Neither Rashly, Nor Timidly (2/3)
TITLE: nec temere, nec timide (neither rashly, nor timidly)
RATING: M (for Chapter 3)
PAIRING: Miranda/Andrea
SUMMARY: Christmas Challenge/Gift forliz_tempest , as she requested, "Andy breaks up with Nate after she leaves Runway and becomes a lawyer, a VERY successful lawyer, and is asked by Irv to be the lawyer for Runway and she accepts. Her and Miranda meet again, of course, and realize they are in love. And a VERY happy ending Please! Im all about smut so thats a plus. :)"
DISCLAIMER: Implied non-ownership of characters. Real people named herein are fictionalized versions. Nor am I able to claim any ties to mentioned corporations/businesses/products (Hermes, Trump Enterprises, Pineider stationery, Giles fashion wear, etc, etc).
A/N: Chapter 3 should go up within the week. (Chapter 1 was a bit short. Chapter 2, a bit longer.)
Link to Chapter 1: community.livejournal.com/dvlwears_prada/1158939.html
Chapter 2: Here You Come Again (by Dolly Parton)
California lawyers were just too friendly, too soft - each trip to the East Coast reminded Andy of this fact. And there were other perks to making the move - the Northeast actually had seasons and she could go on a date without the other person thinking it was anything other than that. Her credentials were impeccable, and Andy knew that she could secure almost any position she sought.
Of course, she also knew that at this point, if she ran into Miranda Priestly, she could hold her head high - the fashion maven wouldn’t be able to threaten her employability or make her feel insecure with a simple glance. Andy had received a job offer from the CBS News division at a much lower salary than she was hoping for, and was about to take it, when she got a callback from Houghton-Mills. She hadn’t been that enthused about the position there, but it paid well. Plus, it was as close to the publishing world as she was likely to get to her undergraduate dream of being a reporter.
One of the members of their lead counsel called to tell her that while Andy’s experience didn’t fit with what they were looking to add to their team, he had passed her name and particulars on to a friend within Elias-Clarke Publishing. While it seemed unusual for one publisher to refer her to another, she wasn’t about to kick a possible gift horse in the mouth. Even if it was Elias-Clarke.
Sure enough, the next day, Andy got a call from Elias-Clarke’s Legal Department. They were impressed with her résumé and asked when she could come in for an interview.
That next Friday, Andy hopped yet another NY-bound flight, caught a cab, and stepped out at a familiar structure. She wiped her clammy hands on her skirt, took a deep breath, and entered the Elias-Clarke building. Amazingly, it hadn’t changed much in the last 6 years.
Her panel interview (Legal, Human Resources, and Public Relations) went well enough, and she was asked to return again later in the afternoon for a couple of individual interviews - one with the lead counsel, Mike Birch, and the other with the Corporate Chairman, Irv Ravitz. Andy could have been knocked over with a feather. She had studied up on Elias-Clarke’s legal history as soon as she had been asked to interview, and had been surprised that Irv was still at the helm of the periodical publishing conglomerate. Obviously, his son either wasn’t ready or wasn’t interested in taking on his father’s role yet. Still, it was surreal, for lack of a better word, to be seeing him again.
The interview with Mike had gone exceptionally well, and Mike’s secretary/assistant escorted her to Irv’s office, explaining that if she was interviewing with the Chairman, it was a sign she had gotten the job. Irv’s assistant smiled warmly at Andy and let her know it would just be a minute before she would be seen - Mr. Ravitz was finishing up a budget meeting. Andy sat down and picked up a copy of Cottage Gardens sitting on the end table, not really looking at it, trying to wrap her head around the possibility of working in the building again after so long. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be there, so close to Miranda. To be honest, she wasn’t altogether certain how the mercurial Editor-In-Chief of Runway would react to Andy being back in her world again, but in an altogether different position. Perhaps Miranda would pretend that she didn’t even know Andy, whenever they got around to meeting again. It was unlikely that the woman would want to admit that such a successful lawyer could have once been one of her peons. With a sigh, Andy closed the magazine on her lap and bent over her satchel to dig out a Tic-Tac. As she did so, she heard a door click open and several people shuffling past.
Andy didn’t need to lift her head to know that Miranda Priestly was among the group. The light scent of Miranda’s signature perfume tickled her nose and made her smile involuntarily. And for a moment, as Andy’s fingers found the plastic container, she felt a slight chill in the air.
Then, just as she was about to sit upright, the chill was gone. Pouring a couple of the small breath mints in her mouth, she raised her head and dared to look after the group. Sure enough, she caught a glimpse of a pair of shapely legs in a slender black skirt (Anne Klein, Andy guessed) and a pair of Dolce & Gabbana heels silently crossing from the carpet of the executive suite, cross the entryway, and glide over the marble floor near the elevators, caught up amidst a sea of people.
“Ms. Sachs, Mr. Ravitz will see you now.”
Andy jerked her head back around, and took in a deep breath. She hadn’t realized it, but she had been holding her breath while following Miranda’s movements. She made her way past the conference room that had just been vacated and entered the only slightly smaller office of Irv Ravitz, Chairman and CEO of Elias-Clarke Publishing.
The interview was short enough, and Andy was reminded of the sleazy sexist that Irv had been years ago had not changed during the intermittent years. When she left his office, she was asked to return to Mr. Birch’s office. She made a brief stop in the restrooms en route, simply to wash her hands, reapply her lipstick, and brush her hands over her outfit, attempting to brush away the filthy dust that she felt must have settled on her during her interview with Irv.
She was not surprised at the job offer Mr. Birch ('Please, call me Mike') extended to her, although the salary was far beyond what she had hoped it might be. Feeling buoyed, Andy left the building feeling pretty happy. She caught a cab back to the airport and returned to L.A. long enough to coordinate for her things to be packed up for the move to New York and to turn in her resignation with Trump Enterprises.
Within three weeks, Andy had left L.A. for good, found a delightfully well-lit and airy loft not far from her new job, and was shopping for decorations at Crate and Barrel.
Andy realized that when it was time to make a change - whether going to law school, taking the internship with Trump Enterprises, or signing on with Elias-Clarke - the pieces fell together quickly, making each decision feel quite right. Leaving Miranda in Paris - during Fashion Week - had set into motion a series of options and successes that Andy knew had made the unprofessional Runway departure more than worth it.
Her first day on the job, she was enthused to find she would have a decently sized office; in Trump Enterprises’ Los Angeles’ building, she and another junior associate had shared office space the size of a broom closet. Here at Elias-Clarke, she had access to a paralegal named Sam, who was less than friendly. But, after spending several years in California, Andy knew she had likely gone a little soft and would need to work on restoring the mantle of indifference necessary for life in New York.
Her internal clock hadn’t fully adjusted to the time change, and so she found herself descending to the office cafeteria around 3pm, looking for lunch. Unfortunately, the eatery had shut down for the day already. So, she crossed the street to the Starbucks feeling a certain nostalgia returning to her.
In a moment of pure insanity, she ordered two extra hot non-fat lattes, a coffee and a low-fat apple cranberry muffin. Getting on the elevators back in Elias-Clarke, though, fear began to creep in. What was she thinking??
She stopped at her office on the 3rd floor, planning to ditch her plan. But, after placing the bag with the muffin down on her desk, she took a sip of her latte, and realized she needed to just go with it - getting a possible run-in with Miranda out of the way early would prevent her from fretting about it endlessly. She continued to sip at the beverage while she strolled back out to the elevators and rode up to the 9th floor, Runway’s floor. Stepping off, she almost ran right into Nigel. Literally.
Andy smiled warmly at him, “Hi, Nige.”
He did a double take, and broke out into a large grin.
“Good God, Six. How are you doing?”
“Fine. You are looking great. I have to deliver this,” she lifted tray of caffeinated beverages, “but can we talk later? You’re office is still -“ she broke off, pointing in the direction of the Art Department.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m still there.” There was a hesitancy in his voice, and his eyes were fixated on the cups in her hands.
“Good luck with that. She’s in a foul mood today.”
“What’s new?” Andy chuckled. Thankfully, Nigel smiled at this, before continuing on his way in the opposite direction. Andy took a slow breath and finished her walk towards the Editor-In-Chief’s office. When she reached the outer space, she stopped. There was now only one assistant’s desk. Obviously, likely due to the financial times, Miranda had to pare down to just one assistant, which Andy was sure had irritated the woman to no end. A young, slender woman with golden blonde hair sat at Emily’s old desk, fingers flying across a keyboard as she listened to someone on the other end of the phone cradled between her shoulder and cheek.
Andy waited for a moment, caught the young woman’s eye, dropped off the coffee, and moved towards the inner office with her own and Miranda’s lattes.
“Can you hold for just a second, Jim?” The young woman put a hand over the receiver.
“Is that a -“
“Extra hot non-fat latte.” Andy held up one of the two remaining drinks. “Yep.”
“Oh, you are an angel.”
Andy grinned, “Nah. I’m Andy Sachs, from Legal. I’ll just pop this on her desk.”
“Um…”
“I won’t say a thing to her. I’ll just put it down on her desk, and leave. She won’t even look up from whatever she’s working on.” Andy’s time at Trump Enterprises had imbued her with the ability to project self-confidence, even when she didn’t have it. And the fact that she was wearing a new pink and brown print Giles blouse and slacks didn’t hurt either.
“Yeah,” the girl looked a little nervous, “okay.”
Andy nodded, and pushed open the door to Miranda’s office, walking with falsely sure steps. She barely noticed that the office décor had changed. There was now a cream-colored berber rug, and the glass-topped desk had been replaced by one of dark cherry wood. The space was still clean, sparsely decorated and, despite the general changes in decor, felt quite clinical.
Miranda’s chair was turned towards the window, a small amount of grey-white hair peeking up from over the top of her high-backed leather throne.
Andy took a slow breath and placed the cup down on the desktop, saying a quiet prayer of gratitude that Miranda didn’t see her. This mission was incredibly risky, and she knew it. It was definitely NOT one of her brighter ideas to approach Miranda on her very first day of work. The vacillating feelings she’d had about the plan were a sure sign that it really hadn’t been a wise move.
As she retreated from the space, she heard Miranda’s chair start to swivel. With an attempt at casual speed, she reached for the door with one hand, her own latte shaking in the other hand. She fervently hoped she would slide out before Miranda could glance up, if at all, to see her.
