New micro-fics: Music Stories
Title: Music Stories
Author: chilly_flame
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own the Devil Wears Prada, or related characters. Too bad.
Author’s Note: Some lovely people bid on a story from me for help_haiti, and I am humbled by their generosity. For each of those folks (you know who you are), I’ve written an itunes-meme-type drabble. I hope everyone enjoys. They’re not all cheerful, but they were a pleasure to write!
The Man in the Street (I’ll Tell the Man in the Street-Kristin Chenoweth)
“Why couldn’t you just keep it you yourself?” Richard pleads with Andy, who laughs.
“You’re joking, right, Dad?”
He peers over at Frannie, who is not looking at him, but is glaring at the speakerphone as though it’s about to burst into flames. “No, Andy, we’re not joking,” she says. “What in God’s name are you doing with that woman?”
There’s a pause, and for a moment things that shouldn’t flit through a father’s mind about his child do, because his 25 year-old daughter is most certainly having sex with a woman who is older than he is. He is reminded of catching his parents in bed once when he was twelve, and is surprised that the sick feeling in his stomach is extremely similar. He is unhappy and disappointed, even though he has always wanted Andy to find real love.
Just not with Miranda Priestly.
“Everyone’s going to know tomorrow, Mom. I won’t hide it and neither will she. At least I warned you. I didn’t want to, but Miranda asked me to call you in advance.” Richard puts his head in his hands. “Can’t you even be a little happy for me?”
Richard is tempted to relent when Frannie’s voice cuts through the silence. “No.”
No one speaks then, and Richard can feel all the strength draining out of him. “Okay, I guess,” Andy says, and he can hear the tears gathering in her throat, no doubt about to spill down her cheeks. “That’s it then. Bye,” she says. There’s a click, and the phone goes quiet.
Fools Rush In (Fools Rush In--Julie London)
Andy glances over at Miranda, who slumps in the wing-backed chair in an unusually relaxed position. The brandy glass, still half full, dangles precariously from her hand, but Andy isn’t worried. The rug will survive; she’s sure it’s seen worse over the course of two hundred years or so. Outside, the Mistral pounds against the windows of the farmhouse, but Andy is warmed by the fire and the sleepy dog resting against her feet.
“Sometimes I think my life began the day we met, Miranda.” She sips her port, enjoying the flavors of dark chocolate and roasted almonds.
“You’re exaggerating. You had a perfectly fine life before that,” Miranda says, but Andy has known her long enough that beneath the stern tone, there is pleasure.
“Oh, all right,” Andy admits. “The good part of my life, then. The best part.”
Miranda’s lip curls infinitesimally in one of Andy’s favorite expressions. “Now that, I believe.”
Lady Happy (Maybe This Time-Liza Minnelli)
Andy wonders if she should have left Miranda behind in Paris, like she’d wanted to. She’d fantasized about throwing her phone in the fountain that very day, walking right out of Paris and across the ocean, all the way home.
She didn’t. She’s still behind the desk as first assistant, but Emily is gone. Andy isn’t even sure what happened to her. She came in one Tuesday to an empty second desk. Nigel said he didn’t know quite how it went down, but that Emily was no longer with the company and she would not be back.
It’s been over six months, and Andy can’t get information out of anyone, even Serena.
That left Andy to take care of things. Now she is closer to Miranda than ever. She can’t even say she likes Miranda, exactly, but has yet to really identify the feeling she has for her. Her new boyfriend Will certainly doesn’t get what it is about her boss that makes her so jumpy. He complains that Andy’s phone never stops ringing. He’s starting to get a complex, since the loud chimes always manage to sound as they’re about to have sex. He can barely get it up lately, probably anticipating Andy’s eventual departure from his bed after the inevitable call.
Andy hopes that the new second assistant will take up some of the slack for her. She likes Will, and doesn’t want to blow it this time, like she did with Nate. Maybe this time she’ll do it right and he won’t leave her.
“Andrea,” Miranda says, her voice carrying softly from behind the glass door. Andy’s heart thumps weirdly in her chest. She ignores the palpitation.
“Coming, Miranda.”
Runner (The Untouchables-Ennio Morricone)
Andy ran down the dark street, wishing her boots weren’t making such a racket. The rain didn’t help. She was convinced her quarry couldn’t have gotten far, but it might be impossible to keep track of him in the torrential downpour. She’d just lost her hat, and her badge was in a puddle at least four blocks behind her. That didn’t matter. Her gun would still fire as long as she kept the barrel dry.
