Stormy Weather
Title: Stormy Weather
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Rating/Genre: PG/romance with a touch of fluff, and just a little bit of angst sprinkled on top for flavour
Characters/Pairing: Andy Sachs, Miranda and Cassidy Priestly; Andy/Miranda
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the song lyrics (translated from Swedish).
Summary: One night when Andy delivers the book, something unexpected happens - and she finds herself getting a new favourite pastime, as well as bonding with the twins…
Word count: 5 816
Spoilers/Warnings: No
Notes: Andy didn’t leave in Paris. Because sometimes, it’s more fun to write it that way. And Nate seems to never have existed in this fic. Just to make it a little easier.
One night when Andy delivered the book, something unexpected happened. It wasn’t a prank by the twins, it was just a sound she heard when she had put the book down on its table and was on her way out again - the sound of music.
She had never heard music in the Priestly townhouse before, so she paused her step for a moment. It was the sound of a piano playing.
Then she shrugged her shoulders, and was about to leave, when she froze.
“Don’t know why there’s no sun up in the sky, stormy weather, since my man and I ain’t together…”
Was she mistaken, or was that Miranda singing?
No, it couldn’t be. Miranda didn’t sing… On the other hand, who had told her that she didn’t? Who knew what Miranda did or didn’t do in her own home, who knew anything about her secret talents, or any of her secrets…
It was Miranda’s voice, low but warm and strong, and if she was singing, she was perhaps also playing the piano; yes, when Andy thought about it, it didn’t sound like the music from a CD. Not that it wasn’t good enough, because it was, but because it sounded… more real, closer…
Andy knew that she probably shouldn’t be standing there, eavesdropping, because Miranda would probably not like it if she knew, but the sound of Miranda’s voice - singing! - wasn’t possible to resist. It was the same familiar voice, but different; it sent a soft shiver down Andy’s spine, and she just couldn’t bring herself to leave.
“… Stormy, stormy… stormy weather…
The last chord resounded, and Andy came to her senses - well, much enough to leave anyway, and she was buried in deep thoughts all the way home. She felt almost… upset. But why did the idea of Miranda singing and playing the piano shake her so? She didn’t know; maybe it was the surprise.
Andy smiled. It shouldn’t surprise her for one second that Miranda was a musician in private.
She looked furtively at Miranda the next day, as if she had expected her boss to be different, but of course she wasn’t. Andy couldn’t see the music in her. But just knowing that it existed somewhere under the surface made her smile a little.
She could hardly wait that night; what took the guys so long? She just wanted to get that stupid book so she could take it to the townhouse as soon as possible. Even as she was thinking this she realized, of course, that the chance of hearing Miranda sing Stormy Weather again - or to hear her sing anything at all - was extremely small. It had never happened before, and now she expected it to happen twice in a row?
Andy knew that she couldn’t hope for it to happen.
But even knowing this, she tiptoed her way into the house, placed the clothes in their right place, pricking up her ears, and yes; Miranda began to play right that moment. Andy placed the Book silently at the table beside her, and she listened.
She blinked, slowly. She recognized this melody, too - it was Autumn Leaves.
First Stormy Weather, and then Autumn Leaves - two songs about a lost love. Is it just a coincidence, she thought, or does Miranda really miss Stephen?
That was not the impression she had got in Paris; sure, Miranda had been shaken and sad, and hurt, but it had not seemed to have much to do with heartache. And now that the tabloids were over it, Miranda seemed quite content. Not that it was easy to tell, obviously, when it came to Miranda.
Andy thought that she was probably reading too much into a song, and it was none of her business anyway - at least that was what she tried to tell herself. The fact that Miranda now was single and that she acted a bit more kindly since Paris didn’t mean that Andy should get her hopes up.
No, that would be ridiculous, and of course she didn’t hope that Miranda was going to realize how much she meant to her young assistant, and that was why Andy didn’t dare to move any closer to the direction of the music, and that was why she didn’t linger. She only allowed herself to stay until the song was over.
On her way home, she remembered the beautiful sounds and wrapped the memory around her like a warm blanket.
Then the next night, she was disappointed. The house was quiet, and although she waited a little bit too long, she heard no music and had to leave without it.
Maybe Miranda hadn’t been at home? Because the next night, there was music again, and Andy smiled as she walked in, careful not to make a sound, and she stayed at her usual spot, right beside the Book at the little table, she exhaled contently, and listened.
She didn’t know the piece; there was no singing, only the piano, and Miranda played with a certain softness behind the precise, forceful strikes of the keys; to Andy, Miranda’s way of playing sounded just like her.
“Hi Andy!” whispered a voice, and she almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of it.
There, seated on the stairs, was Cassidy - Andy couldn’t believe that she hadn’t seen her when she came in.
“What are you doing up at this hour?” she whispered back, hoping that the strict tone of her voice would lead to a mutual understanding about not telling the girl’s mother anything at all.
“I just wanted to hear mom play”, Cassidy explained, “and she only plays late at night, when she has done everything else. I like to listen, so I try to stay awake…”
“Why doesn’t she play before you go to bed? I didn’t even know that she plays at all…”
“I’m not sure”, Cassidy said, “but she used to play more when I was little. And she started again after Stephen left, but only late at night… I’m glad he’s gone.”
Andy didn’t realize that she had nodded with perhaps a little too much conviction.
“Are you glad he’s gone, too?”
“Oh, um… I just meant that I’m glad to be able to hear your mom play the piano…”
“Hush, then!”
Cassidy didn’t need to tell her twice. At first, Andy wasn’t completely comfortable with having company at ‘her’ late night concert, but after all, it was the girl’s home, and she enjoyed the music just as much as Andy did.
When the piece was over, Andy turned around. Somehow it felt wrong to stay for too long.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah… I think it’s best… What was that, by the way; do you know?”
“Sure, Rachmaninov. One of mom’s favourites.”
Andy smiled at the girl.
“Okay, thanks… Good night, Cassidy.”
“Good night”, the twin whispered, “see you, Andy.”
Cassidy did see Andy the next night; again, the Book was ready to be delivered relatively early, and when Andy came in, closing the door silently behind her, Cassidy came down the stairs with equally silent steps, and she smiled, as the last chords of a melody resounded.
Was Miranda going to keep on playing? Yes, she was. She wasn’t singing anything, but the music she played was strong and soft and beautiful - if music had a colour, Andy thought, this piece would have the silvery colour of Miranda’s hair.
She looked at Cassidy, who murmured:
“Chopin… it’s called ‘the Raindrop Prelude’…”
“Oh…” Andy sighed, and then none of them spoke, until the music stopped, and Andy once again suppressed the desire to stay, and left.
“See you, Andy”, the small figure on the tenth step from the bottom of the stairs murmured as Andy opened the door.