She heard an intake of breath and knew she was dead. But, as she continued to slip out the door, Miranda said nothing. So, maybe she was home free after all. With the feeling that she had just escaped death, Andy returned to her office and the stack of cases that Mr. Birch (Mike) wanted her to study before the staff meeting on Wednesday. In her fearful retreat from the devil’s lair, she had completely forgotten to stop and see Nigel.
Tuesday, Andy worked from home, setting up a secure connection to the office and checking out the electronic files intermittently while directing the movers on where to put all the boxes that had arrived from California. She did not check her email for a few hours during the late afternoon, and when she sat down with a salad and a diet soda that evening and peeked at her Inbox, she saw a message from Sam and three voicemails from a ‘Charity’ in the Runway offices.
She read Sam’s email first. Not good. It seems that the 3 voice messages from Charity were a request from Miranda to set up a lunch meeting with Andy on Wednesday. After Charity had been unable to reach Andy, she had called Sam. His email indicated that he had told Charity it wasn’t possible, as Wednesdays were the legal department’s regularly scheduled working lunch staff meeting. He also indicated that Charity was less than excited to hear this, but would reschedule accordingly. He closed his email with a note that Andy should clarify with Charity that he was not Andy’s secretary.
She then listened to the messages from Charity. It was obvious from the girl’s tone of voice that Miranda was no less demanding now than she was six years ago. Andy left a return voicemail at Charity’s number, indicating her sincere apologies for missing the earlier calls. She left her cell number and indicated that while she was unavailable for lunch on Wednesdays, she would be as accommodating as possible to whenever Miranda’s schedule permitted.
Wednesday morning, Andy went into the office early. She stopped by the Art Department to see if Nigel was there yet.
“Nige. Sorry I forgot to stop by the other day. How are you doing?”
“Great. Great. We have to completely reshoot some pieces since the photographer’s memory card was accidentally destroyed in swimming pool incident last weekend. Don’t ask. Just another day. What are you up to? I’m going to keep working while we talk, if you don’t mind.”
Andy chuckled, “Not a problem, Nigel. Tell you what,” she reached into the pocket of her suit jacket and grabbed a pencil from off the work desk, “here’s my work number and email.” She scribbled on the back of the card, “My cell is on the back. If you want to do lunch or dinner or drinks, just let me know.”
Nigel took the card with one hand while he moved negatives around on the light board with the other.
Andy turned to leave. As she stepped out the door, she turned briefly to impart a final remark, smiling, “I am only a few floors down, so I’m sure it won’t be too hard to coordinate our schedules at some point.” She let the glass door close behind her and caught the next elevator downstairs.
She barely entered her office when the phone rang.
“Six! I can’t believe it. You’re back. I mean, you’re back HERE. What are you doing Friday evening? Are you free for drinks?”
“Sure, Nige. That sounds great.”
“I’ll email you with particulars later then.”
“Great.”
“Ciao,” and with that, he disconnected. Andy grinned. Things were looking up. She had a decent job, a well-decorated loft in New York, and a chance to catch up with Nigel later in the week.
At the weekly staff meeting, the team reviewed their current caseload and Andy had been asked to either assist or sit-in on a couple of cases. She quickly set up meetings with the case leads for each and returned to her office to review a stack of case files Mike had requested her to look over. The department was rather small - a total of four lawyers (herself included), Sam (their paralegal), and Mike’s secretary/assistant, Jennifer. After the time spent at Trump Enterprises, it was taking some adjustment to fully appreciate that she was a big fish in a smaller pond, so to speak.
She spent the next few hours typing up a summary of her findings for each case file and left the bundle of records at Mike’s office. The floor was silent, as everyone in the department had departed for the day already. Andy was reminded of the evenings she had spent sitting in solitude several floors up awaiting the arrival of the Book.
As she stepped out of the elevator to go home, Andy was surprised to see the dark indigo streaks in the sky - she knew it was late, but it was summer, after all. A glance at her phone told her that it was nearly 8pm. As she strode across the empty lobby, she heard the click-clack of her heels reverberating off the walls and the marble floors, momentarily transported back in time to when the sound of the ‘clackers’ drove her nearly mad. Pushing through the revolving door, Andy paused to adjust to the seasonal heat and humidity that pushed down on her. As she strode towards the street, a silver Mercedes pulled up to the curb. She had almost walked past it before it sunk in whose Mercedes it might be. Sure enough, Ted got out of the car and stood, looking past Andy, towards the building. It took every ounce of self-control for the young attorney to NOT look back. She knew Miranda must be close behind, and it really wasn’t a good idea for her to greet the woman now, as they were both headed home after a long day in the office. Still, she couldn’t help the feeling that the fashion editor was watching her.
Andy tried to walk casually, but she could feel her hips putting a little extra swish into each step. Her hand tucked her hair behind her shoulder without really thinking about what she was doing. And her shoulders straightened as she strode down the street. Six years and she still found herself trying to impress Miranda Priestly. Andy silently chastised herself over this realization.
Fifteen minutes later, she was in the air-conditioned womb of her loft, pouring a glass of red wine while preparing pasta, trying to forget about Miranda freaking Priestly. The older woman was becoming truly unavoidable.
As she ate her dinner while watching the news and then the Jon Stewart show, Andy realized she was going to have to face her previous employer eventually. The three close calls she’d had within the last month attested to the fact (outside Irv’s office during interviews; inside Miranda’s office during her coffee-fetching moment of insanity; this evening just outside the Elias-Clarke building). She needed to buck up and face the music - or, in this case, the executioner.
That night, Andy dreamed of Sherry. Except that Sherry kept changing into Miranda, then back again. Andy woke up early Thursday morning frustrated by the dream. It had made no sense, whatsoever.
She was called into Mike’s office before lunch. He expressed delighted surprise at some of her notes on the files she had reviewed. Later, she sat in on one of the cases she had been assigned to assist on, and instantly hit it off with Tom, the first chair. It involved a simple case of copyright infringement, and they were able to quickly draft their argument and get it couriered to the courthouse for filing. She and Tom then walked across the street to the Starbucks for an afternoon coffee and an informal chat.
When they crossed back to the Elias-Clarke building, Andy felt her phone vibrate with a new email message. Once they were safely on the curb, she pulled it up to review. It was a meeting invite sent from Charity. Miranda wanted to have lunch on Monday at some restaurant halfway across town. Andy must have made a small noise, because Tom asked her what was wrong as they entered the elevators.
“Oh, nothing. I used to work as an assistant for Miranda Priestly ages ago. Looks like she wants to do lunch Monday. Likely trying to understand what I’m doing back at Elias-Clarke. I didn’t exactly leave her employ on the best of terms.” Andy smiled tightly.
Tom chuckled, “Well, from what we’ve seen in Legal, any Runway employees who leave on other than good terms tend to meet an untimely end. So, I don’t think you have to worry. Besides, if she didn’t like you, she would have torpedoed your hiring.”
“I don’t know. I don’t get the feeling that Mr. Ravitz and Miranda get along that wonderfully. He might have been glad to hire me just to rub it in her face.”
“Well, she may be known in the building as the Snow Queen, but I wouldn’t worry. Most of the male editors are more horrific than she is. I think that a lot of people are simply prejudiced against women in leadership positions. You should know this - you worked for Trump Enterprises. I doubt the women there were treated as true equals, either.”
Andy stared at Tom, mouth agape.
“What?” The look of confusion on his face was precious.
“So, you are either gay or from California, or both.”
“Why, because I can see the truth and speak it?” He grinned. “Actually, I’m quite straight, not that there is anything wrong with being gay. And I’m from Seattle, but you aren’t too far off. My brother is gay and my wife’s from California. She definitely wears the pants in our household - keeps me and the rugrats in line, I’ll tell you that.”
Andy chuckled as they got off the elevator and made their way into the outer offices of the Legal Department. Tom turned off towards his corner office. Andy went a little further down the corridor to her office, where she sat and stared out the window in quiet contemplation for a few moments before reviewing her calendar and accepting the lunch invite sent by Charity.
Friday evening, Andy met Nigel for drinks at a cocktail lounge not far from the Elias-Clarke building. The jazz music and ambient lighting created a warm, relaxed atmosphere. While she was a little surprised and initially disappointed to see that he still had the same position at Runway, it became obvious during their visit that he was happy and had hit a new stride.
“In fact, other than that day you stopped by, work has become second nature to me, Andy. I actually,” here he paused to melodramatically look around the establishment before continuing in a conspiratorial whisper, “have a life outside of work - and a guy to boot.”
Andy’s smile extended from ear to ear, and she gave his bicep a pat, “Good for you. It’s about time.”
“Actually, we’ve been together for almost three years now. We’re planning a trip up to Vermont to get married next fall.”
“Really? Fantastic. Tell me about him.”
“Well, you’ll have to meet him. Words cannot express the wonder that is Roger.” Nigel’s beaming face said it all, warming Andy.
“With a smile like that, Six, and such a brilliant career track, you are likely charming all the men in Manhattan. You know…there are a couple of decent specimens on the 7th floor you might do well by.”
Andy furrowed her brow, “Auto World or Technology Times?”
“Well, there are a couple of possibilities in Auto World, but I was thinking Technology Times. Why it is Irv saw fit to put shop boys and computer geeks on the same floor…The territorial battles down there are something you’ll want to keep an eye on. Someone gets hurt by a flying wrench or an electrified mouse too often to be safe.”
Andy chuckled, “Good to know. How about any prospects on eight?” She waited while the question sunk in.
“The 8th floor? One side is Runway’s hair and makeup departments, and the other side used to be Teen Runway, but they’ve been gone for almost a year now, Andy. And, I must say, any man who chooses to work with pre-teen girls needs to be on a watch list.”
“I know Teen Runway closed down - another victim of the economic times. I was referring to the new magazine that’s set up in their place.” Obviously Nigel needed a nudge.
“What? You mean-?” He looked at her as if she had sprouted gills. “Really?”
Andy lifted her Cosmo and took a sip. He watched her, then smirked.
“Oh, you watched too much ‘Sex In The City’ out there in California, didn’t you? Drinking cosmos and temporarily switching teams, like Samantha?”
“No,” Andy smirked, “I was thinking more like real-life Cynthia Nixon.”
Nigel waved his hands emphatically, “Six, you really can’t. This is all wrong. What happened to that young woman who wanted to be a writer? The straight, naïve one with a shy smile? I thought California was supposed to make people soft. And yet, here you are, an evil corporate attorney and asking me about the staff of Rainbow Travel. It’s all just wrong.”
“Nigel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you with this. I thought you might be happy.”
