Yearling - JUNE 2008
The Jellyroll of Trouble comes bearing a new treat. This solo endeavor comes as a result of just the absolute weirdest thought derailment ever. It is, at its most fundamental, an overview of the nature of...friendship.
Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada does not belong to me. No infringement intended, no money being made. The building belongs to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. I'm just redecorating. When finished, I will tear down the new curtains and fancy artwork, but leave the festive paint…
Rating: T
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Mirandy
AN: This story disregards the novel completely, utilizing only the movie as its base.
*** *** *** *** ***
Yearling
By Ruari
JUNE 2008
“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive.”
~ Anäis Nin
*** *** *** *** ***
It would surprise no one to know Miranda Priestly was never one for introspection. She accepted who she was as a person. As an employer, an editor, an icon, a mother. She was also fully aware of what most others thought of her. After all, those who are or had been closest to her were either incredibly obvious as to their thoughts and feelings---Emily (the prostrating disciple), Jocelyn (abject fear), Irv (open hostility)---or they simply told her outright---Stephen (‘you heartless bitch’), her children (‘I love you, Mommy’), Nigel (‘feeling cranky, are we?’).
For the most part, she understood what drove her professional persona, what it took to be the best, the most successful, the most influential. There were certain …necessary… characteristics she portrayed to maintain her edge. Knowing that, she could, therefore, accept without remorse the negative perceptions or slavish devotion accorded her person.
With all of that playing out ad infinitum, day after long day, Miranda felt no need to ponder her own feelings as to the whats, hows, and whys of her nature. At least until a relatively unknown, yet talented, journalist brought those possible whats, hows, and whys out from the darkest recesses of her mind and into the bright light of revelation. Only then was Miranda forced to acknowledge that what comprised her professional demeanor had little, if anything, to do with her personal disposition. And it was that infinitesimal knowledge washing up in the deepest caverns of her mind that weakened her resolve. Oh, she most certainly did her level best to resist, ignore, and repel the waves of thought as they crashed against the cold granite-hard walls barring entrance to her deepest memories. But given enough time, even a trickle of water wears down the rock.
For three weeks, Miranda cogitated, ruminated, and (quite frankly) brooded. Twenty-one days, one hour and seventeen minutes after her first reading of Andrea’s overture, Miranda’s gumption took onus upon itself to drag the rest of her, kicking and screaming, toward the revolutionary. Like swimming upstream in ankle weights, she reluctantly dialed one of Andrea’s contact numbers.
Andy heard the far-off tinny sounds of her cellphone through the thick cotton of the bath towel currently swaddled about her head. She absently tugged it loose as she left her bathroom in search of the ringing device. She eventually found it hiding amongst the sofa cushions and quickly pressed ‘Talk’ before it could go to voicemail.
“Andy Sachs.”
“Andrea.”
Andy’s eyes widened in surprise and instant recognition at her softly spoken name. “Miranda. Hey,” she scrambled for words. “I didn’t expect to hear from you.” She hadn’t actually thought the woman would ever so much as contact her again. Especially as there had been not a single word from the editor following Andy’s casual, yet sincere, offer to ‘lend an ear.’
Miranda frowned into her phone. “Does that mean you are rescinding your offer?”
“Not at all,” Andy was quick to reply. “I’m glad you called. Glad you took me up on it, I mean.” The brunette settled down onto the sofa, damp hair forgotten.
“Hmmm, yes…my initial reaction was…shall we say…less than pleasant.”
Andy chuckled lightly. “Oh, yeah? For whom, you or me?”
“Ah…well. ‘Therein lies the rub,’ yes?”
Andy laughed louder. “I see.”
Silence descended on the line. After a somewhat awkward and uncomfortable minute, Andy cleared her throat. “It’s ok, you know.” She nervously gripped the phone tighter. “Ok if you…um…don’t know what to say to me. I understand,” she finished quietly.
Miranda sighed and wearily sank deep into the plush armchair she’d chosen before ever picking up her phone to call the journalist. She gave thought to the words just spoken. “Do you? Do you truly understand, Andrea?” Her voice softer than usual, almost defeated, and sounding very, very tired.
Andy heard it and leaned forward, determined to offer evidence of her sincerity. “Yes, I do,” she gently insisted. “I imagine there are several different issues fighting for dominance within you right now regarding this one phone call and can think of three just off the top of my head. One being the fact that shortly after the last time you spoke with me in confidence, I walked away from you.”
A strangely “loud” silence was the only response to Andy’s supposition. She took that to mean she was on the right path. She took a deep breath and re-settled herself on the couch. “Two,” she quietly began again, “being that I am, at heart and in fact, a journalist. And you, rightfully, have a problem with journalists in general. And even though I kept your confidence when writing my article, it doesn’t necessarily follow that I’ll continue to keep it, right?”
