Black Water Hattie (3 of I'm not even going to hazard a guess.)
Title: Black Water Hattie (Chapter 3)
Author: duwinter
Fandom: DWP
Pairing: Eventually Miranda/Andy
Rating: PG-13
Dedication: This story is dedicated to two members of our community, the Raven a.k.a. unfortunateggs who has repeatedly asked for a sequel to my story No Swimmin. (Sorry, It started out to be, but this ain't it.) and Mxrolkr, whose wonderful story Cerulean Blue (even though it's not finished, if you haven't read it go do so now) midwifed the concept of this story. The other thing responsible for this story is the random occurrence of three songs that I happened hear back-to-back on my iPod one morning while walking my two dogs in the local dog park. The Charlie Danial's Band's The Legend of Wooly Swamp Jim Stafford's The Last Chant and Swamp Witch
Setting: AU. This takes place around the time of the film, but as AU's go this one is a bit out there.
Summery: A film Miranda and an AU Andy.
Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada and it's characters do not belong to me. No profit being made here. I'm just playing with the characters for a short while and I promise to put them away neatly when I'm through.
Comment: Comments feed the muse and the Muse is always hungry. Remember, a fat muse is a happy and productive muse. Comments and constructive criticism eagerly encouraged.
Credit where credit is due: All hail the mighty and all knowing Jazwriter, beta Goddess extoridinare. Offer sacrifice, bow and pay proper homage.
Previous Installments Here:
Black Water Hattie, Chapter 1
Black Water Hattie, Chapter 2
It was a difficult trek from the town to the proposed location for the photo shoot. It proved, however, to be more than worth the effort and discomfort. The Orchid Pool proved to be more beautiful than the pale representation provided by the Polaroid photograph that had brought everyone here.
The photographer, Alice Hawkins, who had photographed some of the most beautiful locations in the world, sat down and openly wept upon first seeing the beauty laid out before her. Miranda almost felt as if she couldn't breathe surrounded by the resplendent scenery. Nigel was ecstatic. As Runway's Art Director, he knew in his bones that this photo shoot would be something the industry would be talking about for the next ten years. Both he and Miranda had agreed that they had no intention of letting anyone else know where this place was. Ever.
It was a matter of half an hour for part of the photography crew and some of Miranda's staff to raise the pavilion tents on the high ground of a flat area overlooking the pool. The catered food that had been brought in with the pavilions was laid out on tables in one tent. Photography equipment was prepared in another. The models retreated into the third for make-up and wardrobe. Miranda stood on the edge of the raised area and looked up. From this raised platform of earth and rock she could see the magnificent blue sky without the interference of the swamp's stifling canopy of vegetation. The pool itself was enclosed by magnificent, old, moss-draped red mangroves and sweet, bay magnolia trees with literally dozens of orchids nestled in the nooks and crannies of each individual tree. The place was unlike any Miranda had ever stood in before. It was a place so naturally beautiful and untouched by human hands that she felt wrong being here with these people for the purpose of a photo shoot. She shook her head at the unwanted thought and focused on the job at hand.
*****
The photo shoot had begun. The models were arrayed around the beautiful pool, and Alice Hawkins and her crew were performing their magic. Serena encountered Emily as they both approached the lounge tent. Emily was engaged in talking with a model who was in between shots. The subject was one of Emily's favorites, her newest weight loss plan. “I wait until I feel like I'm about to faint,” the redheaded English woman said, “and then I eat a cube of cheese. I think I'll make my goal weight by the first of...” Serena followed the pair into the tent and saw a young, brunette woman in a tattered, faded sundress on the far side of the catering table. The image Serena took in was, in her opinion, somewhat comical, as the pretty woman had custard and chocolate smeared about her lips from an éclair in her hand.
“What's this?!” Emily demanded of the strange vision before her. “You yokels have some bloody gall! You're all so scared of this place that you won't help Miranda find it, and yet you'll come here to steal from the catering table!? I don't bloody well think so!” She advanced angrily on the girl.
The girl in the faded sundress reached out and, guiltily grabbing a large handful of baked treats from a platter, broke for the tent flap. Emily was having none of it and moved to block her way. The brunette girl tried to dodge, but Emily caught her at the waist. “Thief!” Miranda's assistant exclaimed. “We'll see about this! I'll call the sheriff!”
The girl, momentarily trapped in the redhead’s arms, struggled and growled like an animal. Serena, born and raised in equatorial Brazil and more supernaturally in tune with her environment than most of the spiritually sterile-minded employees of Runway, felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. “Let her go, Emily!” She called out urgently, suddenly aware that something bad was building in the confined space.
The girl freed her hand containing the stolen treats and smeared them all over Emily's lush lips. “Fatter!” she hissed, then she brought her boot-clad foot down solidly on the instep of Emily's new Prada pumps. Emily howled, and the girl, suddenly free, was gone from the tent like a shot.
Miranda, overseeing the shoot from near the make-up and wardrobe tent, turned in time to see “her” Hattie barrel out of the lounge tent and disappear into the brush. She hurried over while calling out to the obviously fleeing woman, but to no avail. In the time it took to cross the raised area the tents sat on, the woman the locals thought of as a swamp witch was gone.
Miranda turned toward the lounge tent now determined to find out exactly what was going on. She entered the tent to find Serena and one of the models tending to Emily, who was holding one of her feet and crying. “That bitch ruined my brand new Pradas!” Emily screeched.
Miranda took a moment to take in the scene and felt anger build in her. “What, exactly, happened here?” she demanded, her tone and demeanor showing exactly why one of the most popular sobriquets for her was Ice Queen.
“One of the local rubes was in here stealing food,” Emily said petulantly while massaging her foot. “When I tried to stop her, she assaulted me.”
Miranda glanced at her first assistant and noted the chocolate and custard smeared across the lower part of her face. Miranda stalked to the catering table, and it took only a glance to determine which plate had been the source of the ruination of Emily's make-up. “Was this the plate she was eating from?” Miranda demanded, her tone dangerously mild.
Emily had worked for Miranda long enough to know when storm clouds were gathering. “Yes, Miranda,” she almost whispered.