“Happy. I might have been happy. But, really.” He blinked, “Any magazine so unoriginal as to have ‘Rainbow’ in their title? You really can’t expect me to take you seriously. Their whole staff is so stuck in 80s clichés, they think the mullet is the height of couture.”
Andy snickered. Nigel gave her an evaluative stare.
They moved on to chat about West Coast versus East Coast when it came to culture, fashion trends, and dating scenes. The crowd around them began to shift, the after-work set being slowly replaced by the weekend clubbing crowd.
As they got up to leave, Nigel gave her a small hug.
“I’m sorry if I reacted poorly at first. Welcome to the clan.” They walked out into the stifling humidity. Andy head towards home while Nigel went back in to the office to pick up some items he wanted to work on over the weekend.
Monday morning, Andy checked her image in the mirror before heading out to work. She had made a call to Nigel over the weekend, conning him into making a few wardrobe recommendations, then went to a handful of designer shops to pick up the items he had listed for her. There was no way on Earth she was going to have lunch with ‘la Priestly’ in anything that would make the woman regret letting her leave Runway unscathed.
She caught a cab to the restaurant and arrived half-an-hour early, which did nothing for her nerves. Settling in at the bar area with a ginger ale, Andy pulled out her iPhone. She reviewed the restaurant’s menu and picked out a couple of dishes that sounded appealing. On her phone, she pulled up the wine matching application and found well-suited combinations. The time in California had provided Andy with an education on wines, but the restaurant seemed fixated on serving French and Italian vintages, and Andy’s comprehension of foreign wines required use of the application. By the time Miranda arrived, Andy was feeling fairly comfortable with her preparations.
As the two women followed the maitre d’ to a table, Andy allowed Miranda’s signature scent to wrap around them as she studied the older woman’s figure. She realized that Miranda had neither gained nor lost weight in the intervening years. But, when they sat, she noticed that a couple of wrinkles in the older woman’s forehead had become slightly more evident, along with a very subtle sprouting of crow’s feet.
Andy was aware that Miranda was studying her as well, but felt oddly at ease with the critical evaluation. Her time at Trump Enterprises had hardened her, at least outwardly, to such appraisal.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miranda.” Andy gave her lunch companion a warm smile. Miranda, on the whole, was as beautiful as always, in her own, regal way. Andy was pleased to see that time hadn’t changed that at all.
“Mm. I see you have made quite a successful career for yourself, Andrea.”
“Um,” Andy looked down at her menu, feeling the blush creep up her neck. That was as close to a compliment as one could hope to get from Miranda Priestly. Plus, there was the delightful way that Miranda said her name that warmed her.
The waiter came over at that moment and took their orders. Miranda raised an eyebrow when Andy ordered wine with her meal. Once the waiter had departed, she gave Andy a piercing look.
“Wine at lunch? I believe the boys in legal strongly cautioned against that sort of thing.”
“I hope not,” Andy responded, evenly. “Well, they may discourage it at business lunches. There was no indication you wanted to discuss work, however, so I think I’m safe. Besides, after six years in California, I’ve developed a preference for wine.”
“After six years, I would think you’d have figured out that California wines are rather inferior.”
“I don’t know about inferior, but I would agree that there are some outstanding options from elsewhere.”
“The Italian red you just ordered shows you have no comprehension of the heavenly nature of a good French vintage.”
“Quite the contrary, Miranda. None of the French reds they serve would go well with the steak as prepared, which is likely why they have the Montepulciano d’Abruzzo on their wine list.”
“Mmm. Impressive enough.” Miranda gave a small nod, continuing, “In regards to your legal career, I assume you have been able to hold true to the standards you vilified me for not upholding six and-a-half years ago?”
Miranda, in perfect form, had put the embarrassing incident out there as a smooth, self-assured statement of fact.
Andy reached for her water goblet to calm herself before responding. She was thankful that a server stopped at their table just then to deliver their salads. Miranda pushed hers off to the side, while Andy composed an answer.
“While I would not trade my experiences at Runway for anything, Miranda, I have fine-tuned my ideals since then. This includes when and to what degree I shall defend them. The manner in which I left was regrettable. However, I stand by my decision and my actions.” She stated with a firm resolve.
“Mmm.”
Andy glanced up as Miranda opened her mouth to say something else, but when their eyes met, Miranda seemed to change her mind. She looked over Andy’s shoulder, allowing her eyes to make a sweep around the restaurant.
Andy wasn’t sure if the woman was looking for something or someone in particular or just avoiding her gaze. She had obviously lost some of her knack for reading the Editor-In-Chief. Andy finished her salad in silence. When the steaks arrived, Miranda watched Andy take a sip of her wine.
“It seems California was an enjoyable location. What brought you back to New York? Surely Elias-Clarke can’t be all that much of a draw.”
“I can’t say that I was overly enamored at taking the position, especially when I found that the leadership hadn’t changed.”
Miranda’s head snapped up and she shot Andy a cold glare that, Trump training or not, made Andy shiver. The older woman laid down her fork and moved to remove the napkin from her lap. Andy realized what was happening and grabbed a slender wrist, to keep the woman from leaving.
“Wait. I didn’t mean you. Really. I meant Mr. Ravitz, Miranda.” Andy was unable to control the quiver in her voice.
This time, when those impossibly clear blue eyes met hers, the anger was gone.
“You may let go, Andrea.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” Andy released her grip. “Sorry. I hope I, um, didn’t hurt you.”
“Just because everyone refers to me as cold and icy, doesn’t mean I will shatter at a simple touch.”
“No, of course not.”
“So, obviously Irv’s charm didn’t lull you to New York.” Miranda picked her fork back up and resumed her work on the steak before her, as if the misunderstanding hadn’t happened at all. When she referred to the CEO, it sounded as if saying his name pained her physically.
“I was tired of California. Los Angeles, in particular. Too, I don’t know, soft. Too exhausting having to walk on eggshells around everyone’s feelings. Here, in New York, you know where you stand. Words aren’t minced. If someone is upset, they curse and move on. And seasons. I didn’t realize how much I truly enjoyed having four distinct seasons.”
Andy absent-mindedly watched Miranda as she rambled, and realized that the ‘Snow Queen’ really wasn’t so scary anymore. She felt a measure of comfort in being able to feel at ease with this woman who had terrorized her world just a few years previously.
“Here. Try a sip of this with your next bite.” Andy slid her wine glass over, within reach of Miranda.
“Excuse me?”
Andy smirked, “Just try it.” Miranda gave her a long look, and then reached for the glass, turned it so that Andy’s lipstick marks were away from her, swirled the liquid a little, tilted the glass towards her mouth, then place her nose in a short ways and sniffed. After a moment, Miranda took a thoughtful sip. Andy had no doubt, after seeing Miranda sniff the wine, that the woman was allowing the wine to roll slowly her tongue before swallowing. The younger woman restrained herself from rolling her eyes at the whole dramatic show.
“Pretty good, don’t you think?”
“You have,” Miranda paused, “exceeded all expectations, Andrea. I must say.” She slid the glass back towards Andy. Without thinking, Andy reached out and grabbed the well-manicured hand before Miranda could fully retract it. Andy gave it a light squeeze before she let go.
When she had the courage to look up, she noticed that Miranda’s neck was sporting a gentle blush.
The rest of the meal was completed in companionable silence. Miranda finished her steak ahead of Andrea, and plowed through her previously rejected salad while Andy picked at her meat. It was obvious that Andy wasn’t going to finish the meal, so once they both appeared to be done, Miranda called for the bill, which she slid to Andy with a small, superior smile.
“Consider this your payback for leaving me in Paris without a word. And consider it a way of thanking me for your current success, which would not be possible if I hadn’t upset your pretty little head that day.”
Andy laughed, and for a brief moment, she caught Miranda smiling in response. A wonderful, full smile that caused the younger woman’s heart to briefly clench.
“You got it.”
As they rose to leave, Miranda rang Ted to bring the car around.
“There is room for you, if you would like a ride.” Miranda stated as she climbed into the vehicle. With a shrug, Andy followed. Riding in the sedan with Miranda felt like déjà vu, but in a good way. And, Andy admitted to herself, this was far more appealing than a smelly, frightening, and expensive cab ride.
Later in the afternoon, while Andy was going through notes on the case she was working with Tom, Sam plodded into her office and set down a Starbucks cup. Actually, setting it down would have been preferable. As it was, his heavy-handed drop of the cup caused hot liquid to splash out and onto the blotter. Andy looked up at him in surprise, but he missed her gaze, already turning and leaving.
The scent of hot milk and espresso was heavenly. She grabbed a tissue to wipe up the sloshed bits, then took a large gulp, almost burning her tongue. Sure enough, the shorthand on the side of the cup indicated that it was extra hot. Impulsively, Andy picked up her phone and rang Miranda’s office.
“Miranda Priestly’s office.”
“Hi, Charity. It’s Andy. Thanks for the latte.”
“It wasn’t from me, actually.”
Andy chuckled, “Okay. Well, then I extend my thanks to Miranda for the idea and you for the delivery. Have a good afternoon.” She smiled as she hung up the phone and went back to work.
The next few weeks went by unremarkably. Andy assisted on a handful of cases and studied New York case law in the evenings. She frequently left the office late, sometimes pausing upstairs to see if Charity was still at her desk waiting for the ‘Book’. If so, she would chat with the young woman, staying until Rob came up from the Elias-Clarke basement print shop with the mock-up. It was, Andy admitted, self-serving, as the useless chatter allowed her to unwind before she went home to her empty loft.
One evening in mid-July, Andy caught the elevator upstairs, trying to decide if she would continue to stay late and visit Charity now that she had taken the bar for New York and was done with the late night cram sessions.
When she hit the 9th floor and stepped off, she resolutely determined she really needed to get a life. She needed to face the fact that there was nothing she could use as an excuse anymore, and that she couldn’t avoid the dating scene forever. Besides, she had no interest in Charity beyond the chatting to avoid an empty home - and the girl had not one, but two boyfriends that she deftly juggled between. Besides, working late in the office was, she admitted, just plain cowardly.
Charity was standing in the corridor nearest her desk, looking through a full clothes rack.
“Buenos noches, Andy.”
“Buenos noches, Charity. Que tal?”
“Do I hear talking out there, Charity? Please tell me you’ve found the Benetton outfit.”
Andy froze. The irritation in Miranda’s soft voice as it floated out from her office was unmistakable to the trained ear. Charity shot Andy an apologetic look and then looked at the rack, wildly searching for the demanded garment. Andy followed the young girl’s eyes and immediately saw the Benetton tag on one of the hangers. She snagged the hanger off the rack, handing it over to Charity.