“Come on,” Andy chanted to herself. Thoughts of the elusive detective ranking kept her going, along with the desire to catch a killer who had cut down at least dozen men during the past six months. Never mind that the men weren’t exactly innocent, but a killer was a killer.
There-in the distance, she saw the white flash of a spat disappear into an alley. Andy breathed deep and urged her exhausted legs to turn up the heat, and miraculously they did. “Hey!” she shouted. “Hey! Stop! Police!”
She knew she should have been more careful-the guy was probably armed and was surely dangerous-but she had to announce herself. He kept on moving but Andy saw when his foot caught in a crack in the pavement and he went sprawling. “Put your hands over your head and stay down,” Andy screamed over the deluge that grew exponentially worse as she got close. “Hands up!” The guy got up on all fours and tried to scramble away, but Andy tackled him, praying he was too worn out to fight. She got a hand on one shoulder and pushed her prey onto his back, yanking the soaked fedora off his head.
Pale grey eyes stared up at her under the weak street light, and all the color seemed to drain from the world. The most beautiful face she’d ever seen stared up at her, looking as surprised as Andy felt. White hair was plastered to elegant cheekbones, and the woman was panting as hard as Andy was.
“Geez,” Andy said.
Time slowed, until Andy heard the distinct sound of a gun hammer being cocked.
Darling Pretty (Darling Pretty - Mark Knopfler)
“You’re one of the few people on earth who could possibly be unhappy at this moment,” Andy complained. “Jesus.”
“Oh, stop. I’m not unhappy,” Miranda countered. She brushed the hair behind her ear, although it promptly ignored her efforts as the wind whipped around them on the speed boat.
“Are too. You weren’t happy when you were working, and you still aren’t now that you’re done. You got out when the getting was good, honey. Why can’t you just let it go?”
Miranda pursed her lips. She looked over at Andy, whose hair flew out behind her as the spray splashed up like diamonds behind them. Andy’s skin was pristine, ivory in the sun, and tiny freckles dotted her nose. “I’m trying,” Miranda pleaded, wanting so desperately to free herself from it all. “Really.”
Andy’s expression was resigned, but not entirely miserable. “Maybe someday you won’t have to try so hard.”
Gum Drop (Trickle Trickle, Manhattan Transfer)
Miranda sat in the meeting and fumed.
Irv was doing this deliberately, she was sure of it. She’d said upfront that she had exactly 45 minutes to listen to this overly-funded startup drone on about how they could “save” Runway with their thrilling new digital business model. Mobile, Twitter, Facebook-they were all valid opportunities. But after five minutes, Miranda could tell that these men-children, really, whose parents had paid through the nose for their MBAs-had no better idea about how to make money on the internet than she did. “Your user base will explode!” one of them actually had the gall to say to her.
“Users don’t equal cash,” she sneered. “Clearly.”
MBA #1 blinked, startled that she’d spoken.
“We need a practical subscription model. It didn’t work seven years ago but it’s going to work today because we’re going to make it work. Come back when you have more to discuss than ‘building user base.’ We already have a mailing list of 13 million. If we sold that many subscriptions for ten dollars a year, that’s a start.” She stood up. “Is that all?”
“Um,” MBA #2 said. “Well-“
“Thank you for this enlightening meeting, Irv. I must go. I have a prior engagement.” As you well know, she thought, narrowing her eyes. Irv loosened his tie.
Outside, the rain pelted her but she rushed to the car without waiting for Roy to bring her an umbrella. “Go,” she barked as soon as the door was closed. Water stained her skirt and blouse, but hopefully it would dry quickly. Her phone remained silent, which was either a good thing or a bad thing. She’d wait and see.
At her front door, she actually hesitated in knocking. Their door, she reminded herself. Her hair was a mess, and her clothes hadn’t dried, but she was here, and it was still raining, and maybe if she looked pathetic enough-
The door opened, and there Andrea stood, in the soft cotton lounge pants and tank top that Miranda tended to verbally disparage, but that she secretly appreciated. “Irv called a meeting, huh?” Andrea asked.
Miranda nodded.
“You skipped out, didn’t you.”
She nodded again.
Andrea stepped back and beckoned her indoors. “Come on, baby. Dinner’s waiting in the oven.” She leaned in and kissed Miranda’s rain-dampened lips with a sly smile. “Nice job. And happy anniversary.”