Andy hadn’t expected it - before it happened, she couldn’t even have imagined it - but a sort of ritual developed. Miranda didn’t play every night, and sometimes the Book was handed to Andy very late, but if Miranda was playing and if Cassidy had managed to stay awake until then, she came down the stairs a few seconds after the door closed behind Andy, and the two of them listened to the music for a short while. It happened that Caroline joined them, but mostly, it was only Cassidy and Andy, and Andy ended with a soft ‘Good night, Cassidy’, and the girl replied: ‘See you Andy.’
Sometimes, Miranda sang.
Andy didn’t look at the child if Miranda sang, and the child didn’t speak, as if she understood.
She wanted to stay - for each time, it became more and more difficult to leave the house without seeing Miranda at the piano, but she didn’t dare to go any closer, and Cassidy didn’t suggest it either.
She never told anyone about her suddenly so music-filled evenings. She thought that Miranda must realize that anyone who entered the house could hear her play, but Andy never dared to tell her that she listened, although she longed to tell the other woman how much she admired her.
Andy knew that she wasn’t getting paid to admire Miranda; the editor got more than enough admiration from people who she just dismissed with an impatient wave of her hand, and the only thing she needed from Andy was efficiency, dedication, punctuality and Starbucks coffee.
But Andy did admire her anyway. There had been that time, in Paris, when she had tried to walk away, but she didn’t, and that was when she realized that she loved Miranda Priestly.
She didn’t expect this love to ever lead to anything, and she told herself that she probably had to leave Runway sooner or later, or else she would be unhappily in love with an unattainable woman for the rest of her life. She just wasn’t ready to take that step yet.
And now when she had heard Miranda play the piano, she thought that she was never going to be able to leave. Hearing Miranda play now was as essential to Andy as drinking water. Even if she was never going to see Miranda play, just listening to her was divine.
She wondered if no one else knew. She had no idea, but she liked to imagine that she - and the twins, and Miranda’s ex husbands - had the privilege of knowing a wonderful secret.
But she tried no to stare too dreamily at Miranda at the office.
“Andrea! What is the matter - do I have something on my face, and if so, why don’t you tell me instead of just staring at me like that?”
“No, Miranda!” Andy blushed and stuttered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… um, I was just…”
Miranda gave her a ice-blue glare.
“Have you written that e-mail yet?”
“No, I’m going to do it, but I was waiting for a reply from the…”
“The details of your incompetence don’t interest me”, Miranda snapped, “get back to work - or better yet; get back to your old self. I have no idea what’s wrong with you these days - that’s not a question! - but I liked you better when you worked more and stared less.”
As if thinking that she had said too much, Miranda turned around and walked quickly into her office, and although Andy was sorry that she had annoyed her boss, she smiled to herself.
Then one night, the house was quiet, and there was no Cassidy waiting when Andy opened the door.
Andy put the Book down, and then she waited, hoping for the music to start. It didn’t. Instead, Miranda called for her, asked her to come in and bring the Book.
Miranda was sitting in an armchair under a reading lamp, and the light made her glow softly, and she looked so comfortable sitting there that Andy couldn’t suppress a smile. She loved looking at the private, out of the office Miranda. She was so much less ‘Dragon Lady’ in her own home.
“I’m coming in late tomorrow”, she said without smiling back - but why should she - or greeting, “so I might as well tell you a few things while you’re here. First thing tomorrow morning, call an optician and make an appointment for Caroline before the weekend, tell Emily that I want that list from her at my desk immediately after lunch, and it’s extremely important that you call that place for final arrangements…”
Andy had learned to take mental notes of Miranda’s quick orders and then writing everything down without forgetting anything, but now she felt her concentration going out the window, as she spotted a shiny, black grand piano in the room.
“… And you can tell Nigel that I don’t want to hear another word about it, and make sure he understands it. That’s all.”
“Yes Miranda…” Andy felt her mouth getting dry as she wondered if she was on her way of making a big mistake.
“Um, Miranda, I was wondering - would you mind…”
“What? Was something of what I just said unclear?”
“No, not at all. It’s not that. I just wanted to ask you if… um, could you please play something?”
Miranda stared at her as if she couldn’t believe what she had just heard. She kept staring at Andy without saying anything, and Andy began speaking again, trying to keep her voice steady.
“I mean, you always play, I mean, almost always, and I like to listen, because it’s beautiful, and… and…”
“You’re listening to me”, Miranda said slowly, “when I play the piano at night? I was under the impression that you came in, put the book away, and then left. Immediately.”
“Yes Miranda”, Andy stuttered, blushing, “but I only stay a very short while, I only listen for a few minutes, and, um, I know that I probably shouldn’t do it, and I shouldn’t ask you…”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
Andy thought that Miranda hadn’t given her a colder stare since long before Paris, and she felt like crying. She tried desperately to fight back the hot tears that began to sting her eyes. She should have kept her mouth shut and waited until the next night.
“I don’t play to entertain other people, Andrea.”
“No, of course not! Miranda, I’m not asking you to entertain me, I’m only asking you to let me listen, to let me admire the beauty you create…”
Miranda slowly got up to her feet.
“You’re serious? Do you really want me to play for you?”
“Yes.” As Andy spoke, she wondered if she was making herself get fired. “I mean, not for me; obviously you play for yourself, but if I may stay…”
“Yes, well, be quiet, then, Andrea.”
Miranda walked past her and seated herself at the piano bench. She waited a few seconds before she added impatiently:
“Sit down - not there; on the couch… or by all means; you could sit on the floor if you prefer, just don’t stand there like you’re about to get shot, you’re making it impossible for me to play. Do you have any further requests? Or shall I perhaps just play whatever I feel like?”
“Yes”, Andy said faintly, “what you feel like. Please…”
And Miranda played.
Andy watched her in silence; the music filled the room with light like the sky is filled with bright stars. It was like magic, watching Miranda caressing the keys with her beautiful hands - for the first time, Andy noticed that her nails were shorter than what they used to be - but no less well-manicured - probably so she could play more easily - and she made no mistakes. She didn’t look at Andy. Her face was very stern, as if she hid herself behind a stone wall, but her features softened as she played; softened in a way they never did in public - but sometimes, Andy had managed to catch a glimpse of her face as she talked to the twins, and then she almost looked like that. Almost, but not quite. It was as if the music slowly illuminated her from within.
From where she was seated, Andy could get a good look of her hands and of her profile. She wished that she could see Miranda’s eyes properly, but Miranda didn’t look at her. Not even when she was done playing.
“That’s all”, she said when the music stopped; she didn’t look at Andy, not even as she got up from the couch.
But Andy knew better than to ask for anything more.
“Thank you Miranda”, she softly said, “good night.”
Cassidy was on her way of getting back up to her bedroom when Andy approached the door.
“Where you in there with her?!” the girl gasped when she saw Andy. “I thought you didn’t come tonight!”
“Hush!” Andy smiled. “Yes, I was allowed to sit on the couch.”
“Wow, cool…”
Cassidy didn’t say it, but Andy could hear the envy in her voice.