As the young woman whisked around the corner to pass by her own desk en route to Miranda’s den of pain, she paused for a brief moment to glance back and give a little wave.
Andy turned to go. She would send Charity an email later - let her know she had gotten word that she had passed the bar and wouldn’t be staying late much anymore.
Just as the elevator dinged to announce its arrival, Andy heard the click-clack of heels. Only one person had that particular tempo to their gait. A tempo that six, or six and-a-half years couldn’t erase. The younger woman turned slowly.
“Do you have a moment?”
Andy blinked in surprise. Miranda was asking her a question. Not commanding her. Times had changed.
“I gather that your immobility when faced with an open elevator door is a nonverbal affirmative response. It’s either that or an indication of severe brain death, which I find unlikely. I don’t believe Stanford gives its highest distinction to complete morons.” Miranda smirked.
Andy knew she hadn’t told Miranda about graduating Magna Cum Laude - which meant the formidable Editor had found out, and remembered, on her own.
“I don’t know about that. Irv’s wife graduated from Stanford.”
Miranda was clearly surprised by Andy’s retort and they stood for a moment facing one another in silence before a soft, small smile illuminated the older woman’s features, her eyes twinkling in the dim light.
“I would concede that point, Counselor, for your implied message about her choice in spouse. However, I have met the woman, and she is quite intelligent. Irv is a shrewd businessman, so I believe she has made certain…concessions, in order to maintain the life she has otherwise built."
“I’ll take that knowledge into consideration for whenever I do meet her. Even so, I would say that is a weak argument for what is basically a marriage of convenience and…” Andy trailed off.
“Most intelligent women, as you may or may not have figured out for yourself, Andrea, have let opportunities for love slip through their fingers in exchange for something less elusive, less ephemeral. Instead,” she sighed, as their footsteps echoed on the marble floor, “we choose predictable, career-oriented, self-serving men, because they are easy to understand and what is expected of us. Much less work - and much less rewarding.” She coughed, and both were silent. Neither knew what to say next.
They had been crossing towards the pale glow emanating from Miranda’s office space. As they entered the inner sanctum, her eyes accommodated to capture Miranda’s weariness, and appreciate her beauty.
Andy marveled at the maroon skirt and honeyed caramel blouse the Editor wore. The colors complemented Miranda’s pale skin tones, without being too bold.
“That,” Andy stated, “is a wonderful palette for you.” She waved her hand for emphasis as Miranda turned to sit at her desk. The silvery-grey haired woman immediately blushed a dark crimson that ran from the neckline of the scoop-necked blouse up her long neck, wrapped around her ears, and descended along her cheekbones. Andy found it enchanting.
“I thought your department vacated the building by three.”
Andy broke from her reverie over Miranda’s appearance and plopped down in one of the seldom-used straight-backed chairs upholstered in a gold patterned print. It was uncomfortable, but functional.
“Had to take the bar to practice in New York, so I’ve been pulling a lot of late nights. Thankfully, I heard today that I passed.”
“And yet you’re still here well into the evening.”
“Astute observation. Last late night I plan on pulling for as along as possible.”
Feeling emboldened, she continued, “You’re here, and so is Charity, but why is no one else from Runway? If there are things needing correction, why don’t you have staff staying on to take care of it?”
Miranda’s sharp look was a reminder to Andy that she was unaccustomed to being interrogated. However, she relented.
“I’m taking a vacation with the girls and wanted to ensure I have everything in order first. God knows what kind of chaos I might return to otherwise.”
“I’m sure Nigel will make sure that all goes well, Miranda. But, I’m glad to hear that you are taking some time off. You deserve it.”
“Don’t ply me with insincerity, Andrea. It’s rather unbecoming.” Miranda slid her reading glasses into place as she scribbled on a sticky-note and carefully placed it over a picture in the ‘Book’ that was open before her on the desk.
“No, I mean it. Runway is the most successful of the Elias-Clarke magazines, despite the well-known budget battles between you and Irv. Actually, your success is probably WHY he fights with you. If you get away with too much, all the other editors will try to do the same thing. Only they don’t have the audience that you’ve built up over the years.”
Miranda snorted, “True. Still, have you ever taken a trip to Miami in the summer with teenage girls? If I deserve THAT as a ‘break’, then well…I suppose I am as bad as I’m made out to be.” There was a resignation in her tone and reflected in her sad eyes when she looked up, vision unfocused in Andy’s direction.
“Playing the pity card now?” Andy gently teased, her heart warmed by the information Miranda was sharing with her this evening.
There was the sound of a stapler crunching from Charity’s desk, and the lawyer was reminded of the time and place.
She rose, “I’m going to let you go, Miranda, so you can finish up and enjoy the terrors of your vacation. At least there aren’t scheduled to be any hurricanes in Miami this trip.” She slid her purse onto her shoulder.
“Yes. Well,” was the only verbal response, but again Andy caught the pained look on Miranda’s face.
“I may end up praying for a hurricane, or any other reason to come back early.”
Andy chuckled and tilted her head, “Oh, if you want to come back early, you’ll want to pray for something else entirely. If you recall, hurricanes have a way of preventing travel.” She was rewarded by a small nod.
“Goodnight, Miranda. Safe travels.”
“Goodnight, Andrea.” The young lawyer’s breath caught in her throat. Miranda’s soft voice and the way she said her name caressed her ears and went straight to her knees, causing them to almost buckle. Quickly, she recovered and made her way out of the office.
“Hasta luego.”
“Hasta luego, Andy.” Charity replied, without looking away from her computer screen.
The walk home, Andy thought about how her body had reacted to Miranda- buckling knees, no less! She was going insane. That was really the only explanation for it. Of all the people in the world, being attracted to Miranda Priestly was perhaps the most extreme example of unrequited love possible.
That night, she dreamed of Sherry turning into Miranda again. And this time,Miranda would look at her longingly, then, when Andy swooned under her gaze, Miranda slid one arm around her waist to support the younger woman, while with the other, she ran a hand up and down the back of her thigh. Andy could feel her skirt sliding up around her hips as Miranda’s fingers climbed higher with each up-sweep, fingertips coming achingly close to the underside of her buttocks. Andy awoke Friday morning with the blanket on the floor and her sheet tangled around her hips.
When she got into the office, she was thankful it was Friday - the restless night wasn’t completely cured by even a triple shot non-fat latte. That evening, the department was informally going out for dinner and drinks to celebrate her passing the NY bar - not because they were all that happy for her, but because it meant the other three lawyers could now pass along some of their less desirable cases to her.
Andy was now aware that her previous employment with Runway had made her the likely target for all of the squabbles between the various Runway offices; the fact that Italian, French, and British Runway staff were picking fights with España and Asian Runway had been the subject of an increased number of memos between Irv and Mike. Andy had no doubt that Mike was very much looking forward to passing that headache on to her.
As she disembarked the elevator on the 3rd floor and dug in her purse for the keys to her office, Andy noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that Sam was looking more peeved than usual from his sentry position.
“Sam. I’ve had it with your attitude. Every time I see you, the chip on your shoulder blinds me. I’m gonna start calling you ‘Chip.’ What is your problem?”
“Do you know how many times I’ve taken the bar exam? Do you have any idea how many years I spent working my way through night courses at a no-name law school? You waltz in here from California with your Stanford degree and your Trump confidence. On top of that, you have the Ice Queen, of all people, wanting to have lunch with you and leaving gifts? And you wonder why I’m not ecstatic. Get over yourself, Sunshine.” He ran a hand through his unruly golden locks, and tugged an ear.
Andy dropped her newly found keys back into her open Ferragamo shoulder bag.
“Screw you, Chip. Next time you call Miranda Priestly the ‘Snow Queen’ you better hope I don’t hear.” She fished the keys out again and walked past him, saying a quiet prayer of thanks for being back in New York.
“And,” she shot over her shoulder, “next time you want to take the bar, let me know in advance. I’ll help you study.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Sooner you pass the bar, Chip, sooner you lose the nickname.”
“Fat chance, Sunshine.” Andy turned and they both smiled, briefly, at one another. Yep, it was definitely good to be back in New York. As she unlocked the door and moved to enter her office, Andy tripped over a box. She hadn’t seen it, as her purse had dangled directly over it.
“Smooth move,” she heard Sam state, flatly.
Andy dropped her purse on her chair and reached to lift the rather small package. Her name was scrawled, rather poorly, on the small grey envelope that slid off as she perched the box on her desk.
She carefully opened the envelope, which had, in the lower corner, the name of a well-known, expensive Italian stationer, Pineider. The classically illegible handwriting was indisputably Miranda Priestly’s. Andy remembered Sam’s comment about gifts from the ‘Snow Queen’ and she glanced up towards the doorway as she slid out the single sheet of white paper, edged in silver.
As she attempted to read the short note, Andy was silently thankful it wasn’t a legal document. There was no way on Earth anyone could defend any particular interpretation of the scribbles therein. After a few moments of intense staring, she made out the brief message: ‘Congratulations, Andrea. Your successes are well deserved.’ Below that, was a single, bold ‘M’ - not even a full signature. Andy smiled.
The box was a burnt orange, its lid held in place by a wide, grey ribbon. With barely contained excitement, Andy undid the ribbon and flicked off the lid. Peeling back the folds of tissue paper, she found two individual items inside. The top box was small and flat, with the classic Hermes logo. There was a sticky note atop stating - ‘Should go nicely with your Giles outfit.’ Andy tried to think when she had worn the pale pink slacks and coordinating pink and brown blouse. Ah, yes. Her first full day - the day she had delivered the Starbucks to Miranda’s office. Well, she had worn it a time or two since then in the past few months, but couldn’t recall having encountered Miranda then. Which meant that Miranda likely HAD seen her delivering the coffee. And remembered the outfit.
Removing the lid, she found a lovely pink scarf, the edge stitching in a milk chocolate brown. Andy couldn’t help but chuckle. Miranda loved Hermes, so it seemed only fitting.
The other item tucked into the larger box was quite obviously a wrapped book. Andy tore open the wrapping to discover a guide to French wines. The binding had already been cracked, so Andy peeked inside the front cover. Sure enough, there was scrawled in careful penmanship:
‘Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.
-William B Yeats-
Andy was struck by the personal gesture of both the scarf and the book. And the Yeats poem made her smile as she ran a finger over the words. Suddenly, she was quite awake in a way that the latte hadn’t been able to accomplish. The rest of the day, she was on cloud nine…and-a-half.