Miranda picked up the half-full plate of delicate baked goods and hurled it at Emily. “You idiot!” she snapped. “She is the reason we're here. She's the one that showed me the way! She could have eaten everything in this tent, and I would have gratefully sent out for more!” Miranda continued, her voice deadly quiet, silencing the three other women in the tent. “It amazes me, Emily, that I've kept you as long as I have because you always somehow manage to disappoint me!” With that Miranda turned on her heel and stalked from the tent, every line of her body language communicating her anger, leaving Emily shocked speechless. The model who had witnessed the incident quickly faded away. Serena stood there helplessly, trying to find a way to comfort the woman she secretly loved.
Within moments of Miranda's leaving the lounge tent, the still air gave way to a stiff breeze and the clear blue sky quickly clouded over with ominous-looking thunderheads. Fat raindrops began to fall, turning into a torrential downpour and forcing the models and crew to take shelter in the tents.
Miranda stood in the doorway of the wardrobe and make-up tent watching the conflagration outside, cursing her luck and the shoes she wore, so inappropriate for this environment. If only she hadn't worn heels she would have been faster. She could have thanked Hattie. Talked to her again. Perhaps even asked if the woman might like to come to dinner with her. Now that chance was gone. Hattie wouldn't come back here again while they were present. Likely wouldn't come back to town again either to leave Miranda another flower on her bed. Miranda's thoughts turned to how best to punish her errant assistant. A brilliant flash of lightning split the sky followed quickly by a reverberating clap of thunder that shook the very ground. It was as if the bolt of energy had struck Miranda directly as her thoughts snapped from one track of her extremely organized mind to another. If Mohamed wouldn't come to the mountain, then... She forged out into the pouring rain and started searching the tents until she found Nigel and Doug standing close together in the lounge tent. “Douglas,” she begin without preface, “where does Hattie live?”
Word of the incident in the lounge tent had spread, and Douglas blanched at the question. “Nobody knows, Ma'am,” he answered, his demeanor one of fear and awe.
Nigel put an arm around Douglas and moved slightly, almost as if to put himself protectively between the young man and Miranda. “He's frightened, Miranda,” he said. “He believes Hattie brought on the storm because she was thwarted from getting something she wanted.”
Miranda found the protective action charming. Her friend was falling in love with this young man. Because of Nigel's feelings, she modulated her tone and tried again. “It's all right, Douglas,” she offered. “Hattie is the one who gave me the map to get here. It's obvious that she wanted us here.”
Douglas shook his head. “Forgive me, Ma'am, but it's obvious she wanted you here. That don't say nothin' 'bout the rest of us. Don't say nothin' 'bout our protection neither.”
“Your friend Lily told me that the local people deal with Hattie for potions, curses, and cures,” Miranda said, trying a different tack.
Douglas nodded. “Yeah, desperate people sometimes deal with Hattie.”
Miranda nodded, believing she might be getting somewhere. “If no one ever sees her as Lily told me and no one knows where she lives, how are these deals arranged?” Miranda asked gently.
“Folk's go and leave offerings at Ol' Lucius' place. Tell their troubles to the breeze there. Somehow Hattie hears and iffin she agrees, what they want or need just sort of shows up where they live.”
Miranda nodded, her powerful mind turning quickly in her head. “She mentioned Old Lucius to me. Apparently he doesn't like the Kagels.”
“You've talked to Hattie!?” Douglas exclaimed. “You've seen her, and you're here to tell the tale!? Ma'am, I've been tryin’ to write a song 'bout her fer years, but I can't get further than the first couple of verses. Can ya tell me what she's like!?” he asked, suddenly excited.
“She saved me from some unpleasantness,” Miranda said as if the matter were of no importance. “We spent some time together. That is all I can tell you for the moment. I'll have more to tell you once I've seen her again,” she said, looking at Douglas. “Now, you help me, and I'll help you. Tell me about Old Lucius,” she commanded quietly.
Douglas nodded and turned to fetch his guitar from its case. The people from the tent gathered round with the promise of some music to draw their minds away from the violent storm outside. Douglas quickly tuned the instrument with the air of a man who had done so many times before.
“Hattie indicated she believed that one day Lucius would settle his grievances with the Kagel family,” Miranda said as she watched the man's fingers play easily over the strings of the instrument.
“That'd be a good trick, Ma'am,” Douglas replied absently, his mind on his music. “Ol' Lucius been dead for more 'n twenty years.” Then he began to play.
Well, if you ever go back into Wooley Swamp,
Well, you better not go at night.
There's things out there in the middle of them woods
That make a strong man die from fright.
Things that crawl and things that fly
And things that creep around on the ground.
And they say the ghost of Lucius Clay gets up and he walks around.
But I couldn't believe it.
I just had to find out for myself.
And I couldn't conceive it
'Cause I never would listen to nobody else.
And I couldn't believe it.
I just had to find out for myself
There's some things in this world you just
can't explain.
The old man lived in the Wooley Swamp way back in Booger Woods.
He never did do a lot of harm in the world,
But he never did do no good.
People didn't think too much of him.
They all thought he acted funny.
The old man didn't care about people anyway.
All he cared about was his money.
He'd stuff it all down in mason jars
And he'd bury it all around
And on certain nights
If the moon was right
He'd dig it up out of the ground.
He'd pour it all out on the floor of his shack
And run his fingers through it.
Yeah, Lucius Clay was a greedy old man
And that's all that there was to it.
The Kagel boys was white trash.
They lived over on Carver's Creek.
They were mean as a snake
And sneaky as a cat
And belligerent when they'd speak.
One night the oldest brother said,
"Y'all meet me at the Wooley Swamp later.
We'll take old Lucius's money
and we'll feed him to the alligators."
They found the old man out in the back
With a shovel in his hand,
Thirteen rusty mason jars
was just dug up out of the sand.
And they all went crazy
And they beat the old man,
And they picked him up off of the ground.
Threw him in the swamp
And stood there and laughed
As the black water sucked him down.
Then they turned around
And went back to the shack
And picked up the money and ran.
They hadn't gone nowhere
When they realized
They was running in quicksand.
And they struggled and they screamed
But they couldn't get away
And just before they went under
They could hear that old man laughing
In a voice as loud as thunder.”
“And that's been twenty years ago
And you can go by there yet.
There's a spot in the yard
In the back of that shack
Where the ground is always wet.
And on certain nights
If the moon is right
Down by the that dark footpath,
You can hear three young men screaming.
You can hear one old man laugh.”
