy would be wheeled immediately to a much better and more expensive room as soon as he was finished filling out the hospital forms. If Martha saw the silent exchanged she is wisely didn’t make a comment and quickly lead Nigel away to where he could work on the forms, leaving Miranda to sit next to Andy’s bed.
(--**--)
18 minutes later, Miranda took off her coat dropping it carelessly on top of a comfortable looking chair inside the VIP Hospital-Suite, a far better room than the previous one where Andréa have been placed. Miranda was cringing and flinching the whole time she waited for Nigel.
She couldn’t understand how the hospital management system could put a young woman like Andréa, who was unconscious - in a medically-induced-coma- in a room with four beds, one occupied by a man with a broken nose and claws-marks on his face; he’d begun slurring, explaining how he gotten the wounds in a bar fight. Clearly he didn’t know who Miranda was. She was “The Miranda Priestly.”She may work in the fashion industry, but even she could recognize that those claws-marks came from a woman’s nails, not some man in a bar brawl. The other patient, occupying the third bed over from Andrea, was a macho muscular biker, complete with the typical tattoo-covered-skin; he kept leering over at the sleeping Andréa the whole the time, and then at her once she’d perched herself rigidly on the stool next to Andrea bed. He hadn’t recognized her, but he clearly recognized wealth.
The biker was in the hospital after getting himself injured in a police chase, driving off after refusing to pay a ticket. A police-officer was seated on a stool next to his bed as he shouted about suing the city. Every so often the cop barked angrily at him to shut-up, which worked to silence him briefly. The officer shot an apologetic look to Miranda who merely cast a frozen glare in return. After that, he meekly busied himself, filling out his own report. But that had been the last straw for Miranda.
She stood up, marched out of the room, intending to handle the situation quickly; she didn’t believe Andréa’s was safe in such a room. Miranda Priestly got everything she wanted, hospital procedures notwithstanding, by making one phone calling her quiet deadly voice to the Chairman of the hospital’s board of directors. It took less than sixty seconds and with a harsh sniff Miranda closed her phone in satisfaction.
Nigel rounded the corner with a pile of papers in his arms and gaped openly as the Queen of Fashion strode back into Andréa’s room and not one minute later came back out again following the hospital staff as they wheeled Andréa’s bed out of the room and into the elevator.
So now here she was, quietly taking a seat in a much comfortable chair compared to the small stool in the previous room, watching the young reporter sleeping peacefully. Even with a bandaged head, right hand in a sling, several bruises and cuts marring her left jaw and chin Andréa Sachs was still and always would be an attractive young woman. She was blooming beautifully.
“Silly girl.” Unfolding her hands Miranda reached forward tentatively lifting Andy’s left fingers, mindful not to touch the cuts and scratches along her skin, her left palm covered the reporter’s fingers. “… For a smart girl you can be so silly. Really Andréa, getting run down by a motorbike?” She glared to the sleeping reporter as if Andy would wake up and apologize to her. “You think I didn’t notice how many times you fell over in those heels? And yet, you still chose this profession.” She blew out a soft breath, head shaking. “Really Andréa, even Patricia learned to be a better dog day-by-day.” She rolled her eyes snorting quietly at the comparison she had used to make the sleeping Andrea see her point.
One, Patricia versus Andréa? A nearly two hundred pound giant fur-ball vs. 5’8 beautiful smart woman with a degree from Northwestern?
Two, Andréa was sleeping, doped-up to the moon.
‘You are so pathetic.’ She sighed yet again; the Editor stared into Andy’s sleeping face. She looked so peaceful, but Miranda had no doubt that once the medicine wore off, Andréa would be in pain. Miranda didn’t know how to react, really, despite her cold demeanor she was truly quite a shy person. Only her girls knew that side of her and they cherished her shy nature, always giggling and having fun as their mother tried to put a stern façade to no avail. Her little pair of troublemakers really knew her too well, ironically, the person who had come closest to discovering that side of her, the true nature of Miranda Priestly -- neither of her ex-husbands had come close -but her ex-second-assistant, who right now was in a deep sleep. ‘Run down by a bike.’ Her mind added sarcastically with another derisive snort, had seen right through Miranda rather quickly.