Miranda exhaled heavily. Eyes closed, phone held tight to her ear, she pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand. Before she could comment, the young woman on the other end of the cellular connection continued her painful dissection of Miranda’s foremost misgivings, laying them open for future examination.
“And three,” Andy now closed her eyes, unknowingly mirroring the posture of the other woman, “after everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve done, everything you’ve survived…how can you possibly trust someone enough to risk gutting yourself on nothing more than the sheer hope that she will, in turn, offer you a transfusion?”
Miranda’s breath caught in her throat. The girl certainly had a way with words. Who in her right mind would want to bear witness to her very own autopsy? Miranda decided she just wasn’t that strong. “Very good,” she rasped. “I’ve never doubted your astute intelligence.”
Andy opened her eyes, looked down, and just shook her head in disbelief at her trembling hand. Her voice, too, shook when she countered, “Your words. ‘I had hope. My God. I live on it.’” She wavered briefly before gathering the courage to continue, “I’m asking you to keep hoping, Miranda. To not give that up. Please.”
Miranda rallied in true Priestly form. “When have I ever given up anything? So you’ve managed to approximate my thoughts. Very well. What now?”
Andy shook her head in bemusement. “I didn’t guess, and you know it. That article was horrifyingly difficult to write. To dredge all that up again. But I did it because it needed to be told.” She sighed and rubbed at her forehead. “And I needed to tell it. No matter how miniscule the chance, the fact remains that I know exactly how you feel. I’ve been there. Through some cosmic hiccup, it turns out that I walked the exact same road you did. However weird it appears, we lived nearly identical lives, roughly twenty years apart. When I was eleven, I was enduring the exact same circumstances in the same place that you did when you were fourteen.”
Miranda laughed humorlessly. “Cosmic hiccup, indeed.” She, too, sighed. “For what it’s worth, Andrea, I’m sorry you endured that life. I wouldn’t have wished it upon my own worst enemy.”
“Not even Irv?”
The editor’s chuckle was a trifle more sincere this time. “Not even him.” She heard the other woman unsuccessfully attempt to stifle a yawn. “It’s late, I should let you go.”
Andy made a noise of agreement. “Tell you what. I’m off tomorrow. I’ll be reading at the northwest edge of Turtle Pond in Central Park. Come find me, and we’ll talk some more.”
“About what?” Miranda rose, crossed to her desk, and opened her planner.
“About whatever you want.”
“How long will you be out there?” She perused the next day’s schedule.
Andy tipped her head and narrowed her eyes in thought. “Hmmm, probably from about eleven on. I’ll be there for several hours. It’s nice, and I like it there.”
“I’ll see what I can arrange,” was Miranda’s noncommittal reply.
*** *** *** *** ***
And, indeed, Miranda did find Andrea slouched on a bench, head buried in a book. She waltzed up and quietly perched beside the young woman.
Andy looked up and grinned. “Hey there.”
Miranda lifted a brow and smirked. “Hey there to you, as well.”
Andy marked her place before clapping the book closed and setting it on the bench between them. “I’m glad you came.”
Miranda nodded. “I’m curious, I’ll admit.”
Expression open, Andy turned toward the other woman. “About what?”
Miranda looked over at Andrea for the first time since sitting down, her face awash in confusion. “I don’t understand how you can be so…” She waved a hand in a gesture toward everything and nothing. “…so…open. The formative paths we walked were so similar, I find your demeanor difficult to reconcile.”
Andy’s smiled dimmed slightly, and she shrugged her shoulders lightly. “I practiced.” Seeing Miranda’s frown of consternation, she elaborated. “When I was seventeen, I decided to make a friend. It was scary as all hell. I kind of,” she shrugged again and rubbed a long index finger roughly along the bridge of her nose, “just…it was like…like I was on the Mayflower and just landed at Plymouth Rock.” She gestured out toward the pond. “There was all this new terrain I’d never traveled before. I was frightened, but in order to survive, I had to make friends with the natives.” She watched Miranda gaze out across the pond and decided to give the editor all the time she required to form a reply. She didn’t have to wait long.
Miranda eventually turned back to the brunette. “It will probably come as no shock to you, but I…I don’t…I don’t exactly have much …experience… with this,” she spoke slowly, hesitatingly. “None at all, really. And to tap into your metaphor, it is a vast landscape I’ve never even attempted to cross.”
Andy gifted her companion with one of her signature smiles. “Well, it may be vast, but it certainly isn’t impossible. And lucky for you, I’ve now got lots of experience with this.” Andy’s grin grew as she rose and tugged on Miranda’s sleeve. “Welcome to the new world, pilgrim. Let’s take a walk.”