As Douglas repeated the chorus and brought the song to an end, Miranda blinked. The Kagels had lost a number of their family twenty years ago, she thought. The generation that apparently bullied everyone around here must be the children of those that the swamp had claimed that night so long ago. But Hattie spoke of Lucius as if he were alive. A search for the woman starting at the site of Lucius’ shack seemed a reasonable course of action. She nodded and, smiling a small smile, she asked, “Douglas, can you show me where Lucius’ shack was?”
Douglas nodded, “Yes, Ma'am, I can do that, once it stops rainin'. It's sorta on the way back ta town.”
*****
The next morning Nigel, Emily, Serena and a number of other Runway staffers sat crowded in the largest booth the diner had to offer, drinking bad coffee and going over plans to complete the photo shoot. Nigel was confident that with a little luck and if the weather held, they could be done before nightfall.
Emily had been quiet this morning. The expected axe hadn't fallen. After Miranda's outburst in the lounge tent nothing more was said about the incident, and Emily had mentioned how she was certain that was not the end of Miranda's anger. Nigel noted that not only did Emily seem upset, but also bloated. He wondered whether her latest fad diet had backfired-after all, you couldn’t pay him enough to consume cheese, even just one cube a day. Glancing at Emily, Nigel was surprised to see her eyes widening in surprise. She looked quite comical, her mouth dropping open in a most unattractive way. She made a strangled and inarticulate sound that caused everyone at the table to look at her. Nigel was the first to follow her line of sight, and he flatly didn't believe what he saw. Miranda Priestly approached their table dressed in of all things a coarse, heavy cotton plaid workman's shirt hanging open over a wife-beater tee shirt. Her legs where encased in a pair of common jeans and her feet were in a pair of what looked like clunky work boots. On her head was a floppy brimmed hat like soldiers in the jungles of Vietnam had worn. The outfit was not fashionable in the least but had been chosen with an eye to coordinating the colors, and somehow Miranda managed to pull it off. Nigel sat marveling at the elegance that Miranda brought to whatever she wore, now believing that the woman could indeed put on a burlap sack and look chic in it.
Miranda glanced around the table at everyone’s shocked expressions, her eyes daring anyone to say anything. “Nigel, I'll be taking the small punt,” she said abruptly. “Please have all equipment moved from it to the boat I would have otherwise ridden in. When we reach the cut that leads to the shack we were shown by Douglas yesterday afternoon, I'll be going there while you finish overseeing the shoot.”
It was Nigel's turn for his jaw to drop. “Miranda....” he began, “is that...wise?”
Miranda did her version of a shrug. “Wise or not, it is what will be. You are perfectly capable of delivering pictures that I would have in our magazine. Now get everyone together and get them to the boats. We leave in fifteen minutes.”
*****
Miranda cut the small engine of the punt and then struggled to pole the craft the remaining yards to the shore of the island that the dilapidated ruin of a shack stood on. The place had an eerie quality, as if the sun never truly shined here. The sounds of the swamp were hushed as Miranda explored the small island. The only thing she found that seemed as if someone might have been here recently was a bouquet of flowers stuck into an old mason jar on what looked to be a small, crudely constructed platform by the water's edge. She raised her head and looked around, readying herself to break the silence by adding her voice to the “breeze” and hopefully summoning Hattie, when the girl stepped from behind the shack.
“M' name's not Hattie,” the girl/woman said softly. “It's Andy. M' momma was Hattie, as was her momma afore her and her momma afore her.” She nodded toward the flowers on the altar. “Momma's been with Ol' Lucius a long time now.”
Miranda nodded. “Do you live here?” she asked, approaching the girl.
Andy shook her head. “No, over that way a fair piece,” she answered, indicating the general direction of the Orchid Pool.
Getting ever closer to where the girl stood, she asked another question that came to mind. “Then why are you here?”
Andy smiled. “Cause I knew you'd be here. I've been waitin' on ya a long time. I thought that Miss Lily might be the one, but she t'weren't. First time I laid eyes on you after I laid out that Kagel boy I knew you were the one that I'd been waitin' fer.”
“Why didn't you come to me at the Orchid Pool yesterday?” Miranda asked.
Andy shook her head. “Didn't want all them others there. It's not a place for people. It's our place.”
“Our place?' Miranda asked confused.
Andy nodded. “The place you'll be happy, really happy for the first time in a long, long time. And the place I won't be alone no more.”
“How do you know all this?” Miranda questioned.
“The cards told me,” the brown-eyed girl answered. “The cards tell me everything, although sometimes I can't understand what they're tellin' me right away. Sometimes things sorta have ta happen in their own time. Then you c'n see what the cards was sayin'.”
Miranda watched the girl, now less than an arms-length away. This was madness. She didn't know this girl who sounded like a backwoods hick. They couldn't possibly make anything between them work. They were from two different worlds. What common interests could they possibly share? But deep inside, her soul screamed at her that this was right. Was meant to be. As Andy had said she was waiting for Miranda, Miranda suddenly had realized that she had been waiting for Andy.
She took the girl in her arms and kissed her soundly.
*****
As late afternoon fell on the Orchid Pool, Nigel found himself growing more and more concerned about the fact that his employer and friend had not arrived. Drafting three of the burlier of the Runway staffers and begging Doug's aid to act as guide, he dispatched a search party to the site of Lucius Clay's shack. An hour and a half later the men returned to report that they had found the punt Miranda had used beached near the shack. They had thoroughly searched the island and found no trace of the fashion icon. Nigel signaled the end of the workday, and the models and crew gathered up belongings and equipment, heading for the boats. As Nigel oversaw the loading of the boats to make sure all equipment and personnel were accounted for, he hoped against hope that Miranda had chosen, for some inexplicable reason, to return to town rather than to return to the shoot location.
*****
Miranda had always believed the myth that swamps were dismal places. As Andy led her on a trek through some of the most beautiful landscape she'd ever seen, she was forced to reevaluate her obviously mistaken assumptions. Andy pointed out beauty at every turn. Even those loathsome creatures, such as snakes hanging in the trees and spiders in their webs, were somehow integral to the whole and added to the magnificence of the scenery.
Andy suddenly stopped mid-wade and pointed at a hummock rising out of the water. “Home,” she said softly, a smile lighting her face.