Author: chilly_flame
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own the Devil Wears Prada, or related characters. Too bad.
Author’s Note: Some lovely people bid on a story from me for help_haiti, and I am humbled by their generosity. For each of those folks (you know who you are), I’ve written an itunes-meme-type drabble. I hope everyone enjoys. They’re not all cheerful, but they were a pleasure to write!
The Man in the Street (I’ll Tell the Man in the Street-Kristin Chenoweth)
“Why couldn’t you just keep it you yourself?” Richard pleads with Andy, who laughs.
“You’re joking, right, Dad?”
He peers over at Frannie, who is not looking at him, but is glaring at the speakerphone as though it’s about to burst into flames. “No, Andy, we’re not joking,” she says. “What in God’s name are you doing with that woman?”
There’s a pause, and for a moment things that shouldn’t flit through a father’s mind about his child do, because his 25 year-old daughter is most certainly having sex with a woman who is older than he is. He is reminded of catching his parents in bed once when he was twelve, and is surprised that the sick feeling in his stomach is extremely similar. He is unhappy and disappointed, even though he has always wanted Andy to find real love.
Just not with Miranda Priestly.
“Everyone’s going to know tomorrow, Mom. I won’t hide it and neither will she. At least I warned you. I didn’t want to, but Miranda asked me to call you in advance.” Richard puts his head in his hands. “Can’t you even be a little happy for me?”
Richard is tempted to relent when Frannie’s voice cuts through the silence. “No.”
No one speaks then, and Richard can feel all the strength draining out of him. “Okay, I guess,” Andy says, and he can hear the tears gathering in her throat, no doubt about to spill down her cheeks. “That’s it then. Bye,” she says. There’s a click, and the phone goes quiet.
Fools Rush In (Fools Rush In--Julie London)
Andy glances over at Miranda, who slumps in the wing-backed chair in an unusually relaxed position. The brandy glass, still half full, dangles precariously from her hand, but Andy isn’t worried. The rug will survive; she’s sure it’s seen worse over the course of two hundred years or so. Outside, the Mistral pounds against the windows of the farmhouse, but Andy is warmed by the fire and the sleepy dog resting against her feet.
“Sometimes I think my life began the day we met, Miranda.” She sips her port, enjoying the flavors of dark chocolate and roasted almonds.
“You’re exaggerating. You had a perfectly fine life before that,” Miranda says, but Andy has known her long enough that beneath the stern tone, there is pleasure.
“Oh, all right,” Andy admits. “The good part of my life, then. The best part.”
Miranda’s lip curls infinitesimally in one of Andy’s favorite expressions. “Now that, I believe.”
Lady Happy (Maybe This Time-Liza Minnelli)
Andy wonders if she should have left Miranda behind in Paris, like she’d wanted to. She’d fantasized about throwing her phone in the fountain that very day, walking right out of Paris and across the ocean, all the way home.
She didn’t. She’s still behind the desk as first assistant, but Emily is gone. Andy isn’t even sure what happened to her. She came in one Tuesday to an empty second desk. Nigel said he didn’t know quite how it went down, but that Emily was no longer with the company and she would not be back.
It’s been over six months, and Andy can’t get information out of anyone, even Serena.
That left Andy to take care of things. Now she is closer to Miranda than ever. She can’t even say she likes Miranda, exactly, but has yet to really identify the feeling she has for her. Her new boyfriend Will certainly doesn’t get what it is about her boss that makes her so jumpy. He complains that Andy’s phone never stops ringing. He’s starting to get a complex, since the loud chimes always manage to sound as they’re about to have sex. He can barely get it up lately, probably anticipating Andy’s eventual departure from his bed after the inevitable call.
Andy hopes that the new second assistant will take up some of the slack for her. She likes Will, and doesn’t want to blow it this time, like she did with Nate. Maybe this time she’ll do it right and he won’t leave her.
“Andrea,” Miranda says, her voice carrying softly from behind the glass door. Andy’s heart thumps weirdly in her chest. She ignores the palpitation.
“Coming, Miranda.”
Runner (The Untouchables-Ennio Morricone)
Andy ran down the dark street, wishing her boots weren’t making such a racket. The rain didn’t help. She was convinced her quarry couldn’t have gotten far, but it might be impossible to keep track of him in the torrential downpour. She’d just lost her hat, and her badge was in a puddle at least four blocks behind her. That didn’t matter. Her gun would still fire as long as she kept the barrel dry.
