All the World is Upside Down (1/?)
Title All the World is Upside Down
Author Natalie (silentrevyrie)
Pairing Eventually Miranda/Andy
Rating Right now, PG for language.
Summary AU. Andy is still second assistant to the Editor-in-Chief of Runway, but the editor isn't who you'd expect.
Disclaimer I own nothing, but I can, no joke, quote this entire movie word for word. So there's that.
A/N Part 1 of (I don't know how many yet). Originally posted a teaser literally 366 days ago and then my life fell apart and other things took precedence. Title inspired by the song "President Hillary" by my friend Alice's eponymous band, RIPLEY. (Listen here.)
In the days leading up to Paris Fashion Week, Andy Sachs had been constantly nagged by a sense of impending doom. She couldn’t explain why, but from the looks of it, her boss felt the same way. Jacqueline Follet was the Editor-in-Chief of Runway, the leading magazine of the fashion industry, and Andy was her second assistant. It was Andy who would be left to make sure everything in the office ran smoothly while Jacqueline took most of the Runway staff, including her first assistant, Emily, with her to Paris for Fashion Week in just two days.
“Andee,” Jacqueline called over the intercom, her lilting French accent making her pronunciation of the name all her own. Andy hurried into the room to find Jacqueline pacing in front of the windows behind her desk. Without bothering to look up, Jacqueline began listing things for Andy to do, her rapid-fire pace even faster than usual. Andy waited for her boss to finish before looking up from her notepad. She studied Jacqueline for a moment, noting that it seemed as though she had aged ten years since she’d arrived at the office that morning.
“Ms. Follet, is everything okay?” Andy ventured, knowing she was dangerously close to crossing the line and prying too much into Jacqueline’s personal life. Jacqueline was exceedingly kind to her assistants, especially considering the power she held over them, probably because she knew that they held a similar power over her. Emily and Andy knew more about Jacqueline Follet than anyone except Jacqueline herself, not because they wanted to, but because it was their job. Andy had signed a non-disclosure agreement when she was hired (she assumed Emily had as well) but regardless, it was never a good idea to alienate someone who knew so very much about you. Still, what Andy knew about Jacqueline was what Jacqueline provided. Andy never asked questions.
Jacqueline turned to face Andy and studied her face for a moment before answering. “Je ne sais pas, Andee. I don’t know.”
It turned out that no, everything was not okay. Nothing about it even remotely resembled “okay.” It was the opposite of “okay.” It was at 5am exactly one week later that Andy found how just how not okay everything was.
“Em? What the hell? What’s wrong?” Andy mumbled into her Sidekick. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. 5:17. Unless someone was dead, she saw no reason for Emily to call so early. She knew about the time difference. Andy was the first to admit that Emily could be a bitch, but she also knew that Emily valued sleep as greatly as she did.
“Irv just fired Jacqueline,” Emily whispered.
Andy was sure she’d misheard. “He…what? No, he-Jesus Christ. You’re serious.”
“Of course I’m serious,” Emily hissed. “Why on earth would I joke about such a thing? Apparently they’re bringing Miranda Priestly, the editor of French Runway, in as the new Editor-in-Chief of Runway.”
“Holy shit.” Andy was reeling. What did this mean for her job? Surely Miranda would have her own assistants already. Andy didn’t particularly relish being a second assistant, but she preferred it to the unemployed alternative.
“I know. Go to the office. Start backing up everything. Everything. All of Jacqueline’s files, address books, what have you. Make sure that she’s able to take everything with her. I don’t know how long she has before-oh god. Oh my god.”
“Uh-okay. The office. On it.” Andy hung up, not wanting to hear anything else Emily had to say in that particular moment. She reached over to rouse Nate to let him know she was leaving and her hand had barely touched the empty side of the bed before she remembered. Nate, her boyfriend, had just moved to Boston to work as a sous chef. They were going to attempt the long distance thing, but without him there, Andy felt like a giant weight had been lifted off her shoulders, a weight that she hadn’t even realized was there to begin with until it was gone. She had a feeling that her relationship was going to end. Just like everything else in my life, apparently, she thought.
Rolling out of bed, Andy briefly toyed with the thought of going to the Runway office in her pajamas. The sun hadn’t even risen, so it was unlikely anyone else would be there except the security staff. Then she remembered why she was going to the office so early and realized that she likely wouldn’t be the only one. Instead, Andy crammed her entire morning routine into twenty-five minutes, vowing to put her minimal makeup on when she got to the office, as so many other Runway employees who didn’t work in the outer chamber of Jacqueline’s office were able to do. She pulled on a wrap dress that was probably from Marshalls and that she’d probably already worn that month, a pair of ballet flats that were probably from Payless, and grabbed her Birkin bag (a gift from Hermes to Jacqueline, who didn’t want it, and one of Andy’s few concessions to the fashion world-that bag fit everything she ever needed to carry) before running out the door.
When she arrived at the office, Andy’s suspicions that she wouldn’t be the only one there were confirmed several times over. It appeared that every Runway employee who wasn’t in Paris had heard, probably from their supervisor who was in Paris, about the impending change of regime.
“Oh god, there you are.” Andy whipped around to see Melissa, one of the junior editors in the Art department, coming out of an office. Melissa looked concerned.
“So you’ve all heard, too? I came in to start backing up Jacqueline’s files before this whole thing turns into more of a clusterfuck than it already is. I guess I’ll start cleaning up her office, too,” Andy replied as she shrugged off her jacket.