RATING: M (for Chapter 3)
PAIRING: Miranda/Andrea
SUMMARY: Christmas Challenge/Gift forliz_tempest , as she requested, "Andy breaks up with Nate after she leaves Runway and becomes a lawyer, a VERY successful lawyer, and is asked by Irv to be the lawyer for Runway and she accepts. Her and Miranda meet again, of course, and realize they are in love. And a VERY happy ending Please! Im all about smut so thats a plus. :)"
DISCLAIMER: Implied non-ownership of characters. Real people named herein are fictionalized versions. Nor am I able to claim any ties to mentioned corporations/businesses/products (Hermes, Trump Enterprises, Pineider stationery, Giles fashion wear, etc, etc).
A/N: Chapter 3 should go up within the week. (Chapter 1 was a bit short. Chapter 2, a bit longer.)
Link to Chapter 1: community.livejournal.com/dvlwears_prada/1158939.html
Chapter 2: Here You Come Again (by Dolly Parton)
California lawyers were just too friendly, too soft - each trip to the East Coast reminded Andy of this fact. And there were other perks to making the move - the Northeast actually had seasons and she could go on a date without the other person thinking it was anything other than that. Her credentials were impeccable, and Andy knew that she could secure almost any position she sought.
Of course, she also knew that at this point, if she ran into Miranda Priestly, she could hold her head high - the fashion maven wouldn’t be able to threaten her employability or make her feel insecure with a simple glance. Andy had received a job offer from the CBS News division at a much lower salary than she was hoping for, and was about to take it, when she got a callback from Houghton-Mills. She hadn’t been that enthused about the position there, but it paid well. Plus, it was as close to the publishing world as she was likely to get to her undergraduate dream of being a reporter.
One of the members of their lead counsel called to tell her that while Andy’s experience didn’t fit with what they were looking to add to their team, he had passed her name and particulars on to a friend within Elias-Clarke Publishing. While it seemed unusual for one publisher to refer her to another, she wasn’t about to kick a possible gift horse in the mouth. Even if it was Elias-Clarke.
Sure enough, the next day, Andy got a call from Elias-Clarke’s Legal Department. They were impressed with her résumé and asked when she could come in for an interview.
That next Friday, Andy hopped yet another NY-bound flight, caught a cab, and stepped out at a familiar structure. She wiped her clammy hands on her skirt, took a deep breath, and entered the Elias-Clarke building. Amazingly, it hadn’t changed much in the last 6 years.
Her panel interview (Legal, Human Resources, and Public Relations) went well enough, and she was asked to return again later in the afternoon for a couple of individual interviews - one with the lead counsel, Mike Birch, and the other with the Corporate Chairman, Irv Ravitz. Andy could have been knocked over with a feather. She had studied up on Elias-Clarke’s legal history as soon as she had been asked to interview, and had been surprised that Irv was still at the helm of the periodical publishing conglomerate. Obviously, his son either wasn’t ready or wasn’t interested in taking on his father’s role yet. Still, it was surreal, for lack of a better word, to be seeing him again.
The interview with Mike had gone exceptionally well, and Mike’s secretary/assistant escorted her to Irv’s office, explaining that if she was interviewing with the Chairman, it was a sign she had gotten the job. Irv’s assistant smiled warmly at Andy and let her know it would just be a minute before she would be seen - Mr. Ravitz was finishing up a budget meeting. Andy sat down and picked up a copy of Cottage Gardens sitting on the end table, not really looking at it, trying to wrap her head around the possibility of working in the building again after so long. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be there, so close to Miranda. To be honest, she wasn’t altogether certain how the mercurial Editor-In-Chief of Runway would react to Andy being back in her world again, but in an altogether different position. Perhaps Miranda would pretend that she didn’t even know Andy, whenever they got around to meeting again. It was unlikely that the woman would want to admit that such a successful lawyer could have once been one of her peons. With a sigh, Andy closed the magazine on her lap and bent over her satchel to dig out a Tic-Tac. As she did so, she heard a door click open and several people shuffling past.
Andy didn’t need to lift her head to know that Miranda Priestly was among the group. The light scent of Miranda’s signature perfume tickled her nose and made her smile involuntarily. And for a moment, as Andy’s fingers found the plastic container, she felt a slight chill in the air.
Then, just as she was about to sit upright, the chill was gone. Pouring a couple of the small breath mints in her mouth, she raised her head and dared to look after the group. Sure enough, she caught a glimpse of a pair of shapely legs in a slender black skirt (Anne Klein, Andy guessed) and a pair of Dolce & Gabbana heels silently crossing from the carpet of the executive suite, cross the entryway, and glide over the marble floor near the elevators, caught up amidst a sea of people.
“Ms. Sachs, Mr. Ravitz will see you now.”
Andy jerked her head back around, and took in a deep breath. She hadn’t realized it, but she had been holding her breath while following Miranda’s movements. She made her way past the conference room that had just been vacated and entered the only slightly smaller office of Irv Ravitz, Chairman and CEO of Elias-Clarke Publishing.
The interview was short enough, and Andy was reminded of the sleazy sexist that Irv had been years ago had not changed during the intermittent years. When she left his office, she was asked to return to Mr. Birch’s office. She made a brief stop in the restrooms en route, simply to wash her hands, reapply her lipstick, and brush her hands over her outfit, attempting to brush away the filthy dust that she felt must have settled on her during her interview with Irv.
She was not surprised at the job offer Mr. Birch ('Please, call me Mike') extended to her, although the salary was far beyond what she had hoped it might be. Feeling buoyed, Andy left the building feeling pretty happy. She caught a cab back to the airport and returned to L.A. long enough to coordinate for her things to be packed up for the move to New York and to turn in her resignation with Trump Enterprises.
Within three weeks, Andy had left L.A. for good, found a delightfully well-lit and airy loft not far from her new job, and was shopping for decorations at Crate and Barrel.
Andy realized that when it was time to make a change - whether going to law school, taking the internship with Trump Enterprises, or signing on with Elias-Clarke - the pieces fell together quickly, making each decision feel quite right. Leaving Miranda in Paris - during Fashion Week - had set into motion a series of options and successes that Andy knew had made the unprofessional Runway departure more than worth it.
Her first day on the job, she was enthused to find she would have a decently sized office; in Trump Enterprises’ Los Angeles’ building, she and another junior associate had shared office space the size of a broom closet. Here at Elias-Clarke, she had access to a paralegal named Sam, who was less than friendly. But, after spending several years in California, Andy knew she had likely gone a little soft and would need to work on restoring the mantle of indifference necessary for life in New York.
Her internal clock hadn’t fully adjusted to the time change, and so she found herself descending to the office cafeteria around 3pm, looking for lunch. Unfortunately, the eatery had shut down for the day already. So, she crossed the street to the Starbucks feeling a certain nostalgia returning to her.
In a moment of pure insanity, she ordered two extra hot non-fat lattes, a coffee and a low-fat apple cranberry muffin. Getting on the elevators back in Elias-Clarke, though, fear began to creep in. What was she thinking??
She stopped at her office on the 3rd floor, planning to ditch her plan. But, after placing the bag with the muffin down on her desk, she took a sip of her latte, and realized she needed to just go with it - getting a possible run-in with Miranda out of the way early would prevent her from fretting about it endlessly. She continued to sip at the beverage while she strolled back out to the elevators and rode up to the 9th floor, Runway’s floor. Stepping off, she almost ran right into Nigel. Literally.
Andy smiled warmly at him, “Hi, Nige.”
He did a double take, and broke out into a large grin.
“Good God, Six. How are you doing?”
“Fine. You are looking great. I have to deliver this,” she lifted tray of caffeinated beverages, “but can we talk later? You’re office is still -“ she broke off, pointing in the direction of the Art Department.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m still there.” There was a hesitancy in his voice, and his eyes were fixated on the cups in her hands.
“Good luck with that. She’s in a foul mood today.”
“What’s new?” Andy chuckled. Thankfully, Nigel smiled at this, before continuing on his way in the opposite direction. Andy took a slow breath and finished her walk towards the Editor-In-Chief’s office. When she reached the outer space, she stopped. There was now only one assistant’s desk. Obviously, likely due to the financial times, Miranda had to pare down to just one assistant, which Andy was sure had irritated the woman to no end. A young, slender woman with golden blonde hair sat at Emily’s old desk, fingers flying across a keyboard as she listened to someone on the other end of the phone cradled between her shoulder and cheek.
Andy waited for a moment, caught the young woman’s eye, dropped off the coffee, and moved towards the inner office with her own and Miranda’s lattes.
“Can you hold for just a second, Jim?” The young woman put a hand over the receiver.
“Is that a -“
“Extra hot non-fat latte.” Andy held up one of the two remaining drinks. “Yep.”
“Oh, you are an angel.”
Andy grinned, “Nah. I’m Andy Sachs, from Legal. I’ll just pop this on her desk.”
“Um…”
“I won’t say a thing to her. I’ll just put it down on her desk, and leave. She won’t even look up from whatever she’s working on.” Andy’s time at Trump Enterprises had imbued her with the ability to project self-confidence, even when she didn’t have it. And the fact that she was wearing a new pink and brown print Giles blouse and slacks didn’t hurt either.
“Yeah,” the girl looked a little nervous, “okay.”
Andy nodded, and pushed open the door to Miranda’s office, walking with falsely sure steps. She barely noticed that the office décor had changed. There was now a cream-colored berber rug, and the glass-topped desk had been replaced by one of dark cherry wood. The space was still clean, sparsely decorated and, despite the general changes in decor, felt quite clinical.
Miranda’s chair was turned towards the window, a small amount of grey-white hair peeking up from over the top of her high-backed leather throne.
Andy took a slow breath and placed the cup down on the desktop, saying a quiet prayer of gratitude that Miranda didn’t see her. This mission was incredibly risky, and she knew it. It was definitely NOT one of her brighter ideas to approach Miranda on her very first day of work. The vacillating feelings she’d had about the plan were a sure sign that it really hadn’t been a wise move.
As she retreated from the space, she heard Miranda’s chair start to swivel. With an attempt at casual speed, she reached for the door with one hand, her own latte shaking in the other hand. She fervently hoped she would slide out before Miranda could glance up, if at all, to see her.
She heard an intake of breath and knew she was dead. But, as she continued to slip out the door, Miranda said nothing. So, maybe she was home free after all. With the feeling that she had just escaped death, Andy returned to her office and the stack of cases that Mr. Birch (Mike) wanted her to study before the staff meeting on Wednesday. In her fearful retreat from the devil’s lair, she had completely forgotten to stop and see Nigel.