Trying to occupy her mind with other things, rather than devolving into the hissing fit and berate of words she felt Andréa deserved and which she knew would be a waste of time and breath, Miranda looked around the room and notice the pile of clothes and a bag placed haphazardly on the side of the table next to the bed. With an exaggerated eye-rolls Miranda gave a sharp sniff. “Youth these days, have they never learn the meaning of ‘neat?’” Scoffing she turned in her seat, Miranda thought of Caroline, despite being her one child with the obvious talent to follow in her footsteps, to Miranda’s dismay, she had inherited her father’s untidiness. Fortunately for Miranda, Cassidy, on the other hand, was a neat-freak. She could spend hours out of her night organizing her bedroom, just like Miranda, the youngest twin could not sleep until everything was in order.
Miranda knew that was one of the reasons that made her relationship with the twin’s father, already stiff before their abrupt and brutal divorcement was how messy he was -- he couldn’t keep anything neat, not even for a minute.
Jeremy came from a rather wealthy family, he was used to having maids to clean and tidy up things for him. But despite the fact that Miranda’s career was skyrocketing and bringing in much more income to the family than his own job, or the rather large sum he received from his family’s company. He always believed it was Miranda’s job to keep the house, even though she had a more demanding job, it was the woman who should be cleaning up the house after he’d wrecked it.
Even though Miranda had not come from a wealthy family -- she’d had a rather hard youth - every luxury in her life had come from her hard work, but she never forgot all of the lessons she learned from her childhood. Reaching forward, Miranda began to fold Andréa’s clothes. She took one look at the shirt and pants and tossed the two pieces of fabric into the trash bin. The pants were torn and Andréa’s blood had tainted and already dried on the shirt.
If by some miracle the dry cleaners were able to get the blood out, Miranda wouldn’t allow Andréa to wear the same clothes she had on when she gotten into the accident. She would save Andréa’s jacket however, as she stared at the few spots of dried blood dirtying the soft brown jacket, she concluded half way, a decent dry cleaner could remove the stains. Folding the jacket neatly she put it aside and look down, annoyance now radiating from her, she would definitely make another call to the hospital board. There, sitting on the floor was Andréa’s bag, wide open with her laptop peeking out of the top a bit.
She couldn’t understand people these days. Throwing things around so haphazardly. She knew Andy’s laptop was provided to her for her job, but nevertheless, the company had paid good money and Andrea worked hard.
Reaching down Miranda carefully picked up the bag, mindful not to drop the laptop. She could guess Andréa have gone to one of her interviews and, knowing the young woman as he did, she was always so organize, and Miranda had no doubt most of the information Andréa needed for her next article would be on her laptop. Try as she might, Miranda wasn’t a seer. Naturally she didn’t know, perhaps the officers or the hospital staff, had shoved the damaged phone into the bag, again in the same haphazard manner without bothering to close the top of the bag, but when Miranda picked up the bag to place it on top the low table it tipped to the side and the phone slid out falling to the floor as several parts of the broken Blackberry skittered far and wide.
Miranda gave a jolt, her left palm fly up to her chest to cover her heart beating strongly against her ribcage in surprise. She darted her eyes toward Andy. The sleeping reporter didn’t even flinch. Releasing a sigh of relief, Miranda squatted down gathering up the parts of the phone.
Returning to her seat Miranda look down at the broken phone. It had probably already been broken in the unfortunate accident, but to what extend was a question she couldn’t answer. A bit timidly, Miranda worked to put the parts back together trying to see if the phone was still usable or not. She’d already made a mental note to call Emily, and have her order Andréa new phone. Switching on the phone, she stared at the screen. It was still black, so she tried the power button again…nope, nadda, not even a flicker.
Shaking her head, Miranda shook the phone and gave it one last try. This time the screen came up. Miranda sighed in relief even though the cover was cracked beyond repair, the information on the device could still be recovered… or so she thought before the damn thing died again. Now, one thing about Miranda Priestly, she never backed down from a challenge. She knew she was being a bit silly; her girls would be laughing at her by now…she loved them for that. Miranda knew it was one of the character traits she shared with her girls… and Andréa.
The doe-eyed beauty, perhaps never aware of it, while she was still under Miranda’s tenure, never back down from any of the challenges Miranda had thrown her way. The Harry Potter fiasco came to minds one of Andy’s many accomplishments.
So after making sure the door to the room was still closed - she had sent Nigel back to Runway after seeing that Andy was not awake and perhaps would not be until the next morning - Miranda did everything she could to awake the stubborn Blackberry. From jabbing the power button furiously to patting the phone’s back, something she knew was ridiculous, remembering how she use to always pat her babies’ backs to burp them… and how bizarre the small device decided to come back to life after getting a firm pat on its back.