Miranda's eyes swept over the surface of the heavy vegetation covering the island and at first couldn't see any sign of habitation. She wondered for a frantic moment if her companion lived in the trees as did the other denizens of the swamp that they had encountered. Then her eyes, partial to color, picked up a pattern. Clusters of flowers tightly bunched. A closer inspection revealed them to be growing in containers. Looking beyond the blossoms, she could make out the mostly hidden walls of a rustic cabin. Andy led the way out of the swamp water they had been wading in and into the cottage. Inside it was warm and homey.
Andy immediately busied herself, babbling nervously while she moved about the small space. “M' momma always said ladies drink tea. But...I don't have no tea. Miss Lily ain't never brought me none.” She poured coffee beans into an old fashioned hand-cranked coffee grinder and began to crank the handle. “I hope coffee 'll be okay.”
Miranda, curiously investigating this strange girl's living space, looked up and smiled. “I prefer coffee to tea,” she answered.
Andy met her eyes and smiled. “I'm glad. I want everythin' to be perfect. I've dreamed so long 'bout today.”
Miranda watched her. “Because you won't be alone anymore.”
Andy nodded as she carefully measured ground coffee into a battered, old steel coffee pot and added water from a pitcher. “I been 'lone a long time now. I was little when Momma went to be with Ol' Lucius.”
“Your Mother died...” Miranda said, horrified at the idea that this beautiful creature had been left alone out here as a child.
Andy shrugged and put the coffee pot on a grate in the fireplace. “Momma loved Ol' Lucius. When he was gone she couldn't go on. She tol' me one day that she was goin' to go be with him. She tol' me to wait for her here.” Andy's eyes went sad and far away as she continued her story. “I was a little, so I waited two days and two nights. Then I made my way to Ol' Lucius' shack. I found Momma there floating face down in the pool where it was said Ol' Lucius drown. I buried her there next to where we had buried him.”
Miranda's felt her heart squeezed. “You say you were a little. Do you have any idea how old you were?” She asked as she watched Andy check on the progress of the coffee.
“I was five when Ol' Lucius went away,” the girl answered. “I'd just had m' ninth birthday when Momma followed him.”
“You've been alone since you were nine...” Miranda whispered, horrified that this young woman had virtually raised herself.
*****
Nigel Kipling was not a man prone to panic. Lasting twenty years at Runway under the leadership of the women the press called the Devil in Heels simply didn't allow for it. Had he not possessed both a thick skin and a passion for what he did, he would have either been fired or quit long ago. However all rules were defined by their exceptions. After checking with the hotel and looking in both the diner and flower shop, he was very close to running blindly down the street screaming. Miranda Priestly, fashion icon, publishing titan, friend, was nowhere to be found. She had gone into the swamp alone and had not returned.
To make matters worse, Nigel had been informed by a panicked Emily that there had been another call from Irv Ravitz to inform Miranda of a directive from the Elias-Clarke Board of Directors instructing her to return to New York immediately. Distressed, his eyes scanned the vegetation that marked the boundary between the town and the swamp, willing his missing employer to appear.
He returned to the hotel and found Doug waiting for him in the lobby. Doug looked at him with worried eyes. “If she's out there, Hattie has her,” the young man said gravely.
Nigel nodded. “You said that one can contact Hattie by going to Lucius Clay's shack,” he answered, his eyes on Doug's. “Can you get me there in the dark?”
Doug looked nervous, but he nodded, “Yeah, I can get ya there,” he sighed. “I just hope Ol' Lucius isn't feeling frisky tonight.”
*****
Emily Charlton was obsessed with her weight. This was a simple fact of life and had been so since she had discovered the world of fashion as a preteen. She had, since that time, been all too conscious of the fact that she was an ugly duckling and that she'd never be one of the “beautiful” people. Her flaws were countless. Her nose a touch to long. Her legs a tad too short. Her waistline not perfect. She couldn't do much about the length of her nose or her legs, nor could she change the fact that she was an awkward ugly duckling instead of one of the beautiful swans like Serena. But a waistline she could control. Once she had left home at eighteen she had tried every eating plan, fad, and lunatic fringe diet she'd encountered. She often wondered, in a half joking way, why she hadn't been lucky enough to develop anorexia or bulimia. The problem was that Emily liked to eat. She enjoyed food passionately, but she denied herself that pleasure with an almost iron-willed determination in an attempt to reach the magical size of zero. This time she had almost made it. The cheese-cube diet, coupled with the additional stress of Irv Ravitz’s increased machinations to remove her idol Miranda Priestly as editor-in-chief of Runway since last fashion week had created a situation, while difficult in the emotional sense, was successful in the dieting realm. She was within two pounds of her goal weight.
A year ago when she'd received her work bonus, she had splurged and bought herself a present. It was a state-of-the-art bathroom scale, small enough to fit in the bottom of her suitcase. It was shock-proof, and its accuracy was guaranteed to within a single gram margin of error. Emily carried it with her when she traveled as if it were some sort of good luck talisman. Tonight she stared at the digital readout as if it had reached out and slapped her. She had been faithful to her diet, no solids other than the odd cube of cheese, and she had denied herself water during the day to make up for the two drinks she had nursed last evening as she had socialized with the models in the hotel lobby. What the traitorous readout of her state-of-the-art device screamed at her couldn't be true. It just couldn't! In tears, Emily felt on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
Having focused only on trying to please Miranda and retain her dream job at Runway, Emily had denied herself any kind of real personal life since leaving England. Consequently she hadn't allowed any close friendships or attachments to develop since her arrival in New York City. Frightened and feeling completely alone in the world she sought out the one person who always tried to make her feel better when things went wrong at work. She sought out Serena.
*****
The knock on the hotel room came in the early hours of the evening. Serena was alone in the room she was sharing with one of the models, the other young woman being out on the hotel's small veranda partying with the other people from the photo shoot.
Serena rose from where she was reclining on her bed fantasizing about a certain red-head and the life they could have together and crossed the room, opening the door. Before her stood the subject of her daydreams in the condition she most often saw her, in tears and in desperate need of emotional support. This caretaker role is what Emily had delegated Serena to. The red-head appeared when she needed Serena's shoulder and was never around when Serena needed one. Although the relationship was horribly one-sided, Serena had admitted to herself some time ago that having any part of Emily was better than no part at all so she suffered in silence.
“I've gained five pounds since yesterday,” the Brit wailed tearfully, falling into the beautiful Brazilian's arms.