“Your mom is obviously warming up”, she whispered, “I’m sure she’ll play for you some day soon…”
“She used to”, Cassidy replied, “a long time ago. When Caroline and I were babies, she even composed her own lullabies for us… Well, goodnight, Andy, see you - maybe…”
When Andy was on her way home, she thought about Cassidy’s words. Could Miranda even compose music? Why not - nothing surprised Andy anymore, and in a way, if felt logical to believe that Miranda would want to put her own mark on everything, even the music she played.
The interesting question was: Why had she stopped doing it? Cassidy seemed to believe that it had something to do with Stephen. Whatever the reason was, Andy thought it sad that Miranda was hiding the music even from her own children - it was obvious that Cassidy loved to hear it, but she had to listen from the stairs when she was supposed to be in bed, as if she was eavesdropping on some dirty secret.
That was unfair, in Andy’s eyes; not only unfair to Cassidy, but to Miranda herself, and to her talent.
But Andy was afraid to push her luck. Already confessing that she liked to listen to Miranda had been close to a near-death experience, and she didn’t dare to ask any questions. But Andy’s evening ritual changed.
She stopped putting the Book on the little table; instead she took it directly to Miranda, who sometimes delivered a few work-related orders in her usual super speed, and then she played. This did not happen every night, but often enough for it to be called a habit. At first, it surprised Andy that Miranda no longer was upset or annoyed, but she adjusted quickly to the new routine and began to love it.
She had already learned to love the sound of Miranda playing when she was a hidden listener, but to be able to see her when she played was so much more. The beauty of Miranda’s hands as they flew over the keys, gently caressed them, playfully teasing them, was something Andy never could get enough of.
The beauty was ethereal, airy… But there was something almost disturbingly sensual about it, too. In Andy’s eyes, Miranda was so unattainable that she would have preferred to think of her crush as something almost entirely platonic, made up of awe and admiration. But pretending that that was all became more and more impossible. There were her hands, after all. The elegant shape of her body, the curve of her neck, the curve of her breasts, and the soft light from the lamp behind the piano lit up Miranda’s hair like a halo.
It was not only the music that Andy enjoyed. She also enjoyed looking at Miranda, and most of all her hands. She couldn’t deny it; she wished for those hands to play her body like they played the piano.
As she was sitting there, listening and watching, she felt like she was merging into the music; it was as if the air changed into another substance - sparkling, shining - time became an irrelevant unity; that room became the centre of the universe, and Miranda was that universe’s queen.
Cassidy, and often Caroline, too, still talked to Andy most nights when she was going home, when she left Miranda in that room, going through her Book.
“Does mom like to play when you’re here, Andy?”
“Is she happy when she’s playing? What does she look like?”
“Has she told you which her favorite songs are?”
“Andy, why don’t you ask her to play our old lullabies?”
Andy was not able to answer many of their questions. But after a while, she began to feel the need to talk to Miranda.
“Why do you only play so late at night?” she asked one night when Miranda had stopped playing.
Miranda looked surprised and dropped her hands to her lap. Andy imagined that if she were the piano keys, she would miss those hands.
“When else? I’m not a musician; I have other things to do during the days.”
“Of course”, Andy replied, “but I meant, why don’t you play earlier in the evenings, before the twins go to bed? I’m sure there must be some little time between dinner and their bedtime.”
Miranda shrugged her shoulders and said that she just hadn’t thought about it, and she doubted that the girls would be that interested.
“No, you’re wrong about that”, Andy said, and Miranda raised an eyebrow at the contradiction.
“They would love to be in here with us”, Andy said, and prayed for the twins to forgive her; she was trying to do them a favour. “I meet them in the stairs sometimes when I go home; sometimes they’re awake, and they like to come down and listen.”
“I had no idea”, Miranda said, and Andy could tell that she was shocked. “Why haven’t they told me?”
“Well”, Andy replied carefully, “I guess they are a little afraid that you wouldn’t want them to listen, and they don’t want to disturb you, because you’re only playing after they’re supposed to be in bed…”
“But”, Miranda searched for words in a way Andy had never seen her do before, “but I… I didn’t know that they cared.”
“They do. They remember your lullabies and they would like to hear them again.”
Miranda scrutinized Andy.
“You seem to know a lot about the thoughts of my children. I didn’t know you were so initiated.”
“That’s not so surprising”, Andy dared to say, “I see a lot of them because I’m your assistant. And as I said, I think they talk to me about this and not to you, because they think that if they do, you’ll stop playing.”
“Of dear”, Miranda sighed, and she looked so much like a troubled mother, so much like herself and the true Miranda, so open, that Andy dared to ask:
“Why did you stop playing the piano when you married Stephen?”
“Because I got a lot of other things on my mind, more important things. That’s… that’s not the whole reason, though.”
Miranda seemed to make a decision.
She turned around on the piano bench, away from the keys, facing Andy.
“Stephen’s greatest passion in life is classical music”, she said, “and I used to play for him sometimes, when we were newly married. But… he doesn’t share your taste in music, Andrea. In fact, he didn’t like the way I played at all. He made it clear to me that I should stick to what I know; music is not, according to him, one of those things.”
“And you believed him?”
Andy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Had Miranda let herself be told by her husband what she could or couldn’t do?
Miranda snorted.
“I don’t know if ‘believed’ is the right word. But sometimes, when you are in a long-term relationship with someone, you can begin to see things… differently… And music is something very serious.”
“Did Stephen play the piano?”
“He would have been a great pianist”, Miranda said. “He was a great pianist; he was considered a true prodigy and would have gone far, but then he hurt his hands in a car crash when he was sixteen years old. No one could tell just by looking at him, but he never regained his full dexterity - he could never become a concert pianist, and because of that, he never touched a piano again. He kept his love for music, though…”
“Maybe he did”, Andy didn’t bother to choose her words carefully, “but he also became jealous and bitter! Miranda, don’t you see that? You play wonderfully, and he wasn’t man enough to take that!”
“No, maybe not…”
“Definitely not!”
Andy’s heart was racing with rage. She almost wished that Miranda’s ex husband had been in the room so she could punch him hard in the face.
“You’re the queen of the fashion world”, she said, “you’re extremely successful, everybody knows that - but to think that you also excel at this, the very thing he was supposed to do - he just couldn’t take that. What a sad, pathetic little - “
“That’s enough, Andrea.” Miranda’s tone of voice cut her off. “I know all that. I knew it even before he left me, and I definitely know it now. He’s out of my life. The piano is not.”
Andy, before she could stop herself, blurted out:
“I’m glad it’s not the other way around!”
She blushed. A few more words, and Miranda would soon know just how glad she was.
“I mean”, she added, “you believe me when I say that I think you’re very talented, don’t you? You didn’t agree to play for me just because you think that I’m ignorant, that I don’t ‘understand’ music the way he does? I really hope that you know - “
“Andrea.” This time, Miranda’s interruption was unusually soft. “Yes, I know. I play for you because you don’t look at me the way he did. I play for you because your eyes are honest when you look at me like you’re on my side.”