Tuesday, Andy worked from home, setting up a secure connection to the office and checking out the electronic files intermittently while directing the movers on where to put all the boxes that had arrived from California. She did not check her email for a few hours during the late afternoon, and when she sat down with a salad and a diet soda that evening and peeked at her Inbox, she saw a message from Sam and three voicemails from a ‘Charity’ in the Runway offices.
She read Sam’s email first. Not good. It seems that the 3 voice messages from Charity were a request from Miranda to set up a lunch meeting with Andy on Wednesday. After Charity had been unable to reach Andy, she had called Sam. His email indicated that he had told Charity it wasn’t possible, as Wednesdays were the legal department’s regularly scheduled working lunch staff meeting. He also indicated that Charity was less than excited to hear this, but would reschedule accordingly. He closed his email with a note that Andy should clarify with Charity that he was not Andy’s secretary.
She then listened to the messages from Charity. It was obvious from the girl’s tone of voice that Miranda was no less demanding now than she was six years ago. Andy left a return voicemail at Charity’s number, indicating her sincere apologies for missing the earlier calls. She left her cell number and indicated that while she was unavailable for lunch on Wednesdays, she would be as accommodating as possible to whenever Miranda’s schedule permitted.
Wednesday morning, Andy went into the office early. She stopped by the Art Department to see if Nigel was there yet.
“Nige. Sorry I forgot to stop by the other day. How are you doing?”
“Great. Great. We have to completely reshoot some pieces since the photographer’s memory card was accidentally destroyed in swimming pool incident last weekend. Don’t ask. Just another day. What are you up to? I’m going to keep working while we talk, if you don’t mind.”
Andy chuckled, “Not a problem, Nigel. Tell you what,” she reached into the pocket of her suit jacket and grabbed a pencil from off the work desk, “here’s my work number and email.” She scribbled on the back of the card, “My cell is on the back. If you want to do lunch or dinner or drinks, just let me know.”
Nigel took the card with one hand while he moved negatives around on the light board with the other.
Andy turned to leave. As she stepped out the door, she turned briefly to impart a final remark, smiling, “I am only a few floors down, so I’m sure it won’t be too hard to coordinate our schedules at some point.” She let the glass door close behind her and caught the next elevator downstairs.
She barely entered her office when the phone rang.
“Six! I can’t believe it. You’re back. I mean, you’re back HERE. What are you doing Friday evening? Are you free for drinks?”
“Sure, Nige. That sounds great.”
“I’ll email you with particulars later then.”
“Great.”
“Ciao,” and with that, he disconnected. Andy grinned. Things were looking up. She had a decent job, a well-decorated loft in New York, and a chance to catch up with Nigel later in the week.
At the weekly staff meeting, the team reviewed their current caseload and Andy had been asked to either assist or sit-in on a couple of cases. She quickly set up meetings with the case leads for each and returned to her office to review a stack of case files Mike had requested her to look over. The department was rather small - a total of four lawyers (herself included), Sam (their paralegal), and Mike’s secretary/assistant, Jennifer. After the time spent at Trump Enterprises, it was taking some adjustment to fully appreciate that she was a big fish in a smaller pond, so to speak.
She spent the next few hours typing up a summary of her findings for each case file and left the bundle of records at Mike’s office. The floor was silent, as everyone in the department had departed for the day already. Andy was reminded of the evenings she had spent sitting in solitude several floors up awaiting the arrival of the Book.
As she stepped out of the elevator to go home, Andy was surprised to see the dark indigo streaks in the sky - she knew it was late, but it was summer, after all. A glance at her phone told her that it was nearly 8pm. As she strode across the empty lobby, she heard the click-clack of her heels reverberating off the walls and the marble floors, momentarily transported back in time to when the sound of the ‘clackers’ drove her nearly mad. Pushing through the revolving door, Andy paused to adjust to the seasonal heat and humidity that pushed down on her. As she strode towards the street, a silver Mercedes pulled up to the curb. She had almost walked past it before it sunk in whose Mercedes it might be. Sure enough, Ted got out of the car and stood, looking past Andy, towards the building. It took every ounce of self-control for the young attorney to NOT look back. She knew Miranda must be close behind, and it really wasn’t a good idea for her to greet the woman now, as they were both headed home after a long day in the office. Still, she couldn’t help the feeling that the fashion editor was watching her.
Andy tried to walk casually, but she could feel her hips putting a little extra swish into each step. Her hand tucked her hair behind her shoulder without really thinking about what she was doing. And her shoulders straightened as she strode down the street. Six years and she still found herself trying to impress Miranda Priestly. Andy silently chastised herself over this realization.
Fifteen minutes later, she was in the air-conditioned womb of her loft, pouring a glass of red wine while preparing pasta, trying to forget about Miranda freaking Priestly. The older woman was becoming truly unavoidable.
As she ate her dinner while watching the news and then the Jon Stewart show, Andy realized she was going to have to face her previous employer eventually. The three close calls she’d had within the last month attested to the fact (outside Irv’s office during interviews; inside Miranda’s office during her coffee-fetching moment of insanity; this evening just outside the Elias-Clarke building). She needed to buck up and face the music - or, in this case, the executioner.
That night, Andy dreamed of Sherry. Except that Sherry kept changing into Miranda, then back again. Andy woke up early Thursday morning frustrated by the dream. It had made no sense, whatsoever.
She was called into Mike’s office before lunch. He expressed delighted surprise at some of her notes on the files she had reviewed. Later, she sat in on one of the cases she had been assigned to assist on, and instantly hit it off with Tom, the first chair. It involved a simple case of copyright infringement, and they were able to quickly draft their argument and get it couriered to the courthouse for filing. She and Tom then walked across the street to the Starbucks for an afternoon coffee and an informal chat.
When they crossed back to the Elias-Clarke building, Andy felt her phone vibrate with a new email message. Once they were safely on the curb, she pulled it up to review. It was a meeting invite sent from Charity. Miranda wanted to have lunch on Monday at some restaurant halfway across town. Andy must have made a small noise, because Tom asked her what was wrong as they entered the elevators.
“Oh, nothing. I used to work as an assistant for Miranda Priestly ages ago. Looks like she wants to do lunch Monday. Likely trying to understand what I’m doing back at Elias-Clarke. I didn’t exactly leave her employ on the best of terms.” Andy smiled tightly.
Tom chuckled, “Well, from what we’ve seen in Legal, any Runway employees who leave on other than good terms tend to meet an untimely end. So, I don’t think you have to worry. Besides, if she didn’t like you, she would have torpedoed your hiring.”
“I don’t know. I don’t get the feeling that Mr. Ravitz and Miranda get along that wonderfully. He might have been glad to hire me just to rub it in her face.”
“Well, she may be known in the building as the Snow Queen, but I wouldn’t worry. Most of the male editors are more horrific than she is. I think that a lot of people are simply prejudiced against women in leadership positions. You should know this - you worked for Trump Enterprises. I doubt the women there were treated as true equals, either.”
Andy stared at Tom, mouth agape.
“What?” The look of confusion on his face was precious.
“So, you are either gay or from California, or both.”
“Why, because I can see the truth and speak it?” He grinned. “Actually, I’m quite straight, not that there is anything wrong with being gay. And I’m from Seattle, but you aren’t too far off. My brother is gay and my wife’s from California. She definitely wears the pants in our household - keeps me and the rugrats in line, I’ll tell you that.”
Andy chuckled as they got off the elevator and made their way into the outer offices of the Legal Department. Tom turned off towards his corner office. Andy went a little further down the corridor to her office, where she sat and stared out the window in quiet contemplation for a few moments before reviewing her calendar and accepting the lunch invite sent by Charity.
Friday evening, Andy met Nigel for drinks at a cocktail lounge not far from the Elias-Clarke building. The jazz music and ambient lighting created a warm, relaxed atmosphere. While she was a little surprised and initially disappointed to see that he still had the same position at Runway, it became obvious during their visit that he was happy and had hit a new stride.
“In fact, other than that day you stopped by, work has become second nature to me, Andy. I actually,” here he paused to melodramatically look around the establishment before continuing in a conspiratorial whisper, “have a life outside of work - and a guy to boot.”
Andy’s smile extended from ear to ear, and she gave his bicep a pat, “Good for you. It’s about time.”
“Actually, we’ve been together for almost three years now. We’re planning a trip up to Vermont to get married next fall.”
“Really? Fantastic. Tell me about him.”
“Well, you’ll have to meet him. Words cannot express the wonder that is Roger.” Nigel’s beaming face said it all, warming Andy.
“With a smile like that, Six, and such a brilliant career track, you are likely charming all the men in Manhattan. You know…there are a couple of decent specimens on the 7th floor you might do well by.”
Andy furrowed her brow, “Auto World or Technology Times?”
“Well, there are a couple of possibilities in Auto World, but I was thinking Technology Times. Why it is Irv saw fit to put shop boys and computer geeks on the same floor…The territorial battles down there are something you’ll want to keep an eye on. Someone gets hurt by a flying wrench or an electrified mouse too often to be safe.”
Andy chuckled, “Good to know. How about any prospects on eight?” She waited while the question sunk in.
“The 8th floor? One side is Runway’s hair and makeup departments, and the other side used to be Teen Runway, but they’ve been gone for almost a year now, Andy. And, I must say, any man who chooses to work with pre-teen girls needs to be on a watch list.”
“I know Teen Runway closed down - another victim of the economic times. I was referring to the new magazine that’s set up in their place.” Obviously Nigel needed a nudge.
“What? You mean-?” He looked at her as if she had sprouted gills. “Really?”
Andy lifted her Cosmo and took a sip. He watched her, then smirked.
“Oh, you watched too much ‘Sex In The City’ out there in California, didn’t you? Drinking cosmos and temporarily switching teams, like Samantha?”
“No,” Andy smirked, “I was thinking more like real-life Cynthia Nixon.”
Nigel waved his hands emphatically, “Six, you really can’t. This is all wrong. What happened to that young woman who wanted to be a writer? The straight, naïve one with a shy smile? I thought California was supposed to make people soft. And yet, here you are, an evil corporate attorney and asking me about the staff of Rainbow Travel. It’s all just wrong.”
“Nigel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you with this. I thought you might be happy.”