JUNE 2008
“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive.”
~ Anäis Nin
(July)
Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada does not belong to me. No infringement intended, no money being made. The building belongs to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. I'm just redecorating. When finished, I will tear down the new curtains and fancy artwork, but leave the festive paint…
Rating: T
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Mirandy
AN: This story disregards the novel completely, utilizing only the movie as its base.
*** *** *** *** ***
Yearling
By Ruari
JUNE 2008
“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive.”
~ Anäis Nin
*** *** *** *** ***
It would surprise no one to know Miranda Priestly was never one for introspection. She accepted who she was as a person. As an employer, an editor, an icon, a mother. She was also fully aware of what most others thought of her. After all, those who are or had been closest to her were either incredibly obvious as to their thoughts and feelings---Emily (the prostrating disciple), Jocelyn (abject fear), Irv (open hostility)---or they simply told her outright---Stephen (‘you heartless bitch’), her children (‘I love you, Mommy’), Nigel (‘feeling cranky, are we?’).
For the most part, she understood what drove her professional persona, what it took to be the best, the most successful, the most influential. There were certain …necessary… characteristics she portrayed to maintain her edge. Knowing that, she could, therefore, accept without remorse the negative perceptions or slavish devotion accorded her person.
With all of that playing out ad infinitum, day after long day, Miranda felt no need to ponder her own feelings as to the whats, hows, and whys of her nature. At least until a relatively unknown, yet talented, journalist brought those possible whats, hows, and whys out from the darkest recesses of her mind and into the bright light of revelation. Only then was Miranda forced to acknowledge that what comprised her professional demeanor had little, if anything, to do with her personal disposition. And it was that infinitesimal knowledge washing up in the deepest caverns of her mind that weakened her resolve. Oh, she most certainly did her level best to resist, ignore, and repel the waves of thought as they crashed against the cold granite-hard walls barring entrance to her deepest memories. But given enough time, even a trickle of water wears down the rock.
For three weeks, Miranda cogitated, ruminated, and (quite frankly) brooded. Twenty-one days, one hour and seventeen minutes after her first reading of Andrea’s overture, Miranda’s gumption took onus upon itself to drag the rest of her, kicking and screaming, toward the revolutionary. Like swimming upstream in ankle weights, she reluctantly dialed one of Andrea’s contact numbers.
Andy heard the far-off tinny sounds of her cellphone through the thick cotton of the bath towel currently swaddled about her head. She absently tugged it loose as she left her bathroom in search of the ringing device. She eventually found it hiding amongst the sofa cushions and quickly pressed ‘Talk’ before it could go to voicemail.
“Andy Sachs.”
“Andrea.”
Andy’s eyes widened in surprise and instant recognition at her softly spoken name. “Miranda. Hey,” she scrambled for words. “I didn’t expect to hear from you.” She hadn’t actually thought the woman would ever so much as contact her again. Especially as there had been not a single word from the editor following Andy’s casual, yet sincere, offer to ‘lend an ear.’
Miranda frowned into her phone. “Does that mean you are rescinding your offer?”
“Not at all,” Andy was quick to reply. “I’m glad you called. Glad you took me up on it, I mean.” The brunette settled down onto the sofa, damp hair forgotten.
“Hmmm, yes…my initial reaction was…shall we say…less than pleasant.”
Andy chuckled lightly. “Oh, yeah? For whom, you or me?”
“Ah…well. ‘Therein lies the rub,’ yes?”
Andy laughed louder. “I see.”
Silence descended on the line. After a somewhat awkward and uncomfortable minute, Andy cleared her throat. “It’s ok, you know.” She nervously gripped the phone tighter. “Ok if you…um…don’t know what to say to me. I understand,” she finished quietly.
Miranda sighed and wearily sank deep into the plush armchair she’d chosen before ever picking up her phone to call the journalist. She gave thought to the words just spoken. “Do you? Do you truly understand, Andrea?” Her voice softer than usual, almost defeated, and sounding very, very tired.
Andy heard it and leaned forward, determined to offer evidence of her sincerity. “Yes, I do,” she gently insisted. “I imagine there are several different issues fighting for dominance within you right now regarding this one phone call and can think of three just off the top of my head. One being the fact that shortly after the last time you spoke with me in confidence, I walked away from you.”
A strangely “loud” silence was the only response to Andy’s supposition. She took that to mean she was on the right path. She took a deep breath and re-settled herself on the couch. “Two,” she quietly began again, “being that I am, at heart and in fact, a journalist. And you, rightfully, have a problem with journalists in general. And even though I kept your confidence when writing my article, it doesn’t necessarily follow that I’ll continue to keep it, right?”