Andy gasped.
“Oh, I am, Miranda…”
“I know. Good night… That’s all…”
Miranda turned around, and it took a few moments for Andy to regain control of her movements. What exactly did Miranda mean when she said that she ‘knew’? And her tone of voice? And her way of turning her back on Andy like that, as if she didn’t want Andy to see…
It began to sink in to her brain that she should probably leave, and she did, walking on clouds; small and shaky, but clouds nonetheless. Miranda had confided in her. That must mean something at least.
The next time she came - excited as usual, and nervous as usual, because she could never know beforehand if Miranda was going to play or not - both of the twins, dressed in their pyjamas, met Andy already at the door.
“Oh, Andy!” Cassidy almost threw herself at her and Caroline joined the bear hug. “Guess what; mom let us sit with her when she played. She played everything we asked her for and she played all the old songs and even some we didn’t remember! And she hugged us and said that she loves us very much.”
“Of course she does.” Andy looked down on their small heads and caressed them. “Of course she does, darlings. “I’m so glad to hear that you had a good time.”
“Yeah, and now it’s your turn…”
Andy smiled, and then she almost jumped out of her skin when Cassidy added casually:
“She’ll maybe hug you and tell you that she loves you, too.”
“Cassidy! I’m only your mom’s assistant, what makes you say something like that?”
“But”, the girl said, “she plays for you. She never played for Stephen, and honestly, I could never really believe that she ever was in love with him. Not the way you’re supposed to be in love with someone.”
Andy smiled.
“What do you know about what love’s ‘supposed’ to be like?”
“I know that it’s supposed to make you happy and smiling, and it’s supposed to make your eyes warm and kind. Just like when mom looked at us today. I think it would be good for mom to look at another grownup that way.”
“You’re sweet, Cassidy.” She kissed the girl’s forehead. “But I doubt that your mom feels that way about me. But don’t you worry; as long as your mom has you and your sister, she’ll be a very happy woman.”
She hugged the girls one more time and watched as they ran upstairs. She smiled to herself as she went in to see Miranda.
“What took you so long today, Andrea?”
All the small pastel coloured butterflies that seemed to have taken their permanent residency in Andy’s stomach during the past months began to flutter restlessly at the sound of the older woman’s voice.
What was that in her voice? It was not quite impatience, not a scolding, was it… eagerness?
“I was just talking to the twins - don’t worry, they’re in bed now… upstairs, at least.”
“You seem to be right about them”, Miranda said, “I played for them today, and I think they liked it.”
“I know, they told me almost before I had closed the front door… You made them very happy.”
Miranda smiled a little, and Andy knew that Cassidy was right. There was love in Miranda’s smile and in her eyes. And no one at Runway, or anyone else out in the big world, ever got to see that smile that made her eyes so warm. It belonged at home, with the family, and Andy felt privileged. At the same time, she felt something cold wrap itself around her heart - the dark backside of everything beautiful she suddenly was allowed to be a part of. She was, after all, not family.
But she was bolder now in Miranda’s presence. Not as bold and stupid as she had been the first day at work when she thought that she could just open her mouth and say anything, but she was not so intimidated as the first time she had asked Miranda to play.
“Miranda, if you don’t mind, I would love to hear one of those songs the girls told me that you sang today. One of the songs you composed when they were younger.”
“Do you want me to sing?”
Or, Andy thought, maybe it would have been better not to ask…
“Um, yes… I mean, I have heard you sing before… when I was only listening out there…”
“When you were eavesdropping.”
“No, no, I was not eavesdropping, I - “
“That wasn’t a question. You were, but we don’t have to talk about that again. I don’t like to sing in public.”
Miranda looked distant, reserved.
“And”, Andy said, ready to argue despite Miranda’s closed expression, “you don’t play in public. But I am not ‘public’.”
You know that I’m not, she thought, suddenly ready to defend her ‘rights’, I don’t know what I am, but don’t you dare to say that I’m just anyone, not after all this time!
“I don’t know why you are staring at me like that, Andrea”, Miranda sniffed, “but I see that I will have to sing, because my daughters seem to tell you everything these days, or else I’ll never get a moment’s peace around here.”
Miranda’s eyes sparkled when she walked over to the piano, and Andy realized that Miranda had never intended to refuse to sing.
She just wanted to see my reaction, she thought, because she knows!
Miranda, at the piano, began to flip through some sheets of music, and Andy could see that some of them were handwritten. Her own compositions.
Oh my god, she sighed inwardly, is there anything this woman cannot do? If she gets any more amazing, I’ll drop dead!
Miranda had chosen one of the sheets, she began to play, and after some time, she began to sing, and Andy thought that it was only because Miranda kept looking at her that she did not drop dead as Miranda was singing:
The stars are singing to you, my dear,
A song of freedom that knows no fear
The wind is the chorus, the moon above
Is writing the words about love.
Freedom is running with winds that are dreaming,
Chasing the leaves like a merry-go-round,
Silvery like the moon’s soft, blue beaming,
Freedom is treasures that no one found.
Where are they hiding right now, my baby?
They will soon touch your heart!
Although the sky seems so gray and shady,
The stars know a secret so smart:
Even if clouds cover all the sky,
The stars will still be singing.
So listen, baby, I’ll tell you why
The stars are like bells, always ringing:
The stars are up there, darling, shining like fire
Only for you with their wonderful heat!
They’re shining for you and will never be tired
Of singing to you, yes to you, my sweet!
The last chord resounded, and Miranda looked away.
“So… what do you think?”
“Oh, that’s… that’s a beautiful lullaby…”
Andy’s voice was nothing more than a weak whisper. She never wanted to go back to the office, she never wanted to go home to her own apartment, she wanted to stay there with Miranda forever.
“I’m glad to hear that”, Miranda said.
“Yes”, Andy said with a little more force, “it’s beautiful, and you are amazing.”
Her heart began to race and beat her up hard from within.
“Really? Is that because I can play the piano and sing?”
“No, Miranda… Your playing and singing only lets me see more of you; I fell for you long before I knew… I fell for you… I have fallen for you…”
The words fell to the floor as if they were unimportant; Andy didn’t know how to go on as Miranda left the grand piano and, slowly, walked up to Andy on the couch.
“I have fallen for you, too, Andrea… I am falling for you…”
As if the words dragged her up to her feet, Andy noticed that she was suddenly standing up, and almost without knowing what she did, because she felt so dizzy, did she put her arms around the older woman. Miranda looked at her, silently, and Andy let her head sink until their lips met.
The kiss was long, sweet, warm. When it had to end, Andy said:
“Sometimes when you play… it looks like you’re making love to the piano…”
Miranda smiled,
“That’s what good music is about.”
“I want you”, Andy whispered into Miranda’s ear, “to make love to me that way…”
“If I could play you like an instrument”, Miranda said, “then I would say that you’re the most beautiful instrument I’ve ever laid my hands on.”
Miranda kissed her again, before she added:
“And then I’ll write you a love song.”