“Come on,” Andy chanted to herself. Thoughts of the elusive detective ranking kept her going, along with the desire to catch a killer who had cut down at least dozen men during the past six months. Never mind that the men weren’t exactly innocent, but a killer was a killer.
There-in the distance, she saw the white flash of a spat disappear into an alley. Andy breathed deep and urged her exhausted legs to turn up the heat, and miraculously they did. “Hey!” she shouted. “Hey! Stop! Police!”
She knew she should have been more careful-the guy was probably armed and was surely dangerous-but she had to announce herself. He kept on moving but Andy saw when his foot caught in a crack in the pavement and he went sprawling. “Put your hands over your head and stay down,” Andy screamed over the deluge that grew exponentially worse as she got close. “Hands up!” The guy got up on all fours and tried to scramble away, but Andy tackled him, praying he was too worn out to fight. She got a hand on one shoulder and pushed her prey onto his back, yanking the soaked fedora off his head.
Pale grey eyes stared up at her under the weak street light, and all the color seemed to drain from the world. The most beautiful face she’d ever seen stared up at her, looking as surprised as Andy felt. White hair was plastered to elegant cheekbones, and the woman was panting as hard as Andy was.
“Geez,” Andy said.
Time slowed, until Andy heard the distinct sound of a gun hammer being cocked.
Darling Pretty (Darling Pretty - Mark Knopfler)
“You’re one of the few people on earth who could possibly be unhappy at this moment,” Andy complained. “Jesus.”
“Oh, stop. I’m not unhappy,” Miranda countered. She brushed the hair behind her ear, although it promptly ignored her efforts as the wind whipped around them on the speed boat.
“Are too. You weren’t happy when you were working, and you still aren’t now that you’re done. You got out when the getting was good, honey. Why can’t you just let it go?”
Miranda pursed her lips. She looked over at Andy, whose hair flew out behind her as the spray splashed up like diamonds behind them. Andy’s skin was pristine, ivory in the sun, and tiny freckles dotted her nose. “I’m trying,” Miranda pleaded, wanting so desperately to free herself from it all. “Really.”
Andy’s expression was resigned, but not entirely miserable. “Maybe someday you won’t have to try so hard.”
Gum Drop (Trickle Trickle, Manhattan Transfer)
Miranda sat in the meeting and fumed.
Irv was doing this deliberately, she was sure of it. She’d said upfront that she had exactly 45 minutes to listen to this overly-funded startup drone on about how they could “save” Runway with their thrilling new digital business model. Mobile, Twitter, Facebook-they were all valid opportunities. But after five minutes, Miranda could tell that these men-children, really, whose parents had paid through the nose for their MBAs-had no better idea about how to make money on the internet than she did. “Your user base will explode!” one of them actually had the gall to say to her.
“Users don’t equal cash,” she sneered. “Clearly.”
MBA #1 blinked, startled that she’d spoken.
“We need a practical subscription model. It didn’t work seven years ago but it’s going to work today because we’re going to make it work. Come back when you have more to discuss than ‘building user base.’ We already have a mailing list of 13 million. If we sold that many subscriptions for ten dollars a year, that’s a start.” She stood up. “Is that all?”
“Um,” MBA #2 said. “Well-“
“Thank you for this enlightening meeting, Irv. I must go. I have a prior engagement.” As you well know, she thought, narrowing her eyes. Irv loosened his tie.
Outside, the rain pelted her but she rushed to the car without waiting for Roy to bring her an umbrella. “Go,” she barked as soon as the door was closed. Water stained her skirt and blouse, but hopefully it would dry quickly. Her phone remained silent, which was either a good thing or a bad thing. She’d wait and see.
At her front door, she actually hesitated in knocking. Their door, she reminded herself. Her hair was a mess, and her clothes hadn’t dried, but she was here, and it was still raining, and maybe if she looked pathetic enough-
The door opened, and there Andrea stood, in the soft cotton lounge pants and tank top that Miranda tended to verbally disparage, but that she secretly appreciated. “Irv called a meeting, huh?” Andrea asked.
Miranda nodded.
“You skipped out, didn’t you.”
She nodded again.
Andrea stepped back and beckoned her indoors. “Come on, baby. Dinner’s waiting in the oven.” She leaned in and kissed Miranda’s rain-dampened lips with a sly smile. “Nice job. And happy anniversary.”