On to Chapter 4
Author: duwinter
Fandom: DWP
Pairing: Eventually Miranda/Andy
Rating: PG-13
Dedication: This story is dedicated to two members of our community, the Raven a.k.a. unfortunateggs who has repeatedly asked for a sequel to my story No Swimmin. (Sorry, It started out to be, but this ain't it.) and Mxrolkr, whose wonderful story Cerulean Blue (even though it's not finished, if you haven't read it go do so now) midwifed the concept of this story. The other thing responsible for this story is the random occurrence of three songs that I happened hear back-to-back on my iPod one morning while walking my two dogs in the local dog park. The Charlie Danial's Band's The Legend of Wooly Swamp Jim Stafford's The Last Chant and Swamp Witch
Setting: AU. This takes place around the time of the film, but as AU's go this one is a bit out there.
Summery: A film Miranda and an AU Andy.
Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada and it's characters do not belong to me. No profit being made here. I'm just playing with the characters for a short while and I promise to put them away neatly when I'm through.
Comment: Comments feed the muse and the Muse is always hungry. Remember, a fat muse is a happy and productive muse. Comments and constructive criticism eagerly encouraged.
Credit where credit is due: All hail the mighty and all knowing Jazwriter, beta Goddess extoridinare. Offer sacrifice, bow and pay proper homage.
Previous Installments Here:
Black Water Hattie, Chapter 1
Black Water Hattie, Chapter 2
It was a difficult trek from the town to the proposed location for the photo shoot. It proved, however, to be more than worth the effort and discomfort. The Orchid Pool proved to be more beautiful than the pale representation provided by the Polaroid photograph that had brought everyone here.
The photographer, Alice Hawkins, who had photographed some of the most beautiful locations in the world, sat down and openly wept upon first seeing the beauty laid out before her. Miranda almost felt as if she couldn't breathe surrounded by the resplendent scenery. Nigel was ecstatic. As Runway's Art Director, he knew in his bones that this photo shoot would be something the industry would be talking about for the next ten years. Both he and Miranda had agreed that they had no intention of letting anyone else know where this place was. Ever.
It was a matter of half an hour for part of the photography crew and some of Miranda's staff to raise the pavilion tents on the high ground of a flat area overlooking the pool. The catered food that had been brought in with the pavilions was laid out on tables in one tent. Photography equipment was prepared in another. The models retreated into the third for make-up and wardrobe. Miranda stood on the edge of the raised area and looked up. From this raised platform of earth and rock she could see the magnificent blue sky without the interference of the swamp's stifling canopy of vegetation. The pool itself was enclosed by magnificent, old, moss-draped red mangroves and sweet, bay magnolia trees with literally dozens of orchids nestled in the nooks and crannies of each individual tree. The place was unlike any Miranda had ever stood in before. It was a place so naturally beautiful and untouched by human hands that she felt wrong being here with these people for the purpose of a photo shoot. She shook her head at the unwanted thought and focused on the job at hand.
*****
The photo shoot had begun. The models were arrayed around the beautiful pool, and Alice Hawkins and her crew were performing their magic. Serena encountered Emily as they both approached the lounge tent. Emily was engaged in talking with a model who was in between shots. The subject was one of Emily's favorites, her newest weight loss plan. “I wait until I feel like I'm about to faint,” the redheaded English woman said, “and then I eat a cube of cheese. I think I'll make my goal weight by the first of...” Serena followed the pair into the tent and saw a young, brunette woman in a tattered, faded sundress on the far side of the catering table. The image Serena took in was, in her opinion, somewhat comical, as the pretty woman had custard and chocolate smeared about her lips from an éclair in her hand.
“What's this?!” Emily demanded of the strange vision before her. “You yokels have some bloody gall! You're all so scared of this place that you won't help Miranda find it, and yet you'll come here to steal from the catering table!? I don't bloody well think so!” She advanced angrily on the girl.
The girl in the faded sundress reached out and, guiltily grabbing a large handful of baked treats from a platter, broke for the tent flap. Emily was having none of it and moved to block her way. The brunette girl tried to dodge, but Emily caught her at the waist. “Thief!” Miranda's assistant exclaimed. “We'll see about this! I'll call the sheriff!”
The girl, momentarily trapped in the redhead’s arms, struggled and growled like an animal. Serena, born and raised in equatorial Brazil and more supernaturally in tune with her environment than most of the spiritually sterile-minded employees of Runway, felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. “Let her go, Emily!” She called out urgently, suddenly aware that something bad was building in the confined space.
The girl freed her hand containing the stolen treats and smeared them all over Emily's lush lips. “Fatter!” she hissed, then she brought her boot-clad foot down solidly on the instep of Emily's new Prada pumps. Emily howled, and the girl, suddenly free, was gone from the tent like a shot.
Miranda, overseeing the shoot from near the make-up and wardrobe tent, turned in time to see “her” Hattie barrel out of the lounge tent and disappear into the brush. She hurried over while calling out to the obviously fleeing woman, but to no avail. In the time it took to cross the raised area the tents sat on, the woman the locals thought of as a swamp witch was gone.
Miranda turned toward the lounge tent now determined to find out exactly what was going on. She entered the tent to find Serena and one of the models tending to Emily, who was holding one of her feet and crying. “That bitch ruined my brand new Pradas!” Emily screeched.
Miranda took a moment to take in the scene and felt anger build in her. “What, exactly, happened here?” she demanded, her tone and demeanor showing exactly why one of the most popular sobriquets for her was Ice Queen.
“One of the local rubes was in here stealing food,” Emily said petulantly while massaging her foot. “When I tried to stop her, she assaulted me.”
Miranda glanced at her first assistant and noted the chocolate and custard smeared across the lower part of her face. Miranda stalked to the catering table, and it took only a glance to determine which plate had been the source of the ruination of Emily's make-up. “Was this the plate she was eating from?” Miranda demanded, her tone dangerously mild.
Emily had worked for Miranda long enough to know when storm clouds were gathering. “Yes, Miranda,” she almost whispered.