The End
.
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Rating/Genre: PG/romance with a touch of fluff, and just a little bit of angst sprinkled on top for flavour
Characters/Pairing: Andy Sachs, Miranda and Cassidy Priestly; Andy/Miranda
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the song lyrics (translated from Swedish).
Summary: One night when Andy delivers the book, something unexpected happens - and she finds herself getting a new favourite pastime, as well as bonding with the twins…
Word count: 5 816
Spoilers/Warnings: No
Notes: Andy didn’t leave in Paris. Because sometimes, it’s more fun to write it that way. And Nate seems to never have existed in this fic. Just to make it a little easier.
One night when Andy delivered the book, something unexpected happened. It wasn’t a prank by the twins, it was just a sound she heard when she had put the book down on its table and was on her way out again - the sound of music.
She had never heard music in the Priestly townhouse before, so she paused her step for a moment. It was the sound of a piano playing.
Then she shrugged her shoulders, and was about to leave, when she froze.
“Don’t know why there’s no sun up in the sky, stormy weather, since my man and I ain’t together…”
Was she mistaken, or was that Miranda singing?
No, it couldn’t be. Miranda didn’t sing… On the other hand, who had told her that she didn’t? Who knew what Miranda did or didn’t do in her own home, who knew anything about her secret talents, or any of her secrets…
It was Miranda’s voice, low but warm and strong, and if she was singing, she was perhaps also playing the piano; yes, when Andy thought about it, it didn’t sound like the music from a CD. Not that it wasn’t good enough, because it was, but because it sounded… more real, closer…
Andy knew that she probably shouldn’t be standing there, eavesdropping, because Miranda would probably not like it if she knew, but the sound of Miranda’s voice - singing! - wasn’t possible to resist. It was the same familiar voice, but different; it sent a soft shiver down Andy’s spine, and she just couldn’t bring herself to leave.
“… Stormy, stormy… stormy weather…
The last chord resounded, and Andy came to her senses - well, much enough to leave anyway, and she was buried in deep thoughts all the way home. She felt almost… upset. But why did the idea of Miranda singing and playing the piano shake her so? She didn’t know; maybe it was the surprise.
Andy smiled. It shouldn’t surprise her for one second that Miranda was a musician in private.
She looked furtively at Miranda the next day, as if she had expected her boss to be different, but of course she wasn’t. Andy couldn’t see the music in her. But just knowing that it existed somewhere under the surface made her smile a little.
She could hardly wait that night; what took the guys so long? She just wanted to get that stupid book so she could take it to the townhouse as soon as possible. Even as she was thinking this she realized, of course, that the chance of hearing Miranda sing Stormy Weather again - or to hear her sing anything at all - was extremely small. It had never happened before, and now she expected it to happen twice in a row?
Andy knew that she couldn’t hope for it to happen.
But even knowing this, she tiptoed her way into the house, placed the clothes in their right place, pricking up her ears, and yes; Miranda began to play right that moment. Andy placed the Book silently at the table beside her, and she listened.
She blinked, slowly. She recognized this melody, too - it was Autumn Leaves.
First Stormy Weather, and then Autumn Leaves - two songs about a lost love. Is it just a coincidence, she thought, or does Miranda really miss Stephen?
That was not the impression she had got in Paris; sure, Miranda had been shaken and sad, and hurt, but it had not seemed to have much to do with heartache. And now that the tabloids were over it, Miranda seemed quite content. Not that it was easy to tell, obviously, when it came to Miranda.
Andy thought that she was probably reading too much into a song, and it was none of her business anyway - at least that was what she tried to tell herself. The fact that Miranda now was single and that she acted a bit more kindly since Paris didn’t mean that Andy should get her hopes up.
No, that would be ridiculous, and of course she didn’t hope that Miranda was going to realize how much she meant to her young assistant, and that was why Andy didn’t dare to move any closer to the direction of the music, and that was why she didn’t linger. She only allowed herself to stay until the song was over.
On her way home, she remembered the beautiful sounds and wrapped the memory around her like a warm blanket.
Then the next night, she was disappointed. The house was quiet, and although she waited a little bit too long, she heard no music and had to leave without it.
Maybe Miranda hadn’t been at home? Because the next night, there was music again, and Andy smiled as she walked in, careful not to make a sound, and she stayed at her usual spot, right beside the Book at the little table, she exhaled contently, and listened.
She didn’t know the piece; there was no singing, only the piano, and Miranda played with a certain softness behind the precise, forceful strikes of the keys; to Andy, Miranda’s way of playing sounded just like her.
“Hi Andy!” whispered a voice, and she almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of it.
There, seated on the stairs, was Cassidy - Andy couldn’t believe that she hadn’t seen her when she came in.
“What are you doing up at this hour?” she whispered back, hoping that the strict tone of her voice would lead to a mutual understanding about not telling the girl’s mother anything at all.
“I just wanted to hear mom play”, Cassidy explained, “and she only plays late at night, when she has done everything else. I like to listen, so I try to stay awake…”
“Why doesn’t she play before you go to bed? I didn’t even know that she plays at all…”
“I’m not sure”, Cassidy said, “but she used to play more when I was little. And she started again after Stephen left, but only late at night… I’m glad he’s gone.”
Andy didn’t realize that she had nodded with perhaps a little too much conviction.
“Are you glad he’s gone, too?”
“Oh, um… I just meant that I’m glad to be able to hear your mom play the piano…”
“Hush, then!”
Cassidy didn’t need to tell her twice. At first, Andy wasn’t completely comfortable with having company at ‘her’ late night concert, but after all, it was the girl’s home, and she enjoyed the music just as much as Andy did.
When the piece was over, Andy turned around. Somehow it felt wrong to stay for too long.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah… I think it’s best… What was that, by the way; do you know?”
“Sure, Rachmaninov. One of mom’s favourites.”
Andy smiled at the girl.
“Okay, thanks… Good night, Cassidy.”
“Good night”, the twin whispered, “see you, Andy.”
Cassidy did see Andy the next night; again, the Book was ready to be delivered relatively early, and when Andy came in, closing the door silently behind her, Cassidy came down the stairs with equally silent steps, and she smiled, as the last chords of a melody resounded.
Was Miranda going to keep on playing? Yes, she was. She wasn’t singing anything, but the music she played was strong and soft and beautiful - if music had a colour, Andy thought, this piece would have the silvery colour of Miranda’s hair.
She looked at Cassidy, who murmured:
“Chopin… it’s called ‘the Raindrop Prelude’…”
“Oh…” Andy sighed, and then none of them spoke, until the music stopped, and Andy once again suppressed the desire to stay, and left.
“See you, Andy”, the small figure on the tenth step from the bottom of the stairs murmured as Andy opened the door.
