Le Cygne - The Swan
Title: Le Cygne
Rating: G
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Length: 5000 words
Setting: Timeline is slightly off. The divorce from Stephen is earlier and this takes place about a week after the HP event but before Paris Fashion Week.
Summary: Andy has a talent we didn’t know about.
Disclaimer: I don’t own The Devil Wears Prada.
A/N: Dedicated to one of my favourite pieces of music ever! The title should give it all away, but for those of you who are not familiar with classical music, you can find plenty of videos online of great performances of “Saint-Saëns - The Swan”.
A/N 2: This is just a standalone story which started out as a single scene with the cello. I kind of formed a bit of a wider story around it but I have no plans for continuing. It’s more of a snapshot which focuses on their special connection. ^_^
A/N 3: This is not the music prompt story but something I had already started a while back. It was requested that I finish this one and post it, so here it is ^_^
Le Cygne
by kendokuschi
The silence in the bright office seemed to choke four of its five occupants. Miranda Priestly rose from her chair, arms crossed in front of her chest and the tiniest hint of a smirk graced her thin lips as she stood before her employees. “Well?”
Nobody knew exactly how their work-related conversation about the latest photo-shoot had suddenly turned toward the most recent Page Six headlines. ”Priestly Lioness Devours Third Husband”, it had said in big, bold letters. Miranda had found it amusing how the press had compared her to yet another predatory animal. “Lady Cougar”, “Fashion Shark” and of course “White Widow” were only a few of the gossip rags’ favorites.
“Come on, say it. Don’t waste my time,” the editor-in-chief said evenly as she leaned to rest her perfect backside elegantly against her glass desk.
The first to speak was Nigel, a pleasant, bald man with round spectacles and RUNWAY’s art director. “Hmmm...” Out of everyone in the room he was the one who had known Miranda the longest, but the question seemed to have caught even him by surprise. “Which... animal?” He asked, his chin low and both his eyebrows raised.
Jocelyn, a tall woman with blond hair, cleared her throat and spoke timidly. “Maybe... a jaguar?”
The glare Miranda was giving her would have rivaled anything a jaguar could have thrown at its lunch-to-be. The editor exhaled sharply and her nostrils flared in disgust.
“Jocelyn, I didn’t ask you what kind of animal you think I’d like to be compared to, but which animal you, yourself would compare me to.” There was nothing worse for Miranda than people sucking up to her while being dishonest.
Emily, Miranda’s red-haired first assistant shot out “A viper!” At this Nigel snorted and Miranda rolled her eyes.
“Is that somehow amusing to you, Nigel? I’m a poisonous reptile?” She sent her art director a venomous look.
“Well, Miranda, I actually see you more as a queen bee,” he chuckled.
The magazine editor stared at him icily. She did consider him somewhat of a friend, however that did not give him the right to disrespect her in front of her staff. She wasn’t even sure what on earth had possessed her to even ask the damn question in the middle of a meeting. If it hadn’t been for that dreadful headline glaring at her from the stack of newspapers on her desk, mocking her with its finality, the closing of yet another chapter of failure in her life, she would have never even brought up the topic with anyone. She did not make a habit of speaking about her private life, nor of asking silly, irrelevant questions during meetings.
“Uhm...” Everyone in the room turned to look at the second assistant, Andrea Sachs. Miranda’s eyebrows arched expectantly at the young woman, who was fiddling with her pen and notepad, large brown eyes nervously darting around the room.
“Uhm... maybe... a swan?” Andrea mumbled.
The editor pursed her lips and regarded Andrea through lowered lids. “A. Swan?” The other three remained completely silent, eyes wide with terror. Miranda was not pleased, and when she wasn’t pleased her staff always cowered like the spineless, incompetent worms they were.
“Andrea, do I waddle?” the older woman asked slowly in barely subdued exasperation.
“N-no, Miranda.” The young woman stammered, her eyes drilling into the carpet.
Okay, social time was over. Miranda strode back behind her desk and picked up a set of proofs from the shoot and started giving out orders to prepare a re-shoot.
“Jocelyn, I do not enjoy repeating myself. The accessories need to actually work with the instruments. Just because we’re trying to sell glorious evening wear does not mean we can defy the laws of physics. Nigel, this time, get me real musicians for the background and not those clowns from the academy. Also, is it so impossible to find a model with the right cleavage for the gowns, who does not hold a violin by its neck as if it were a tennis racket?”
Nigel and Jocelyn nodded hurriedly and quickly moved out of the office, not awaiting their actual dismissal, and leaving the two young assistants alone in the room with the editor who was known to make grown men weep with a single icy look.
Miranda regarded the newspapers on her desk with pursed lips and narrowed eyes.