“Happy. I might have been happy. But, really.” He blinked, “Any magazine so unoriginal as to have ‘Rainbow’ in their title? You really can’t expect me to take you seriously. Their whole staff is so stuck in 80s clichés, they think the mullet is the height of couture.”
Andy snickered. Nigel gave her an evaluative stare.
They moved on to chat about West Coast versus East Coast when it came to culture, fashion trends, and dating scenes. The crowd around them began to shift, the after-work set being slowly replaced by the weekend clubbing crowd.
As they got up to leave, Nigel gave her a small hug.
“I’m sorry if I reacted poorly at first. Welcome to the clan.” They walked out into the stifling humidity. Andy head towards home while Nigel went back in to the office to pick up some items he wanted to work on over the weekend.
Monday morning, Andy checked her image in the mirror before heading out to work. She had made a call to Nigel over the weekend, conning him into making a few wardrobe recommendations, then went to a handful of designer shops to pick up the items he had listed for her. There was no way on Earth she was going to have lunch with ‘la Priestly’ in anything that would make the woman regret letting her leave Runway unscathed.
She caught a cab to the restaurant and arrived half-an-hour early, which did nothing for her nerves. Settling in at the bar area with a ginger ale, Andy pulled out her iPhone. She reviewed the restaurant’s menu and picked out a couple of dishes that sounded appealing. On her phone, she pulled up the wine matching application and found well-suited combinations. The time in California had provided Andy with an education on wines, but the restaurant seemed fixated on serving French and Italian vintages, and Andy’s comprehension of foreign wines required use of the application. By the time Miranda arrived, Andy was feeling fairly comfortable with her preparations.
As the two women followed the maitre d’ to a table, Andy allowed Miranda’s signature scent to wrap around them as she studied the older woman’s figure. She realized that Miranda had neither gained nor lost weight in the intervening years. But, when they sat, she noticed that a couple of wrinkles in the older woman’s forehead had become slightly more evident, along with a very subtle sprouting of crow’s feet.
Andy was aware that Miranda was studying her as well, but felt oddly at ease with the critical evaluation. Her time at Trump Enterprises had hardened her, at least outwardly, to such appraisal.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miranda.” Andy gave her lunch companion a warm smile. Miranda, on the whole, was as beautiful as always, in her own, regal way. Andy was pleased to see that time hadn’t changed that at all.
“Mm. I see you have made quite a successful career for yourself, Andrea.”
“Um,” Andy looked down at her menu, feeling the blush creep up her neck. That was as close to a compliment as one could hope to get from Miranda Priestly. Plus, there was the delightful way that Miranda said her name that warmed her.
The waiter came over at that moment and took their orders. Miranda raised an eyebrow when Andy ordered wine with her meal. Once the waiter had departed, she gave Andy a piercing look.
“Wine at lunch? I believe the boys in legal strongly cautioned against that sort of thing.”
“I hope not,” Andy responded, evenly. “Well, they may discourage it at business lunches. There was no indication you wanted to discuss work, however, so I think I’m safe. Besides, after six years in California, I’ve developed a preference for wine.”
“After six years, I would think you’d have figured out that California wines are rather inferior.”
“I don’t know about inferior, but I would agree that there are some outstanding options from elsewhere.”
“The Italian red you just ordered shows you have no comprehension of the heavenly nature of a good French vintage.”
“Quite the contrary, Miranda. None of the French reds they serve would go well with the steak as prepared, which is likely why they have the Montepulciano d’Abruzzo on their wine list.”
“Mmm. Impressive enough.” Miranda gave a small nod, continuing, “In regards to your legal career, I assume you have been able to hold true to the standards you vilified me for not upholding six and-a-half years ago?”
Miranda, in perfect form, had put the embarrassing incident out there as a smooth, self-assured statement of fact.
Andy reached for her water goblet to calm herself before responding. She was thankful that a server stopped at their table just then to deliver their salads. Miranda pushed hers off to the side, while Andy composed an answer.
“While I would not trade my experiences at Runway for anything, Miranda, I have fine-tuned my ideals since then. This includes when and to what degree I shall defend them. The manner in which I left was regrettable. However, I stand by my decision and my actions.” She stated with a firm resolve.
“Mmm.”
Andy glanced up as Miranda opened her mouth to say something else, but when their eyes met, Miranda seemed to change her mind. She looked over Andy’s shoulder, allowing her eyes to make a sweep around the restaurant.
Andy wasn’t sure if the woman was looking for something or someone in particular or just avoiding her gaze. She had obviously lost some of her knack for reading the Editor-In-Chief. Andy finished her salad in silence. When the steaks arrived, Miranda watched Andy take a sip of her wine.
“It seems California was an enjoyable location. What brought you back to New York? Surely Elias-Clarke can’t be all that much of a draw.”
“I can’t say that I was overly enamored at taking the position, especially when I found that the leadership hadn’t changed.”
Miranda’s head snapped up and she shot Andy a cold glare that, Trump training or not, made Andy shiver. The older woman laid down her fork and moved to remove the napkin from her lap. Andy realized what was happening and grabbed a slender wrist, to keep the woman from leaving.
“Wait. I didn’t mean you. Really. I meant Mr. Ravitz, Miranda.” Andy was unable to control the quiver in her voice.
This time, when those impossibly clear blue eyes met hers, the anger was gone.
“You may let go, Andrea.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” Andy released her grip. “Sorry. I hope I, um, didn’t hurt you.”
“Just because everyone refers to me as cold and icy, doesn’t mean I will shatter at a simple touch.”
“No, of course not.”
“So, obviously Irv’s charm didn’t lull you to New York.” Miranda picked her fork back up and resumed her work on the steak before her, as if the misunderstanding hadn’t happened at all. When she referred to the CEO, it sounded as if saying his name pained her physically.
“I was tired of California. Los Angeles, in particular. Too, I don’t know, soft. Too exhausting having to walk on eggshells around everyone’s feelings. Here, in New York, you know where you stand. Words aren’t minced. If someone is upset, they curse and move on. And seasons. I didn’t realize how much I truly enjoyed having four distinct seasons.”
Andy absent-mindedly watched Miranda as she rambled, and realized that the ‘Snow Queen’ really wasn’t so scary anymore. She felt a measure of comfort in being able to feel at ease with this woman who had terrorized her world just a few years previously.
“Here. Try a sip of this with your next bite.” Andy slid her wine glass over, within reach of Miranda.
“Excuse me?”
Andy smirked, “Just try it.” Miranda gave her a long look, and then reached for the glass, turned it so that Andy’s lipstick marks were away from her, swirled the liquid a little, tilted the glass towards her mouth, then place her nose in a short ways and sniffed. After a moment, Miranda took a thoughtful sip. Andy had no doubt, after seeing Miranda sniff the wine, that the woman was allowing the wine to roll slowly her tongue before swallowing. The younger woman restrained herself from rolling her eyes at the whole dramatic show.
“Pretty good, don’t you think?”
“You have,” Miranda paused, “exceeded all expectations, Andrea. I must say.” She slid the glass back towards Andy. Without thinking, Andy reached out and grabbed the well-manicured hand before Miranda could fully retract it. Andy gave it a light squeeze before she let go.
When she had the courage to look up, she noticed that Miranda’s neck was sporting a gentle blush.
The rest of the meal was completed in companionable silence. Miranda finished her steak ahead of Andrea, and plowed through her previously rejected salad while Andy picked at her meat. It was obvious that Andy wasn’t going to finish the meal, so once they both appeared to be done, Miranda called for the bill, which she slid to Andy with a small, superior smile.
“Consider this your payback for leaving me in Paris without a word. And consider it a way of thanking me for your current success, which would not be possible if I hadn’t upset your pretty little head that day.”
Andy laughed, and for a brief moment, she caught Miranda smiling in response. A wonderful, full smile that caused the younger woman’s heart to briefly clench.
“You got it.”
As they rose to leave, Miranda rang Ted to bring the car around.
“There is room for you, if you would like a ride.” Miranda stated as she climbed into the vehicle. With a shrug, Andy followed. Riding in the sedan with Miranda felt like déjà vu, but in a good way. And, Andy admitted to herself, this was far more appealing than a smelly, frightening, and expensive cab ride.
Later in the afternoon, while Andy was going through notes on the case she was working with Tom, Sam plodded into her office and set down a Starbucks cup. Actually, setting it down would have been preferable. As it was, his heavy-handed drop of the cup caused hot liquid to splash out and onto the blotter. Andy looked up at him in surprise, but he missed her gaze, already turning and leaving.
The scent of hot milk and espresso was heavenly. She grabbed a tissue to wipe up the sloshed bits, then took a large gulp, almost burning her tongue. Sure enough, the shorthand on the side of the cup indicated that it was extra hot. Impulsively, Andy picked up her phone and rang Miranda’s office.
“Miranda Priestly’s office.”
“Hi, Charity. It’s Andy. Thanks for the latte.”
“It wasn’t from me, actually.”
Andy chuckled, “Okay. Well, then I extend my thanks to Miranda for the idea and you for the delivery. Have a good afternoon.” She smiled as she hung up the phone and went back to work.
The next few weeks went by unremarkably. Andy assisted on a handful of cases and studied New York case law in the evenings. She frequently left the office late, sometimes pausing upstairs to see if Charity was still at her desk waiting for the ‘Book’. If so, she would chat with the young woman, staying until Rob came up from the Elias-Clarke basement print shop with the mock-up. It was, Andy admitted, self-serving, as the useless chatter allowed her to unwind before she went home to her empty loft.
One evening in mid-July, Andy caught the elevator upstairs, trying to decide if she would continue to stay late and visit Charity now that she had taken the bar for New York and was done with the late night cram sessions.
When she hit the 9th floor and stepped off, she resolutely determined she really needed to get a life. She needed to face the fact that there was nothing she could use as an excuse anymore, and that she couldn’t avoid the dating scene forever. Besides, she had no interest in Charity beyond the chatting to avoid an empty home - and the girl had not one, but two boyfriends that she deftly juggled between. Besides, working late in the office was, she admitted, just plain cowardly.
Charity was standing in the corridor nearest her desk, looking through a full clothes rack.
“Buenos noches, Andy.”
“Buenos noches, Charity. Que tal?”
“Do I hear talking out there, Charity? Please tell me you’ve found the Benetton outfit.”
Andy froze. The irritation in Miranda’s soft voice as it floated out from her office was unmistakable to the trained ear. Charity shot Andy an apologetic look and then looked at the rack, wildly searching for the demanded garment. Andy followed the young girl’s eyes and immediately saw the Benetton tag on one of the hangers. She snagged the hanger off the rack, handing it over to Charity.