Andy hadn’t expected it - before it happened, she couldn’t even have imagined it - but a sort of ritual developed. Miranda didn’t play every night, and sometimes the Book was handed to Andy very late, but if Miranda was playing and if Cassidy had managed to stay awake until then, she came down the stairs a few seconds after the door closed behind Andy, and the two of them listened to the music for a short while. It happened that Caroline joined them, but mostly, it was only Cassidy and Andy, and Andy ended with a soft ‘Good night, Cassidy’, and the girl replied: ‘See you Andy.’
Sometimes, Miranda sang.
Andy didn’t look at the child if Miranda sang, and the child didn’t speak, as if she understood.
She wanted to stay - for each time, it became more and more difficult to leave the house without seeing Miranda at the piano, but she didn’t dare to go any closer, and Cassidy didn’t suggest it either.
She never told anyone about her suddenly so music-filled evenings. She thought that Miranda must realize that anyone who entered the house could hear her play, but Andy never dared to tell her that she listened, although she longed to tell the other woman how much she admired her.
Andy knew that she wasn’t getting paid to admire Miranda; the editor got more than enough admiration from people who she just dismissed with an impatient wave of her hand, and the only thing she needed from Andy was efficiency, dedication, punctuality and Starbucks coffee.
But Andy did admire her anyway. There had been that time, in Paris, when she had tried to walk away, but she didn’t, and that was when she realized that she loved Miranda Priestly.
She didn’t expect this love to ever lead to anything, and she told herself that she probably had to leave Runway sooner or later, or else she would be unhappily in love with an unattainable woman for the rest of her life. She just wasn’t ready to take that step yet.
And now when she had heard Miranda play the piano, she thought that she was never going to be able to leave. Hearing Miranda play now was as essential to Andy as drinking water. Even if she was never going to see Miranda play, just listening to her was divine.
She wondered if no one else knew. She had no idea, but she liked to imagine that she - and the twins, and Miranda’s ex husbands - had the privilege of knowing a wonderful secret.
But she tried no to stare too dreamily at Miranda at the office.
“Andrea! What is the matter - do I have something on my face, and if so, why don’t you tell me instead of just staring at me like that?”
“No, Miranda!” Andy blushed and stuttered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… um, I was just…”
Miranda gave her a ice-blue glare.
“Have you written that e-mail yet?”
“No, I’m going to do it, but I was waiting for a reply from the…”
“The details of your incompetence don’t interest me”, Miranda snapped, “get back to work - or better yet; get back to your old self. I have no idea what’s wrong with you these days - that’s not a question! - but I liked you better when you worked more and stared less.”
As if thinking that she had said too much, Miranda turned around and walked quickly into her office, and although Andy was sorry that she had annoyed her boss, she smiled to herself.
Then one night, the house was quiet, and there was no Cassidy waiting when Andy opened the door.
Andy put the Book down, and then she waited, hoping for the music to start. It didn’t. Instead, Miranda called for her, asked her to come in and bring the Book.
Miranda was sitting in an armchair under a reading lamp, and the light made her glow softly, and she looked so comfortable sitting there that Andy couldn’t suppress a smile. She loved looking at the private, out of the office Miranda. She was so much less ‘Dragon Lady’ in her own home.
“I’m coming in late tomorrow”, she said without smiling back - but why should she - or greeting, “so I might as well tell you a few things while you’re here. First thing tomorrow morning, call an optician and make an appointment for Caroline before the weekend, tell Emily that I want that list from her at my desk immediately after lunch, and it’s extremely important that you call that place for final arrangements…”
Andy had learned to take mental notes of Miranda’s quick orders and then writing everything down without forgetting anything, but now she felt her concentration going out the window, as she spotted a shiny, black grand piano in the room.
“… And you can tell Nigel that I don’t want to hear another word about it, and make sure he understands it. That’s all.”
“Yes Miranda…” Andy felt her mouth getting dry as she wondered if she was on her way of making a big mistake.
“Um, Miranda, I was wondering - would you mind…”
“What? Was something of what I just said unclear?”
“No, not at all. It’s not that. I just wanted to ask you if… um, could you please play something?”
Miranda stared at her as if she couldn’t believe what she had just heard. She kept staring at Andy without saying anything, and Andy began speaking again, trying to keep her voice steady.
“I mean, you always play, I mean, almost always, and I like to listen, because it’s beautiful, and… and…”
“You’re listening to me”, Miranda said slowly, “when I play the piano at night? I was under the impression that you came in, put the book away, and then left. Immediately.”
“Yes Miranda”, Andy stuttered, blushing, “but I only stay a very short while, I only listen for a few minutes, and, um, I know that I probably shouldn’t do it, and I shouldn’t ask you…”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
Andy thought that Miranda hadn’t given her a colder stare since long before Paris, and she felt like crying. She tried desperately to fight back the hot tears that began to sting her eyes. She should have kept her mouth shut and waited until the next night.
“I don’t play to entertain other people, Andrea.”
“No, of course not! Miranda, I’m not asking you to entertain me, I’m only asking you to let me listen, to let me admire the beauty you create…”
Miranda slowly got up to her feet.
“You’re serious? Do you really want me to play for you?”
“Yes.” As Andy spoke, she wondered if she was making herself get fired. “I mean, not for me; obviously you play for yourself, but if I may stay…”
“Yes, well, be quiet, then, Andrea.”
Miranda walked past her and seated herself at the piano bench. She waited a few seconds before she added impatiently:
“Sit down - not there; on the couch… or by all means; you could sit on the floor if you prefer, just don’t stand there like you’re about to get shot, you’re making it impossible for me to play. Do you have any further requests? Or shall I perhaps just play whatever I feel like?”
“Yes”, Andy said faintly, “what you feel like. Please…”
And Miranda played.
Andy watched her in silence; the music filled the room with light like the sky is filled with bright stars. It was like magic, watching Miranda caressing the keys with her beautiful hands - for the first time, Andy noticed that her nails were shorter than what they used to be - but no less well-manicured - probably so she could play more easily - and she made no mistakes. She didn’t look at Andy. Her face was very stern, as if she hid herself behind a stone wall, but her features softened as she played; softened in a way they never did in public - but sometimes, Andy had managed to catch a glimpse of her face as she talked to the twins, and then she almost looked like that. Almost, but not quite. It was as if the music slowly illuminated her from within.
From where she was seated, Andy could get a good look of her hands and of her profile. She wished that she could see Miranda’s eyes properly, but Miranda didn’t look at her. Not even when she was done playing.
“That’s all”, she said when the music stopped; she didn’t look at Andy, not even as she got up from the couch.
But Andy knew better than to ask for anything more.
“Thank you Miranda”, she softly said, “good night.”
Cassidy was on her way of getting back up to her bedroom when Andy approached the door.
“Where you in there with her?!” the girl gasped when she saw Andy. “I thought you didn’t come tonight!”
“Hush!” Andy smiled. “Yes, I was allowed to sit on the couch.”
“Wow, cool…”
Cassidy didn’t say it, but Andy could hear the envy in her voice.