Miranda picked up the half-full plate of delicate baked goods and hurled it at Emily. “You idiot!” she snapped. “She is the reason we're here. She's the one that showed me the way! She could have eaten everything in this tent, and I would have gratefully sent out for more!” Miranda continued, her voice deadly quiet, silencing the three other women in the tent. “It amazes me, Emily, that I've kept you as long as I have because you always somehow manage to disappoint me!” With that Miranda turned on her heel and stalked from the tent, every line of her body language communicating her anger, leaving Emily shocked speechless. The model who had witnessed the incident quickly faded away. Serena stood there helplessly, trying to find a way to comfort the woman she secretly loved.
Within moments of Miranda's leaving the lounge tent, the still air gave way to a stiff breeze and the clear blue sky quickly clouded over with ominous-looking thunderheads. Fat raindrops began to fall, turning into a torrential downpour and forcing the models and crew to take shelter in the tents.
Miranda stood in the doorway of the wardrobe and make-up tent watching the conflagration outside, cursing her luck and the shoes she wore, so inappropriate for this environment. If only she hadn't worn heels she would have been faster. She could have thanked Hattie. Talked to her again. Perhaps even asked if the woman might like to come to dinner with her. Now that chance was gone. Hattie wouldn't come back here again while they were present. Likely wouldn't come back to town again either to leave Miranda another flower on her bed. Miranda's thoughts turned to how best to punish her errant assistant. A brilliant flash of lightning split the sky followed quickly by a reverberating clap of thunder that shook the very ground. It was as if the bolt of energy had struck Miranda directly as her thoughts snapped from one track of her extremely organized mind to another. If Mohamed wouldn't come to the mountain, then... She forged out into the pouring rain and started searching the tents until she found Nigel and Doug standing close together in the lounge tent. “Douglas,” she begin without preface, “where does Hattie live?”
Word of the incident in the lounge tent had spread, and Douglas blanched at the question. “Nobody knows, Ma'am,” he answered, his demeanor one of fear and awe.
Nigel put an arm around Douglas and moved slightly, almost as if to put himself protectively between the young man and Miranda. “He's frightened, Miranda,” he said. “He believes Hattie brought on the storm because she was thwarted from getting something she wanted.”
Miranda found the protective action charming. Her friend was falling in love with this young man. Because of Nigel's feelings, she modulated her tone and tried again. “It's all right, Douglas,” she offered. “Hattie is the one who gave me the map to get here. It's obvious that she wanted us here.”
Douglas shook his head. “Forgive me, Ma'am, but it's obvious she wanted you here. That don't say nothin' 'bout the rest of us. Don't say nothin' 'bout our protection neither.”
“Your friend Lily told me that the local people deal with Hattie for potions, curses, and cures,” Miranda said, trying a different tack.
Douglas nodded. “Yeah, desperate people sometimes deal with Hattie.”
Miranda nodded, believing she might be getting somewhere. “If no one ever sees her as Lily told me and no one knows where she lives, how are these deals arranged?” Miranda asked gently.
“Folk's go and leave offerings at Ol' Lucius' place. Tell their troubles to the breeze there. Somehow Hattie hears and iffin she agrees, what they want or need just sort of shows up where they live.”
Miranda nodded, her powerful mind turning quickly in her head. “She mentioned Old Lucius to me. Apparently he doesn't like the Kagels.”
“You've talked to Hattie!?” Douglas exclaimed. “You've seen her, and you're here to tell the tale!? Ma'am, I've been tryin’ to write a song 'bout her fer years, but I can't get further than the first couple of verses. Can ya tell me what she's like!?” he asked, suddenly excited.
“She saved me from some unpleasantness,” Miranda said as if the matter were of no importance. “We spent some time together. That is all I can tell you for the moment. I'll have more to tell you once I've seen her again,” she said, looking at Douglas. “Now, you help me, and I'll help you. Tell me about Old Lucius,” she commanded quietly.
Douglas nodded and turned to fetch his guitar from its case. The people from the tent gathered round with the promise of some music to draw their minds away from the violent storm outside. Douglas quickly tuned the instrument with the air of a man who had done so many times before.
“Hattie indicated she believed that one day Lucius would settle his grievances with the Kagel family,” Miranda said as she watched the man's fingers play easily over the strings of the instrument.
“That'd be a good trick, Ma'am,” Douglas replied absently, his mind on his music. “Ol' Lucius been dead for more 'n twenty years.” Then he began to play.
Well, if you ever go back into Wooley Swamp,
Well, you better not go at night.
There's things out there in the middle of them woods
That make a strong man die from fright.
Things that crawl and things that fly
And things that creep around on the ground.
And they say the ghost of Lucius Clay gets up and he walks around.
But I couldn't believe it.
I just had to find out for myself.
And I couldn't conceive it
'Cause I never would listen to nobody else.
And I couldn't believe it.
I just had to find out for myself
There's some things in this world you just
can't explain.
The old man lived in the Wooley Swamp way back in Booger Woods.
He never did do a lot of harm in the world,
But he never did do no good.
People didn't think too much of him.
They all thought he acted funny.
The old man didn't care about people anyway.
All he cared about was his money.
He'd stuff it all down in mason jars
And he'd bury it all around
And on certain nights
If the moon was right
He'd dig it up out of the ground.
He'd pour it all out on the floor of his shack
And run his fingers through it.
Yeah, Lucius Clay was a greedy old man
And that's all that there was to it.
The Kagel boys was white trash.
They lived over on Carver's Creek.
They were mean as a snake
And sneaky as a cat
And belligerent when they'd speak.
One night the oldest brother said,
"Y'all meet me at the Wooley Swamp later.
We'll take old Lucius's money
and we'll feed him to the alligators."
They found the old man out in the back
With a shovel in his hand,
Thirteen rusty mason jars
was just dug up out of the sand.
And they all went crazy
And they beat the old man,
And they picked him up off of the ground.
Threw him in the swamp
And stood there and laughed
As the black water sucked him down.
Then they turned around
And went back to the shack
And picked up the money and ran.
They hadn't gone nowhere
When they realized
They was running in quicksand.
And they struggled and they screamed
But they couldn't get away
And just before they went under
They could hear that old man laughing
In a voice as loud as thunder.”
“And that's been twenty years ago
And you can go by there yet.
There's a spot in the yard
In the back of that shack
Where the ground is always wet.
And on certain nights
If the moon is right
Down by the that dark footpath,
You can hear three young men screaming.
You can hear one old man laugh.”