“Your phone is as bizarre as you, Andréa.” Miranda rolled her eyes, “why I’m not surprise?” The Editor leaned forward to put the phone on the table when something caught her eyes, blinking, slowly she brought the phone to her eye-level. There, under the cracks in the screen, it was her picture, her head angled to the side smiling down fondly at her girls who were seizing her elbows and beaming up bright identical smiles to her when she had picked them up at the train station.
Miranda blinked. Why was her picture on Andréa’s phone? When had the reporter taken it? Alright, clearly she’d taken it during her tenure at Runway, but why had Andréa used it as wallpaper on her phone? “… Bizarre indeed…” cupping her cheek Miranda stared to the reporter’s sleeping face, now that she thought about it, Andréa Sachs had always been a puzzle for her. She was confused, but oddly, the feeling wasn’t unwelcome.
Author Notes: Thank you for my readers. Life as usual really hard and not surprisingly turns harder. But by writing it helped me to calm down, take several deep breaths and steady myself before getting hurled by endless problems. This chapter, I dedicate it to my readers, to they who bother to leave reviews or even decide to follow my stories. Thank you so much. Enjoy the chapter and please leave more reviews. All best, Arakan.
Patience
Chapter 004: Awkward Moment(s)
By : arakan
Beta: distract_me_now
(--**--)
Once Miranda’s Mercedes-Benz arrived at the hospital, Nigel was out of the car and halfway around to the other door before Miranda could climb out. If there was something Nigel learned from his years with the fashion-maven was that she never tolerated other people’s rudeness. Offering his left elbow for Miranda to take, Nigel thanked the officers who easily waved them off and went back to their jobs leaving Nigel to lead them into the hospital. They moved to the nurses’ desk, “Excuse me ladies, he said, gaining their attention, “I am here for Andy Sachs?”One of them, clearly with seniority among the young women gathered round, smiled warmly. “Ah yes,” she grabbed a clipboard look down and reading the papers, “Mr. Kipling?” she peered at him with a nod.
“Yes.” Nigel’s eyes darted down to read the name tag, “Martha. I’m Nigel Kipling.”
“Nice to meet you too, sir. Now, follow me,” Martha gestured them to follow her as she walked down a busy corridor while informing Nigel and Miranda about Andy’s wounds. “She was sent here after being involved in a hit-and-run down on the 67th. Bruises are to be expected but she apparently also hit her head. She’s drifting in and out of consciousness. Also, she dislocated her right shoulder.” She stopped; sympathizing as Nigel visibly winced, while the lady who had not introduced herself pursed her then lips.
“Will Six- I mean Andy, be alright?” Nigel asked, significantly paling.
“She’s still young and she evidently takes care of herself, she got a healthy body, from the legs, it looks like she’s a jogger” Martha looked down to the clipboard, checking the papers and nodding her head a few times as Nigel confirmed her suspicion. “Yes. Andy jogs ten blocks at least twice a week.”
“Mmm. That’s good. She will need a sling as well. In addition to the dislocated right shoulder, the accident resulted in a fracture to her right wrist, it’s not a complete break, but it will pain her from time to time until it heals. Doctor Stevens will give you a further explanation but unfortunately he already scheduled for a surgery. Maybe in the next three to four hours he will swing by.” Martha looked up at Nigel, “she is sleeping from the painkillers and I need you to fill out her paperwork.”
“Of course I will,” replied Nigel looking at Miranda, his boss gives him nothing but a cold sharp look. He knew what that meant. Andy would be wheeled immediately to a much better and more expensive room as soon as he was finished filling out the hospital forms. If Martha saw the silent exchanged she is wisely didn’t make a comment and quickly lead Nigel away to where he could work on the forms, leaving Miranda to sit next to Andy’s bed.
(--**--)
18 minutes later, Miranda took off her coat dropping it carelessly on top of a comfortable looking chair inside the VIP Hospital-Suite, a far better room than the previous one where Andréa have been placed. Miranda was cringing and flinching the whole time she waited for Nigel.