“Your mom is obviously warming up”, she whispered, “I’m sure she’ll play for you some day soon…”
“She used to”, Cassidy replied, “a long time ago. When Caroline and I were babies, she even composed her own lullabies for us… Well, goodnight, Andy, see you - maybe…”
When Andy was on her way home, she thought about Cassidy’s words. Could Miranda even compose music? Why not - nothing surprised Andy anymore, and in a way, if felt logical to believe that Miranda would want to put her own mark on everything, even the music she played.
The interesting question was: Why had she stopped doing it? Cassidy seemed to believe that it had something to do with Stephen. Whatever the reason was, Andy thought it sad that Miranda was hiding the music even from her own children - it was obvious that Cassidy loved to hear it, but she had to listen from the stairs when she was supposed to be in bed, as if she was eavesdropping on some dirty secret.
That was unfair, in Andy’s eyes; not only unfair to Cassidy, but to Miranda herself, and to her talent.
But Andy was afraid to push her luck. Already confessing that she liked to listen to Miranda had been close to a near-death experience, and she didn’t dare to ask any questions. But Andy’s evening ritual changed.
She stopped putting the Book on the little table; instead she took it directly to Miranda, who sometimes delivered a few work-related orders in her usual super speed, and then she played. This did not happen every night, but often enough for it to be called a habit. At first, it surprised Andy that Miranda no longer was upset or annoyed, but she adjusted quickly to the new routine and began to love it.
She had already learned to love the sound of Miranda playing when she was a hidden listener, but to be able to see her when she played was so much more. The beauty of Miranda’s hands as they flew over the keys, gently caressed them, playfully teasing them, was something Andy never could get enough of.
The beauty was ethereal, airy… But there was something almost disturbingly sensual about it, too. In Andy’s eyes, Miranda was so unattainable that she would have preferred to think of her crush as something almost entirely platonic, made up of awe and admiration. But pretending that that was all became more and more impossible. There were her hands, after all. The elegant shape of her body, the curve of her neck, the curve of her breasts, and the soft light from the lamp behind the piano lit up Miranda’s hair like a halo.
It was not only the music that Andy enjoyed. She also enjoyed looking at Miranda, and most of all her hands. She couldn’t deny it; she wished for those hands to play her body like they played the piano.
As she was sitting there, listening and watching, she felt like she was merging into the music; it was as if the air changed into another substance - sparkling, shining - time became an irrelevant unity; that room became the centre of the universe, and Miranda was that universe’s queen.
Cassidy, and often Caroline, too, still talked to Andy most nights when she was going home, when she left Miranda in that room, going through her Book.
“Does mom like to play when you’re here, Andy?”
“Is she happy when she’s playing? What does she look like?”
“Has she told you which her favorite songs are?”
“Andy, why don’t you ask her to play our old lullabies?”
Andy was not able to answer many of their questions. But after a while, she began to feel the need to talk to Miranda.
“Why do you only play so late at night?” she asked one night when Miranda had stopped playing.
Miranda looked surprised and dropped her hands to her lap. Andy imagined that if she were the piano keys, she would miss those hands.
“When else? I’m not a musician; I have other things to do during the days.”
“Of course”, Andy replied, “but I meant, why don’t you play earlier in the evenings, before the twins go to bed? I’m sure there must be some little time between dinner and their bedtime.”
Miranda shrugged her shoulders and said that she just hadn’t thought about it, and she doubted that the girls would be that interested.
“No, you’re wrong about that”, Andy said, and Miranda raised an eyebrow at the contradiction.
“They would love to be in here with us”, Andy said, and prayed for the twins to forgive her; she was trying to do them a favour. “I meet them in the stairs sometimes when I go home; sometimes they’re awake, and they like to come down and listen.”
“I had no idea”, Miranda said, and Andy could tell that she was shocked. “Why haven’t they told me?”
“Well”, Andy replied carefully, “I guess they are a little afraid that you wouldn’t want them to listen, and they don’t want to disturb you, because you’re only playing after they’re supposed to be in bed…”
“But”, Miranda searched for words in a way Andy had never seen her do before, “but I… I didn’t know that they cared.”
“They do. They remember your lullabies and they would like to hear them again.”
Miranda scrutinized Andy.
“You seem to know a lot about the thoughts of my children. I didn’t know you were so initiated.”
“That’s not so surprising”, Andy dared to say, “I see a lot of them because I’m your assistant. And as I said, I think they talk to me about this and not to you, because they think that if they do, you’ll stop playing.”
“Of dear”, Miranda sighed, and she looked so much like a troubled mother, so much like herself and the true Miranda, so open, that Andy dared to ask:
“Why did you stop playing the piano when you married Stephen?”
“Because I got a lot of other things on my mind, more important things. That’s… that’s not the whole reason, though.”
Miranda seemed to make a decision.
She turned around on the piano bench, away from the keys, facing Andy.
“Stephen’s greatest passion in life is classical music”, she said, “and I used to play for him sometimes, when we were newly married. But… he doesn’t share your taste in music, Andrea. In fact, he didn’t like the way I played at all. He made it clear to me that I should stick to what I know; music is not, according to him, one of those things.”
“And you believed him?”
Andy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Had Miranda let herself be told by her husband what she could or couldn’t do?
Miranda snorted.
“I don’t know if ‘believed’ is the right word. But sometimes, when you are in a long-term relationship with someone, you can begin to see things… differently… And music is something very serious.”
“Did Stephen play the piano?”
“He would have been a great pianist”, Miranda said. “He was a great pianist; he was considered a true prodigy and would have gone far, but then he hurt his hands in a car crash when he was sixteen years old. No one could tell just by looking at him, but he never regained his full dexterity - he could never become a concert pianist, and because of that, he never touched a piano again. He kept his love for music, though…”
“Maybe he did”, Andy didn’t bother to choose her words carefully, “but he also became jealous and bitter! Miranda, don’t you see that? You play wonderfully, and he wasn’t man enough to take that!”
“No, maybe not…”
“Definitely not!”
Andy’s heart was racing with rage. She almost wished that Miranda’s ex husband had been in the room so she could punch him hard in the face.
“You’re the queen of the fashion world”, she said, “you’re extremely successful, everybody knows that - but to think that you also excel at this, the very thing he was supposed to do - he just couldn’t take that. What a sad, pathetic little - “
“That’s enough, Andrea.” Miranda’s tone of voice cut her off. “I know all that. I knew it even before he left me, and I definitely know it now. He’s out of my life. The piano is not.”
Andy, before she could stop herself, blurted out:
“I’m glad it’s not the other way around!”
She blushed. A few more words, and Miranda would soon know just how glad she was.
“I mean”, she added, “you believe me when I say that I think you’re very talented, don’t you? You didn’t agree to play for me just because you think that I’m ignorant, that I don’t ‘understand’ music the way he does? I really hope that you know - “
“Andrea.” This time, Miranda’s interruption was unusually soft. “Yes, I know. I play for you because you don’t look at me the way he did. I play for you because your eyes are honest when you look at me like you’re on my side.”
Andy gasped.