As Douglas repeated the chorus and brought the song to an end, Miranda blinked. The Kagels had lost a number of their family twenty years ago, she thought. The generation that apparently bullied everyone around here must be the children of those that the swamp had claimed that night so long ago. But Hattie spoke of Lucius as if he were alive. A search for the woman starting at the site of Lucius’ shack seemed a reasonable course of action. She nodded and, smiling a small smile, she asked, “Douglas, can you show me where Lucius’ shack was?”
Douglas nodded, “Yes, Ma'am, I can do that, once it stops rainin'. It's sorta on the way back ta town.”
*****
The next morning Nigel, Emily, Serena and a number of other Runway staffers sat crowded in the largest booth the diner had to offer, drinking bad coffee and going over plans to complete the photo shoot. Nigel was confident that with a little luck and if the weather held, they could be done before nightfall.
Emily had been quiet this morning. The expected axe hadn't fallen. After Miranda's outburst in the lounge tent nothing more was said about the incident, and Emily had mentioned how she was certain that was not the end of Miranda's anger. Nigel noted that not only did Emily seem upset, but also bloated. He wondered whether her latest fad diet had backfired-after all, you couldn’t pay him enough to consume cheese, even just one cube a day. Glancing at Emily, Nigel was surprised to see her eyes widening in surprise. She looked quite comical, her mouth dropping open in a most unattractive way. She made a strangled and inarticulate sound that caused everyone at the table to look at her. Nigel was the first to follow her line of sight, and he flatly didn't believe what he saw. Miranda Priestly approached their table dressed in of all things a coarse, heavy cotton plaid workman's shirt hanging open over a wife-beater tee shirt. Her legs where encased in a pair of common jeans and her feet were in a pair of what looked like clunky work boots. On her head was a floppy brimmed hat like soldiers in the jungles of Vietnam had worn. The outfit was not fashionable in the least but had been chosen with an eye to coordinating the colors, and somehow Miranda managed to pull it off. Nigel sat marveling at the elegance that Miranda brought to whatever she wore, now believing that the woman could indeed put on a burlap sack and look chic in it.
Miranda glanced around the table at everyone’s shocked expressions, her eyes daring anyone to say anything. “Nigel, I'll be taking the small punt,” she said abruptly. “Please have all equipment moved from it to the boat I would have otherwise ridden in. When we reach the cut that leads to the shack we were shown by Douglas yesterday afternoon, I'll be going there while you finish overseeing the shoot.”
It was Nigel's turn for his jaw to drop. “Miranda....” he began, “is that...wise?”
Miranda did her version of a shrug. “Wise or not, it is what will be. You are perfectly capable of delivering pictures that I would have in our magazine. Now get everyone together and get them to the boats. We leave in fifteen minutes.”
*****
Miranda cut the small engine of the punt and then struggled to pole the craft the remaining yards to the shore of the island that the dilapidated ruin of a shack stood on. The place had an eerie quality, as if the sun never truly shined here. The sounds of the swamp were hushed as Miranda explored the small island. The only thing she found that seemed as if someone might have been here recently was a bouquet of flowers stuck into an old mason jar on what looked to be a small, crudely constructed platform by the water's edge. She raised her head and looked around, readying herself to break the silence by adding her voice to the “breeze” and hopefully summoning Hattie, when the girl stepped from behind the shack.
“M' name's not Hattie,” the girl/woman said softly. “It's Andy. M' momma was Hattie, as was her momma afore her and her momma afore her.” She nodded toward the flowers on the altar. “Momma's been with Ol' Lucius a long time now.”
Miranda nodded. “Do you live here?” she asked, approaching the girl.
Andy shook her head. “No, over that way a fair piece,” she answered, indicating the general direction of the Orchid Pool.
Getting ever closer to where the girl stood, she asked another question that came to mind. “Then why are you here?”
Andy smiled. “Cause I knew you'd be here. I've been waitin' on ya a long time. I thought that Miss Lily might be the one, but she t'weren't. First time I laid eyes on you after I laid out that Kagel boy I knew you were the one that I'd been waitin' fer.”
“Why didn't you come to me at the Orchid Pool yesterday?” Miranda asked.
Andy shook her head. “Didn't want all them others there. It's not a place for people. It's our place.”
“Our place?' Miranda asked confused.
Andy nodded. “The place you'll be happy, really happy for the first time in a long, long time. And the place I won't be alone no more.”
“How do you know all this?” Miranda questioned.
“The cards told me,” the brown-eyed girl answered. “The cards tell me everything, although sometimes I can't understand what they're tellin' me right away. Sometimes things sorta have ta happen in their own time. Then you c'n see what the cards was sayin'.”
Miranda watched the girl, now less than an arms-length away. This was madness. She didn't know this girl who sounded like a backwoods hick. They couldn't possibly make anything between them work. They were from two different worlds. What common interests could they possibly share? But deep inside, her soul screamed at her that this was right. Was meant to be. As Andy had said she was waiting for Miranda, Miranda suddenly had realized that she had been waiting for Andy.
She took the girl in her arms and kissed her soundly.
*****
As late afternoon fell on the Orchid Pool, Nigel found himself growing more and more concerned about the fact that his employer and friend had not arrived. Drafting three of the burlier of the Runway staffers and begging Doug's aid to act as guide, he dispatched a search party to the site of Lucius Clay's shack. An hour and a half later the men returned to report that they had found the punt Miranda had used beached near the shack. They had thoroughly searched the island and found no trace of the fashion icon. Nigel signaled the end of the workday, and the models and crew gathered up belongings and equipment, heading for the boats. As Nigel oversaw the loading of the boats to make sure all equipment and personnel were accounted for, he hoped against hope that Miranda had chosen, for some inexplicable reason, to return to town rather than to return to the shoot location.
*****
Miranda had always believed the myth that swamps were dismal places. As Andy led her on a trek through some of the most beautiful landscape she'd ever seen, she was forced to reevaluate her obviously mistaken assumptions. Andy pointed out beauty at every turn. Even those loathsome creatures, such as snakes hanging in the trees and spiders in their webs, were somehow integral to the whole and added to the magnificence of the scenery.
Andy suddenly stopped mid-wade and pointed at a hummock rising out of the water. “Home,” she said softly, a smile lighting her face.