As the young woman whisked around the corner to pass by her own desk en route to Miranda’s den of pain, she paused for a brief moment to glance back and give a little wave.
Andy turned to go. She would send Charity an email later - let her know she had gotten word that she had passed the bar and wouldn’t be staying late much anymore.
Just as the elevator dinged to announce its arrival, Andy heard the click-clack of heels. Only one person had that particular tempo to their gait. A tempo that six, or six and-a-half years couldn’t erase. The younger woman turned slowly.
“Do you have a moment?”
Andy blinked in surprise. Miranda was asking her a question. Not commanding her. Times had changed.
“I gather that your immobility when faced with an open elevator door is a nonverbal affirmative response. It’s either that or an indication of severe brain death, which I find unlikely. I don’t believe Stanford gives its highest distinction to complete morons.” Miranda smirked.
Andy knew she hadn’t told Miranda about graduating Magna Cum Laude - which meant the formidable Editor had found out, and remembered, on her own.
“I don’t know about that. Irv’s wife graduated from Stanford.”
Miranda was clearly surprised by Andy’s retort and they stood for a moment facing one another in silence before a soft, small smile illuminated the older woman’s features, her eyes twinkling in the dim light.
“I would concede that point, Counselor, for your implied message about her choice in spouse. However, I have met the woman, and she is quite intelligent. Irv is a shrewd businessman, so I believe she has made certain…concessions, in order to maintain the life she has otherwise built."
“I’ll take that knowledge into consideration for whenever I do meet her. Even so, I would say that is a weak argument for what is basically a marriage of convenience and…” Andy trailed off.
“Most intelligent women, as you may or may not have figured out for yourself, Andrea, have let opportunities for love slip through their fingers in exchange for something less elusive, less ephemeral. Instead,” she sighed, as their footsteps echoed on the marble floor, “we choose predictable, career-oriented, self-serving men, because they are easy to understand and what is expected of us. Much less work - and much less rewarding.” She coughed, and both were silent. Neither knew what to say next.
They had been crossing towards the pale glow emanating from Miranda’s office space. As they entered the inner sanctum, her eyes accommodated to capture Miranda’s weariness, and appreciate her beauty.
Andy marveled at the maroon skirt and honeyed caramel blouse the Editor wore. The colors complemented Miranda’s pale skin tones, without being too bold.
“That,” Andy stated, “is a wonderful palette for you.” She waved her hand for emphasis as Miranda turned to sit at her desk. The silvery-grey haired woman immediately blushed a dark crimson that ran from the neckline of the scoop-necked blouse up her long neck, wrapped around her ears, and descended along her cheekbones. Andy found it enchanting.
“I thought your department vacated the building by three.”
Andy broke from her reverie over Miranda’s appearance and plopped down in one of the seldom-used straight-backed chairs upholstered in a gold patterned print. It was uncomfortable, but functional.
“Had to take the bar to practice in New York, so I’ve been pulling a lot of late nights. Thankfully, I heard today that I passed.”
“And yet you’re still here well into the evening.”
“Astute observation. Last late night I plan on pulling for as along as possible.”
Feeling emboldened, she continued, “You’re here, and so is Charity, but why is no one else from Runway? If there are things needing correction, why don’t you have staff staying on to take care of it?”
Miranda’s sharp look was a reminder to Andy that she was unaccustomed to being interrogated. However, she relented.
“I’m taking a vacation with the girls and wanted to ensure I have everything in order first. God knows what kind of chaos I might return to otherwise.”
“I’m sure Nigel will make sure that all goes well, Miranda. But, I’m glad to hear that you are taking some time off. You deserve it.”
“Don’t ply me with insincerity, Andrea. It’s rather unbecoming.” Miranda slid her reading glasses into place as she scribbled on a sticky-note and carefully placed it over a picture in the ‘Book’ that was open before her on the desk.
“No, I mean it. Runway is the most successful of the Elias-Clarke magazines, despite the well-known budget battles between you and Irv. Actually, your success is probably WHY he fights with you. If you get away with too much, all the other editors will try to do the same thing. Only they don’t have the audience that you’ve built up over the years.”
Miranda snorted, “True. Still, have you ever taken a trip to Miami in the summer with teenage girls? If I deserve THAT as a ‘break’, then well…I suppose I am as bad as I’m made out to be.” There was a resignation in her tone and reflected in her sad eyes when she looked up, vision unfocused in Andy’s direction.
“Playing the pity card now?” Andy gently teased, her heart warmed by the information Miranda was sharing with her this evening.
There was the sound of a stapler crunching from Charity’s desk, and the lawyer was reminded of the time and place.
She rose, “I’m going to let you go, Miranda, so you can finish up and enjoy the terrors of your vacation. At least there aren’t scheduled to be any hurricanes in Miami this trip.” She slid her purse onto her shoulder.
“Yes. Well,” was the only verbal response, but again Andy caught the pained look on Miranda’s face.
“I may end up praying for a hurricane, or any other reason to come back early.”
Andy chuckled and tilted her head, “Oh, if you want to come back early, you’ll want to pray for something else entirely. If you recall, hurricanes have a way of preventing travel.” She was rewarded by a small nod.
“Goodnight, Miranda. Safe travels.”
“Goodnight, Andrea.” The young lawyer’s breath caught in her throat. Miranda’s soft voice and the way she said her name caressed her ears and went straight to her knees, causing them to almost buckle. Quickly, she recovered and made her way out of the office.
“Hasta luego.”
“Hasta luego, Andy.” Charity replied, without looking away from her computer screen.
The walk home, Andy thought about how her body had reacted to Miranda- buckling knees, no less! She was going insane. That was really the only explanation for it. Of all the people in the world, being attracted to Miranda Priestly was perhaps the most extreme example of unrequited love possible.
That night, she dreamed of Sherry turning into Miranda again. And this time,Miranda would look at her longingly, then, when Andy swooned under her gaze, Miranda slid one arm around her waist to support the younger woman, while with the other, she ran a hand up and down the back of her thigh. Andy could feel her skirt sliding up around her hips as Miranda’s fingers climbed higher with each up-sweep, fingertips coming achingly close to the underside of her buttocks. Andy awoke Friday morning with the blanket on the floor and her sheet tangled around her hips.
When she got into the office, she was thankful it was Friday - the restless night wasn’t completely cured by even a triple shot non-fat latte. That evening, the department was informally going out for dinner and drinks to celebrate her passing the NY bar - not because they were all that happy for her, but because it meant the other three lawyers could now pass along some of their less desirable cases to her.
Andy was now aware that her previous employment with Runway had made her the likely target for all of the squabbles between the various Runway offices; the fact that Italian, French, and British Runway staff were picking fights with España and Asian Runway had been the subject of an increased number of memos between Irv and Mike. Andy had no doubt that Mike was very much looking forward to passing that headache on to her.
As she disembarked the elevator on the 3rd floor and dug in her purse for the keys to her office, Andy noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that Sam was looking more peeved than usual from his sentry position.
“Sam. I’ve had it with your attitude. Every time I see you, the chip on your shoulder blinds me. I’m gonna start calling you ‘Chip.’ What is your problem?”
“Do you know how many times I’ve taken the bar exam? Do you have any idea how many years I spent working my way through night courses at a no-name law school? You waltz in here from California with your Stanford degree and your Trump confidence. On top of that, you have the Ice Queen, of all people, wanting to have lunch with you and leaving gifts? And you wonder why I’m not ecstatic. Get over yourself, Sunshine.” He ran a hand through his unruly golden locks, and tugged an ear.
Andy dropped her newly found keys back into her open Ferragamo shoulder bag.
“Screw you, Chip. Next time you call Miranda Priestly the ‘Snow Queen’ you better hope I don’t hear.” She fished the keys out again and walked past him, saying a quiet prayer of thanks for being back in New York.
“And,” she shot over her shoulder, “next time you want to take the bar, let me know in advance. I’ll help you study.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Sooner you pass the bar, Chip, sooner you lose the nickname.”
“Fat chance, Sunshine.” Andy turned and they both smiled, briefly, at one another. Yep, it was definitely good to be back in New York. As she unlocked the door and moved to enter her office, Andy tripped over a box. She hadn’t seen it, as her purse had dangled directly over it.
“Smooth move,” she heard Sam state, flatly.
Andy dropped her purse on her chair and reached to lift the rather small package. Her name was scrawled, rather poorly, on the small grey envelope that slid off as she perched the box on her desk.
She carefully opened the envelope, which had, in the lower corner, the name of a well-known, expensive Italian stationer, Pineider. The classically illegible handwriting was indisputably Miranda Priestly’s. Andy remembered Sam’s comment about gifts from the ‘Snow Queen’ and she glanced up towards the doorway as she slid out the single sheet of white paper, edged in silver.
As she attempted to read the short note, Andy was silently thankful it wasn’t a legal document. There was no way on Earth anyone could defend any particular interpretation of the scribbles therein. After a few moments of intense staring, she made out the brief message: ‘Congratulations, Andrea. Your successes are well deserved.’ Below that, was a single, bold ‘M’ - not even a full signature. Andy smiled.
The box was a burnt orange, its lid held in place by a wide, grey ribbon. With barely contained excitement, Andy undid the ribbon and flicked off the lid. Peeling back the folds of tissue paper, she found two individual items inside. The top box was small and flat, with the classic Hermes logo. There was a sticky note atop stating - ‘Should go nicely with your Giles outfit.’ Andy tried to think when she had worn the pale pink slacks and coordinating pink and brown blouse. Ah, yes. Her first full day - the day she had delivered the Starbucks to Miranda’s office. Well, she had worn it a time or two since then in the past few months, but couldn’t recall having encountered Miranda then. Which meant that Miranda likely HAD seen her delivering the coffee. And remembered the outfit.
Removing the lid, she found a lovely pink scarf, the edge stitching in a milk chocolate brown. Andy couldn’t help but chuckle. Miranda loved Hermes, so it seemed only fitting.
The other item tucked into the larger box was quite obviously a wrapped book. Andy tore open the wrapping to discover a guide to French wines. The binding had already been cracked, so Andy peeked inside the front cover. Sure enough, there was scrawled in careful penmanship:
‘Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.
-William B Yeats-
Andy was struck by the personal gesture of both the scarf and the book. And the Yeats poem made her smile as she ran a finger over the words. Suddenly, she was quite awake in a way that the latte hadn’t been able to accomplish. The rest of the day, she was on cloud nine…and-a-half.