Miranda exhaled heavily. Eyes closed, phone held tight to her ear, she pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand. Before she could comment, the young woman on the other end of the cellular connection continued her painful dissection of Miranda’s foremost misgivings, laying them open for future examination.
“And three,” Andy now closed her eyes, unknowingly mirroring the posture of the other woman, “after everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve done, everything you’ve survived…how can you possibly trust someone enough to risk gutting yourself on nothing more than the sheer hope that she will, in turn, offer you a transfusion?”
Miranda’s breath caught in her throat. The girl certainly had a way with words. Who in her right mind would want to bear witness to her very own autopsy? Miranda decided she just wasn’t that strong. “Very good,” she rasped. “I’ve never doubted your astute intelligence.”
Andy opened her eyes, looked down, and just shook her head in disbelief at her trembling hand. Her voice, too, shook when she countered, “Your words. ‘I had hope. My God. I live on it.’” She wavered briefly before gathering the courage to continue, “I’m asking you to keep hoping, Miranda. To not give that up. Please.”
Miranda rallied in true Priestly form. “When have I ever given up anything? So you’ve managed to approximate my thoughts. Very well. What now?”
Andy shook her head in bemusement. “I didn’t guess, and you know it. That article was horrifyingly difficult to write. To dredge all that up again. But I did it because it needed to be told.” She sighed and rubbed at her forehead. “And I needed to tell it. No matter how miniscule the chance, the fact remains that I know exactly how you feel. I’ve been there. Through some cosmic hiccup, it turns out that I walked the exact same road you did. However weird it appears, we lived nearly identical lives, roughly twenty years apart. When I was eleven, I was enduring the exact same circumstances in the same place that you did when you were fourteen.”
Miranda laughed humorlessly. “Cosmic hiccup, indeed.” She, too, sighed. “For what it’s worth, Andrea, I’m sorry you endured that life. I wouldn’t have wished it upon my own worst enemy.”
“Not even Irv?”
The editor’s chuckle was a trifle more sincere this time. “Not even him.” She heard the other woman unsuccessfully attempt to stifle a yawn. “It’s late, I should let you go.”
Andy made a noise of agreement. “Tell you what. I’m off tomorrow. I’ll be reading at the northwest edge of Turtle Pond in Central Park. Come find me, and we’ll talk some more.”
“About what?” Miranda rose, crossed to her desk, and opened her planner.
“About whatever you want.”
“How long will you be out there?” She perused the next day’s schedule.
Andy tipped her head and narrowed her eyes in thought. “Hmmm, probably from about eleven on. I’ll be there for several hours. It’s nice, and I like it there.”
“I’ll see what I can arrange,” was Miranda’s noncommittal reply.
*** *** *** *** ***
And, indeed, Miranda did find Andrea slouched on a bench, head buried in a book. She waltzed up and quietly perched beside the young woman.
Andy looked up and grinned. “Hey there.”
Miranda lifted a brow and smirked. “Hey there to you, as well.”
Andy marked her place before clapping the book closed and setting it on the bench between them. “I’m glad you came.”
Miranda nodded. “I’m curious, I’ll admit.”
Expression open, Andy turned toward the other woman. “About what?”
Miranda looked over at Andrea for the first time since sitting down, her face awash in confusion. “I don’t understand how you can be so…” She waved a hand in a gesture toward everything and nothing. “…so…open. The formative paths we walked were so similar, I find your demeanor difficult to reconcile.”
Andy’s smiled dimmed slightly, and she shrugged her shoulders lightly. “I practiced.” Seeing Miranda’s frown of consternation, she elaborated. “When I was seventeen, I decided to make a friend. It was scary as all hell. I kind of,” she shrugged again and rubbed a long index finger roughly along the bridge of her nose, “just…it was like…like I was on the Mayflower and just landed at Plymouth Rock.” She gestured out toward the pond. “There was all this new terrain I’d never traveled before. I was frightened, but in order to survive, I had to make friends with the natives.” She watched Miranda gaze out across the pond and decided to give the editor all the time she required to form a reply. She didn’t have to wait long.
Miranda eventually turned back to the brunette. “It will probably come as no shock to you, but I…I don’t…I don’t exactly have much …experience… with this,” she spoke slowly, hesitatingly. “None at all, really. And to tap into your metaphor, it is a vast landscape I’ve never even attempted to cross.”
Andy gifted her companion with one of her signature smiles. “Well, it may be vast, but it certainly isn’t impossible. And lucky for you, I’ve now got lots of experience with this.” Andy’s grin grew as she rose and tugged on Miranda’s sleeve. “Welcome to the new world, pilgrim. Let’s take a walk.”
JUNE 2008
“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive.”
~ Anäis Nin
(July)