She couldn’t understand how the hospital management system could put a young woman like Andréa, who was unconscious - in a medically-induced-coma- in a room with four beds, one occupied by a man with a broken nose and claws-marks on his face; he’d begun slurring, explaining how he gotten the wounds in a bar fight. Clearly he didn’t know who Miranda was. She was “The Miranda Priestly.”She may work in the fashion industry, but even she could recognize that those claws-marks came from a woman’s nails, not some man in a bar brawl. The other patient, occupying the third bed over from Andrea, was a macho muscular biker, complete with the typical tattoo-covered-skin; he kept leering over at the sleeping Andréa the whole the time, and then at her once she’d perched herself rigidly on the stool next to Andrea bed. He hadn’t recognized her, but he clearly recognized wealth.
The biker was in the hospital after getting himself injured in a police chase, driving off after refusing to pay a ticket. A police-officer was seated on a stool next to his bed as he shouted about suing the city. Every so often the cop barked angrily at him to shut-up, which worked to silence him briefly. The officer shot an apologetic look to Miranda who merely cast a frozen glare in return. After that, he meekly busied himself, filling out his own report. But that had been the last straw for Miranda.
She stood up, marched out of the room, intending to handle the situation quickly; she didn’t believe Andréa’s was safe in such a room. Miranda Priestly got everything she wanted, hospital procedures notwithstanding, by making one phone calling her quiet deadly voice to the Chairman of the hospital’s board of directors. It took less than sixty seconds and with a harsh sniff Miranda closed her phone in satisfaction.
Nigel rounded the corner with a pile of papers in his arms and gaped openly as the Queen of Fashion strode back into Andréa’s room and not one minute later came back out again following the hospital staff as they wheeled Andréa’s bed out of the room and into the elevator.
So now here she was, quietly taking a seat in a much comfortable chair compared to the small stool in the previous room, watching the young reporter sleeping peacefully. Even with a bandaged head, right hand in a sling, several bruises and cuts marring her left jaw and chin Andréa Sachs was still and always would be an attractive young woman. She was blooming beautifully.
“Silly girl.” Unfolding her hands Miranda reached forward tentatively lifting Andy’s left fingers, mindful not to touch the cuts and scratches along her skin, her left palm covered the reporter’s fingers. “… For a smart girl you can be so silly. Really Andréa, getting run down by a motorbike?” She glared to the sleeping reporter as if Andy would wake up and apologize to her. “You think I didn’t notice how many times you fell over in those heels? And yet, you still chose this profession.” She blew out a soft breath, head shaking. “Really Andréa, even Patricia learned to be a better dog day-by-day.” She rolled her eyes snorting quietly at the comparison she had used to make the sleeping Andrea see her point.
One, Patricia versus Andréa? A nearly two hundred pound giant fur-ball vs. 5’8 beautiful smart woman with a degree from Northwestern?
Two, Andréa was sleeping, doped-up to the moon.
‘You are so pathetic.’ She sighed yet again; the Editor stared into Andy’s sleeping face. She looked so peaceful, but Miranda had no doubt that once the medicine wore off, Andréa would be in pain. Miranda didn’t know how to react, really, despite her cold demeanor she was truly quite a shy person. Only her girls knew that side of her and they cherished her shy nature, always giggling and having fun as their mother tried to put a stern façade to no avail. Her little pair of troublemakers really knew her too well, ironically, the person who had come closest to discovering that side of her, the true nature of Miranda Priestly -- neither of her ex-husbands had come close -but her ex-second-assistant, who right now was in a deep sleep. ‘Run down by a bike.’ Her mind added sarcastically with another derisive snort, had seen right through Miranda rather quickly.
Trying to occupy her mind with other things, rather than devolving into the hissing fit and berate of words she felt Andréa deserved and which she knew would be a waste of time and breath, Miranda looked around the room and notice the pile of clothes and a bag placed haphazardly on the side of the table next to the bed. With an exaggerated eye-rolls Miranda gave a sharp sniff. “Youth these days, have they never learn the meaning of ‘neat?’” Scoffing she turned in her seat, Miranda thought of Caroline, despite being her one child with the obvious talent to follow in her footsteps, to Miranda’s dismay, she had inherited her father’s untidiness. Fortunately for Miranda, Cassidy, on the other hand, was a neat-freak. She could spend hours out of her night organizing her bedroom, just like Miranda, the youngest twin could not sleep until everything was in order.
Miranda knew that was one of the reasons that made her relationship with the twin’s father, already stiff before their abrupt and brutal divorcement was how messy he was -- he couldn’t keep anything neat, not even for a minute.
Jeremy came from a rather wealthy family, he was used to having maids to clean and tidy up things for him. But despite the fact that Miranda’s career was skyrocketing and bringing in much more income to the family than his own job, or the rather large sum he received from his family’s company. He always believed it was Miranda’s job to keep the house, even though she had a more demanding job, it was the woman who should be cleaning up the house after he’d wrecked it.