Miranda's eyes swept over the surface of the heavy vegetation covering the island and at first couldn't see any sign of habitation. She wondered for a frantic moment if her companion lived in the trees as did the other denizens of the swamp that they had encountered. Then her eyes, partial to color, picked up a pattern. Clusters of flowers tightly bunched. A closer inspection revealed them to be growing in containers. Looking beyond the blossoms, she could make out the mostly hidden walls of a rustic cabin. Andy led the way out of the swamp water they had been wading in and into the cottage. Inside it was warm and homey.
Andy immediately busied herself, babbling nervously while she moved about the small space. “M' momma always said ladies drink tea. But...I don't have no tea. Miss Lily ain't never brought me none.” She poured coffee beans into an old fashioned hand-cranked coffee grinder and began to crank the handle. “I hope coffee 'll be okay.”
Miranda, curiously investigating this strange girl's living space, looked up and smiled. “I prefer coffee to tea,” she answered.
Andy met her eyes and smiled. “I'm glad. I want everythin' to be perfect. I've dreamed so long 'bout today.”
Miranda watched her. “Because you won't be alone anymore.”
Andy nodded as she carefully measured ground coffee into a battered, old steel coffee pot and added water from a pitcher. “I been 'lone a long time now. I was little when Momma went to be with Ol' Lucius.”
“Your Mother died...” Miranda said, horrified at the idea that this beautiful creature had been left alone out here as a child.
Andy shrugged and put the coffee pot on a grate in the fireplace. “Momma loved Ol' Lucius. When he was gone she couldn't go on. She tol' me one day that she was goin' to go be with him. She tol' me to wait for her here.” Andy's eyes went sad and far away as she continued her story. “I was a little, so I waited two days and two nights. Then I made my way to Ol' Lucius' shack. I found Momma there floating face down in the pool where it was said Ol' Lucius drown. I buried her there next to where we had buried him.”
Miranda's felt her heart squeezed. “You say you were a little. Do you have any idea how old you were?” She asked as she watched Andy check on the progress of the coffee.
“I was five when Ol' Lucius went away,” the girl answered. “I'd just had m' ninth birthday when Momma followed him.”
“You've been alone since you were nine...” Miranda whispered, horrified that this young woman had virtually raised herself.
*****
Nigel Kipling was not a man prone to panic. Lasting twenty years at Runway under the leadership of the women the press called the Devil in Heels simply didn't allow for it. Had he not possessed both a thick skin and a passion for what he did, he would have either been fired or quit long ago. However all rules were defined by their exceptions. After checking with the hotel and looking in both the diner and flower shop, he was very close to running blindly down the street screaming. Miranda Priestly, fashion icon, publishing titan, friend, was nowhere to be found. She had gone into the swamp alone and had not returned.
To make matters worse, Nigel had been informed by a panicked Emily that there had been another call from Irv Ravitz to inform Miranda of a directive from the Elias-Clarke Board of Directors instructing her to return to New York immediately. Distressed, his eyes scanned the vegetation that marked the boundary between the town and the swamp, willing his missing employer to appear.
He returned to the hotel and found Doug waiting for him in the lobby. Doug looked at him with worried eyes. “If she's out there, Hattie has her,” the young man said gravely.
Nigel nodded. “You said that one can contact Hattie by going to Lucius Clay's shack,” he answered, his eyes on Doug's. “Can you get me there in the dark?”
Doug looked nervous, but he nodded, “Yeah, I can get ya there,” he sighed. “I just hope Ol' Lucius isn't feeling frisky tonight.”
*****
Emily Charlton was obsessed with her weight. This was a simple fact of life and had been so since she had discovered the world of fashion as a preteen. She had, since that time, been all too conscious of the fact that she was an ugly duckling and that she'd never be one of the “beautiful” people. Her flaws were countless. Her nose a touch to long. Her legs a tad too short. Her waistline not perfect. She couldn't do much about the length of her nose or her legs, nor could she change the fact that she was an awkward ugly duckling instead of one of the beautiful swans like Serena. But a waistline she could control. Once she had left home at eighteen she had tried every eating plan, fad, and lunatic fringe diet she'd encountered. She often wondered, in a half joking way, why she hadn't been lucky enough to develop anorexia or bulimia. The problem was that Emily liked to eat. She enjoyed food passionately, but she denied herself that pleasure with an almost iron-willed determination in an attempt to reach the magical size of zero. This time she had almost made it. The cheese-cube diet, coupled with the additional stress of Irv Ravitz’s increased machinations to remove her idol Miranda Priestly as editor-in-chief of Runway since last fashion week had created a situation, while difficult in the emotional sense, was successful in the dieting realm. She was within two pounds of her goal weight.
A year ago when she'd received her work bonus, she had splurged and bought herself a present. It was a state-of-the-art bathroom scale, small enough to fit in the bottom of her suitcase. It was shock-proof, and its accuracy was guaranteed to within a single gram margin of error. Emily carried it with her when she traveled as if it were some sort of good luck talisman. Tonight she stared at the digital readout as if it had reached out and slapped her. She had been faithful to her diet, no solids other than the odd cube of cheese, and she had denied herself water during the day to make up for the two drinks she had nursed last evening as she had socialized with the models in the hotel lobby. What the traitorous readout of her state-of-the-art device screamed at her couldn't be true. It just couldn't! In tears, Emily felt on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
Having focused only on trying to please Miranda and retain her dream job at Runway, Emily had denied herself any kind of real personal life since leaving England. Consequently she hadn't allowed any close friendships or attachments to develop since her arrival in New York City. Frightened and feeling completely alone in the world she sought out the one person who always tried to make her feel better when things went wrong at work. She sought out Serena.
*****
The knock on the hotel room came in the early hours of the evening. Serena was alone in the room she was sharing with one of the models, the other young woman being out on the hotel's small veranda partying with the other people from the photo shoot.
Serena rose from where she was reclining on her bed fantasizing about a certain red-head and the life they could have together and crossed the room, opening the door. Before her stood the subject of her daydreams in the condition she most often saw her, in tears and in desperate need of emotional support. This caretaker role is what Emily had delegated Serena to. The red-head appeared when she needed Serena's shoulder and was never around when Serena needed one. Although the relationship was horribly one-sided, Serena had admitted to herself some time ago that having any part of Emily was better than no part at all so she suffered in silence.
“I've gained five pounds since yesterday,” the Brit wailed tearfully, falling into the beautiful Brazilian's arms.
On to Chapter 4