The look of concern on Melissa’s face suddenly and quickly morphed into a look of realization. “You don’t know.” Melissa bit her lip. “Oh, Jesus. You don’t know.”
“Know what?” Andy started wracking her brain for every possible contingency, but nothing could have prepared her for what came next.
“She’s already here. In Jacqueline’s office. Miranda Priestly is here.”
-----
“Miranda Priestly is here.” Despite her journalism degree, Andy was now certain that until that moment, she had been unaware of how much power words could hold. Miranda Priestly was at Runway. Andy stared down the hallway, envisioning what awaited her after she turned the corner down the corridor that led to the Editor-in-Chief’s office. She would be able to recognize Miranda on sight; she’d been a guest at Runway’s annual museum gala earlier in the year and Andy and Emily had had to memorize the entire visual guest list. Other than that, Andy didn’t know much about her new boss, except that it was possible that she wouldn’t be Andy’s boss after all, not if she’d come with assistants of her own.
The realness of that possibility was why Andy was surprised, perhaps even pleasantly so, when she approached the outer chamber of the office and saw both assistants’ desks empty. Miranda Priestly, looking more perfectly coiffed and put-together than anyone Andy had ever seen, especially at 6:30am, sat behind Jacqueline’s desk-her desk-focusing on a pile of paperwork that hadn’t been there when Andy had left the office the night before. Wordlessly, Andy hung her jacket and sat behind her own desk, where she began creating CD backups of everything pertaining to Jacqueline’s tenure at the magazine. She quickly realized that this was not going to be a quick or easy endeavor; seven years at the helm of a major magazine tends to create quite the paper trail.
Andy was halfway through copying everything Jacqueline had ever had to do with Badgley-Mischka when she heard it.
“Andrea,” came the call from the inner-office. The emphasis was on the second syllable, not the first, making Andy’s given name sound almost foreign. “Andrea…”
It took Andy a moment to realize that it was Miranda who was calling for her, and it seemed she had chosen not to use the intercom. Pushing her chair away from her desk so quickly that she very nearly tipped over, Andy hurried into the office to face the new Editor for the first time.
“Andrea, there you are,” Miranda said, her voice even and almost eerily quiet.
“Andy,” was Andy’s immediate response.
Miranda looked up from what appeared to be personnel files. She stared at Andy, her expression suggesting a mix of exasperation and amusement.
“Actually, it’s Andy,” Andy mumbled, certain that she hadn’t been misheard and suddenly feeling like a teenager called into the principal’s office. She didn’t dare look Miranda in the eye; instead she focused on the files. Whose were they? What did the Editor want to know? “I mean, yes, my name is Andrea, but everybody calls me Andy.” Slowly, Miranda took off designer reading glasses and looked Andy up and down as if appraising her. Andy shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny and glanced around the room. As far as she could tell, the only change made to the office so far was who was sitting behind the desk.
“Andrea,” Miranda continued after what seemed like an eternity, “Starbucks.”
“S-s-starbucks,” Andy stammered. What about Starbucks?
Miranda rolled her eyes. “No-foam skimmed latte with an extra shot, as hot as they can make it.”
“No-foam skimmed latte, with an extra shot, as hot as they can make it,” Andy repeated. “Got it.” She stood in front of Miranda’s desk, frozen, as the editor looked her up and down. Andy silently thanked every higher power she could think of that she had actually put some effort into her outfit that morning, and she realized that Miranda was still watching her. Andy was used to this, being looked over and scrutinized based on her looks, but the way in which Miranda gazed at her was different. It was more personal, more intent. Andy resisted the urge to squirm as she tried to decide whether or not it was safe to leave.
“That’s all.” Miranda re-focused on her paperwork, finally dismissing Andy with a casual wave of her hand. Andy left the inner-office with the feeling that, while she was pretty sure she still had a job, that job was about to get a lot more difficult.
Andy took the time she had while waiting in line at Starbucks to call Emily.
“You can’t possibly be finished yet” was Emily’s version of “hello.”
“Nowhere near,” Andy replied, “because she’s already here, and I’m already on a coffee run.”
“Who’s there?” Emily asked. Andy didn’t respond. “No. No. You’re joking. Miranda isn’t already at Runway. She can’t be. She was at the Valentino show last night.”
“I guess she took a red-eye,” Andy countered, “because this ‘no-foam skimmed latte with an extra shot, as hot as they can make it’ isn’t for me. How’s Jacqueline?”
“Distraught, which is to be expected, I suppose,” Emily sighed. “James Holt approached her after the luncheon to offer her a position with Holt International, and I assume she’ll accept, but really this whole thing is just a…”
“…clusterfuck,” Andy finished.
“Exactly.” Emily paused. “So I take it this means we’re still employed by Runway, then?” She and Andy had shared this unspoken concern.
“So it seems, Em. So it seems.” An awkward silence followed as both women tried to figure out what this meant for their careers.
“Well, uh, I’ve been trying to get us on a flight back to New York tonight, but everything seems to be booked, so you may very well be on your own until Sunday,” Emily finally said.
“Sure, no problem,” Andy chirped, her tone not betraying the fact that she dreaded being alone in the office with their new boss. “Just…be ready when you come back. I don’t know what we’re dealing with.” As if on cue, the barista called Andy’s name as he held up the finished latte. Andy snatched it out of his hand and hurried out the door. “Okay, I’m going back Runway. Keep me updated.”
“Same to you,” Emily said, her tone suddenly hushed. “Good luck.” As she dropped her Sidekick back into her purse while hurrying across the street back to the Elias-Clarke building, Andy was grateful for Emily’s support. God knew she’d need it.