“Oh, I am, Miranda…”
“I know. Good night… That’s all…”
Miranda turned around, and it took a few moments for Andy to regain control of her movements. What exactly did Miranda mean when she said that she ‘knew’? And her tone of voice? And her way of turning her back on Andy like that, as if she didn’t want Andy to see…
It began to sink in to her brain that she should probably leave, and she did, walking on clouds; small and shaky, but clouds nonetheless. Miranda had confided in her. That must mean something at least.
The next time she came - excited as usual, and nervous as usual, because she could never know beforehand if Miranda was going to play or not - both of the twins, dressed in their pyjamas, met Andy already at the door.
“Oh, Andy!” Cassidy almost threw herself at her and Caroline joined the bear hug. “Guess what; mom let us sit with her when she played. She played everything we asked her for and she played all the old songs and even some we didn’t remember! And she hugged us and said that she loves us very much.”
“Of course she does.” Andy looked down on their small heads and caressed them. “Of course she does, darlings. “I’m so glad to hear that you had a good time.”
“Yeah, and now it’s your turn…”
Andy smiled, and then she almost jumped out of her skin when Cassidy added casually:
“She’ll maybe hug you and tell you that she loves you, too.”
“Cassidy! I’m only your mom’s assistant, what makes you say something like that?”
“But”, the girl said, “she plays for you. She never played for Stephen, and honestly, I could never really believe that she ever was in love with him. Not the way you’re supposed to be in love with someone.”
Andy smiled.
“What do you know about what love’s ‘supposed’ to be like?”
“I know that it’s supposed to make you happy and smiling, and it’s supposed to make your eyes warm and kind. Just like when mom looked at us today. I think it would be good for mom to look at another grownup that way.”
“You’re sweet, Cassidy.” She kissed the girl’s forehead. “But I doubt that your mom feels that way about me. But don’t you worry; as long as your mom has you and your sister, she’ll be a very happy woman.”
She hugged the girls one more time and watched as they ran upstairs. She smiled to herself as she went in to see Miranda.
“What took you so long today, Andrea?”
All the small pastel coloured butterflies that seemed to have taken their permanent residency in Andy’s stomach during the past months began to flutter restlessly at the sound of the older woman’s voice.
What was that in her voice? It was not quite impatience, not a scolding, was it… eagerness?
“I was just talking to the twins - don’t worry, they’re in bed now… upstairs, at least.”
“You seem to be right about them”, Miranda said, “I played for them today, and I think they liked it.”
“I know, they told me almost before I had closed the front door… You made them very happy.”
Miranda smiled a little, and Andy knew that Cassidy was right. There was love in Miranda’s smile and in her eyes. And no one at Runway, or anyone else out in the big world, ever got to see that smile that made her eyes so warm. It belonged at home, with the family, and Andy felt privileged. At the same time, she felt something cold wrap itself around her heart - the dark backside of everything beautiful she suddenly was allowed to be a part of. She was, after all, not family.
But she was bolder now in Miranda’s presence. Not as bold and stupid as she had been the first day at work when she thought that she could just open her mouth and say anything, but she was not so intimidated as the first time she had asked Miranda to play.
“Miranda, if you don’t mind, I would love to hear one of those songs the girls told me that you sang today. One of the songs you composed when they were younger.”
“Do you want me to sing?”
Or, Andy thought, maybe it would have been better not to ask…
“Um, yes… I mean, I have heard you sing before… when I was only listening out there…”
“When you were eavesdropping.”
“No, no, I was not eavesdropping, I - “
“That wasn’t a question. You were, but we don’t have to talk about that again. I don’t like to sing in public.”
Miranda looked distant, reserved.
“And”, Andy said, ready to argue despite Miranda’s closed expression, “you don’t play in public. But I am not ‘public’.”
You know that I’m not, she thought, suddenly ready to defend her ‘rights’, I don’t know what I am, but don’t you dare to say that I’m just anyone, not after all this time!
“I don’t know why you are staring at me like that, Andrea”, Miranda sniffed, “but I see that I will have to sing, because my daughters seem to tell you everything these days, or else I’ll never get a moment’s peace around here.”
Miranda’s eyes sparkled when she walked over to the piano, and Andy realized that Miranda had never intended to refuse to sing.
She just wanted to see my reaction, she thought, because she knows!
Miranda, at the piano, began to flip through some sheets of music, and Andy could see that some of them were handwritten. Her own compositions.
Oh my god, she sighed inwardly, is there anything this woman cannot do? If she gets any more amazing, I’ll drop dead!
Miranda had chosen one of the sheets, she began to play, and after some time, she began to sing, and Andy thought that it was only because Miranda kept looking at her that she did not drop dead as Miranda was singing:
The stars are singing to you, my dear,
A song of freedom that knows no fear
The wind is the chorus, the moon above
Is writing the words about love.
Freedom is running with winds that are dreaming,
Chasing the leaves like a merry-go-round,
Silvery like the moon’s soft, blue beaming,
Freedom is treasures that no one found.
Where are they hiding right now, my baby?
They will soon touch your heart!
Although the sky seems so gray and shady,
The stars know a secret so smart:
Even if clouds cover all the sky,
The stars will still be singing.
So listen, baby, I’ll tell you why
The stars are like bells, always ringing:
The stars are up there, darling, shining like fire
Only for you with their wonderful heat!
They’re shining for you and will never be tired
Of singing to you, yes to you, my sweet!
The last chord resounded, and Miranda looked away.
“So… what do you think?”
“Oh, that’s… that’s a beautiful lullaby…”
Andy’s voice was nothing more than a weak whisper. She never wanted to go back to the office, she never wanted to go home to her own apartment, she wanted to stay there with Miranda forever.
“I’m glad to hear that”, Miranda said.
“Yes”, Andy said with a little more force, “it’s beautiful, and you are amazing.”
Her heart began to race and beat her up hard from within.
“Really? Is that because I can play the piano and sing?”
“No, Miranda… Your playing and singing only lets me see more of you; I fell for you long before I knew… I fell for you… I have fallen for you…”
The words fell to the floor as if they were unimportant; Andy didn’t know how to go on as Miranda left the grand piano and, slowly, walked up to Andy on the couch.
“I have fallen for you, too, Andrea… I am falling for you…”
As if the words dragged her up to her feet, Andy noticed that she was suddenly standing up, and almost without knowing what she did, because she felt so dizzy, did she put her arms around the older woman. Miranda looked at her, silently, and Andy let her head sink until their lips met.
The kiss was long, sweet, warm. When it had to end, Andy said:
“Sometimes when you play… it looks like you’re making love to the piano…”
Miranda smiled,
“That’s what good music is about.”
“I want you”, Andy whispered into Miranda’s ear, “to make love to me that way…”
“If I could play you like an instrument”, Miranda said, “then I would say that you’re the most beautiful instrument I’ve ever laid my hands on.”
Miranda kissed her again, before she added:
“And then I’ll write you a love song.”
The End
.