Even though Miranda had not come from a wealthy family -- she’d had a rather hard youth - every luxury in her life had come from her hard work, but she never forgot all of the lessons she learned from her childhood. Reaching forward, Miranda began to fold Andréa’s clothes. She took one look at the shirt and pants and tossed the two pieces of fabric into the trash bin. The pants were torn and Andréa’s blood had tainted and already dried on the shirt.
If by some miracle the dry cleaners were able to get the blood out, Miranda wouldn’t allow Andréa to wear the same clothes she had on when she gotten into the accident. She would save Andréa’s jacket however, as she stared at the few spots of dried blood dirtying the soft brown jacket, she concluded half way, a decent dry cleaner could remove the stains. Folding the jacket neatly she put it aside and look down, annoyance now radiating from her, she would definitely make another call to the hospital board. There, sitting on the floor was Andréa’s bag, wide open with her laptop peeking out of the top a bit.
She couldn’t understand people these days. Throwing things around so haphazardly. She knew Andy’s laptop was provided to her for her job, but nevertheless, the company had paid good money and Andrea worked hard.
Reaching down Miranda carefully picked up the bag, mindful not to drop the laptop. She could guess Andréa have gone to one of her interviews and, knowing the young woman as he did, she was always so organize, and Miranda had no doubt most of the information Andréa needed for her next article would be on her laptop. Try as she might, Miranda wasn’t a seer. Naturally she didn’t know, perhaps the officers or the hospital staff, had shoved the damaged phone into the bag, again in the same haphazard manner without bothering to close the top of the bag, but when Miranda picked up the bag to place it on top the low table it tipped to the side and the phone slid out falling to the floor as several parts of the broken Blackberry skittered far and wide.
Miranda gave a jolt, her left palm fly up to her chest to cover her heart beating strongly against her ribcage in surprise. She darted her eyes toward Andy. The sleeping reporter didn’t even flinch. Releasing a sigh of relief, Miranda squatted down gathering up the parts of the phone.
Returning to her seat Miranda look down at the broken phone. It had probably already been broken in the unfortunate accident, but to what extend was a question she couldn’t answer. A bit timidly, Miranda worked to put the parts back together trying to see if the phone was still usable or not. She’d already made a mental note to call Emily, and have her order Andréa new phone. Switching on the phone, she stared at the screen. It was still black, so she tried the power button again…nope, nadda, not even a flicker.
Shaking her head, Miranda shook the phone and gave it one last try. This time the screen came up. Miranda sighed in relief even though the cover was cracked beyond repair, the information on the device could still be recovered… or so she thought before the damn thing died again. Now, one thing about Miranda Priestly, she never backed down from a challenge. She knew she was being a bit silly; her girls would be laughing at her by now…she loved them for that. Miranda knew it was one of the character traits she shared with her girls… and Andréa.
The doe-eyed beauty, perhaps never aware of it, while she was still under Miranda’s tenure, never back down from any of the challenges Miranda had thrown her way. The Harry Potter fiasco came to minds one of Andy’s many accomplishments.
So after making sure the door to the room was still closed - she had sent Nigel back to Runway after seeing that Andy was not awake and perhaps would not be until the next morning - Miranda did everything she could to awake the stubborn Blackberry. From jabbing the power button furiously to patting the phone’s back, something she knew was ridiculous, remembering how she use to always pat her babies’ backs to burp them… and how bizarre the small device decided to come back to life after getting a firm pat on its back.
“Your phone is as bizarre as you, Andréa.” Miranda rolled her eyes, “why I’m not surprise?” The Editor leaned forward to put the phone on the table when something caught her eyes, blinking, slowly she brought the phone to her eye-level. There, under the cracks in the screen, it was her picture, her head angled to the side smiling down fondly at her girls who were seizing her elbows and beaming up bright identical smiles to her when she had picked them up at the train station.
Miranda blinked. Why was her picture on Andréa’s phone? When had the reporter taken it? Alright, clearly she’d taken it during her tenure at Runway, but why had Andréa used it as wallpaper on her phone? “… Bizarre indeed…” cupping her cheek Miranda stared to the reporter’s sleeping face, now that she thought about it, Andréa Sachs had always been a puzzle for her. She was confused, but oddly, the feeling wasn’t unwelcome.