”Emily, phone my lawyers and reschedule Friday’s meeting to tomorrow morning, 8 a.m., sharp. Contact the girls’ grandmother and ask for them to remain with her for an additional week, and deal with Dalton and twins’ absence from school accordingly.”
The redhead kept glancing at her white-haired boss for a moment too long and received a scathing look at her lingering presence.
“That’s all!”
“Yes, Miranda,” the first assistant replied while dashing out of the room, not without sending imaginative daggers at the brunette second assistant who still stood rooted in her spot, shell-shocked.
“Oh and, Andrea,” the editor commanded without looking up from the headline, “get me my coffee.”
“Yes, Miranda.” And with that the brunette spun around and all but ran to the outer office.
A swan! Miranda sniffed. She had expected, a tiger, maybe a wolf, or even an eagle, but a useless, defenseless, waddling bird? An ugly duckling? And why did it matter what her silly assistant thought anyway?
***
It was 9 p.m. and most people had gone home for the day. Miranda sat at her desk going over a designer’s portfolio but could not fully concentrate on the sketches. She had been in a foul mood ever since the earlier meeting, and none of he staff seemed to be able to do anything right all afternoon. Something was nagging at her but she didn’t want to pin down on the what, or the why. Work was not a place for contemplation. If she wanted to explore the greater depths of her own psyche she could do that in her empty townhouse, now devoid of husband, soon-to-be-ex-husband number three.
A brief sound alerted her to a new email and she glanced at her laptop and saw that it was from her second assistant. Craning her neck Miranda saw the young woman still at her desk in the outer office. Why would she send an email, if she could just walk right over? Granted she had ignored Andrea for most of the day but that silly girl was really testing her now.
She was tempted to click the “delete” button, but after hovering over it with the mouse for a while, she succumbed to curiosity and opened the mail.
Dear Miranda,
It was not my intention to insult you earlier today. Far from it.
Please let me elaborate why I would compare you to a swan.
The swan is one of the most wonderful animals on this planet. Its long elegant neck, the soft white feathers and the regal way it glides over water just really remind me of you.
Miranda subconsciously ran a hand through her silver locks.
When the swan takes to the air, its strong wings can carry it anywhere it wishes. And when it glides in to land on the water’s surface, one can’t help but be mesmerized by its grace.
Miranda’s fingers travelled over her bottom lip and she felt her chest tingle. Usually flattery pissed her off.
Usually flattery didn’t sound this sincere.
The swan is a fighter, it can be vicious. It keeps its distance and snaps at anyone whom it doesn’t trust. But it also protects its family and is incredibly nurturing to those it cares about.
At this Miranda gasped. She thought of her twin daughters and wondered how Andrea would know to what lengths she’d go to protect her children.
In short, a swan is beautiful but dangerous, gentle yet unapproachable.
Just like you.
Sincerely,
Andrea
Miranda kept staring at the screen, the words becoming a blurry mess. Her chest felt tight and she realized she’d been holding her breath. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was feeling but she knew that there suddenly was a deep crack in her perfect La Priestly armor. She felt vulnerable, like something had snuck behind her defenses and deeply touched her.
And she had let it.
Her young assistant had a knack for surprising her. First at her job interview, where she had been bold and had spoken honestly, but out of line, which had tickled something in Miranda and forced an impulse to hire the girl.
Being intelligent and a fast learner, Andrea had picked up her assistant duties very fast and efficiently, but had stayed uninspired by the fashion world surrounding her. Just when Miranda had been about to lose hope, the girl had shocked her with a makeover in style and attitude, which had kindled a very uncharacteristic interest her assistant.
Then Andrea had surprisingly walked in on the final fight with Stephen a week ago, and Miranda had felt so exposed and embarrassed about revealing the slip of control over her domestic life, that she had tried to sabotage the girl out of her job, and out of her life by giving her a completely impossible task. And wonder beyond wonder, the girl had excelled yet again, not only bringing a complementary, piping hot, skimmed-milk latte but also carrying one of those unforgettable, blinding smiles.
The editor focused her eyes back at the words on the screen. Now Andrea had surprised her yet again, by not only smoothing over the chipped pride from her earlier, clearly misunderstood remark, but also somehow knowing exactly the right words to get under Miranda’s skin.
The editor took a deep breath. She knew she should not let her guard down so often around the girl. Her assistant was young and often had trouble speaking up in front of her boss, but it seemed there was a lot more to her than just the shy, smart girl with those deep, dark eyes.
Over the past weeks, Andrea had made a habit of reading between the lines of Miranda’s often vague requests and always knew exactly what the editor actually meant. It was clear that Andrea perceived things more thoroughly than anyone else at RUNWAY, or anyone else in Miranda’s life, actually.
Whereas other people saw Miranda as a predatory, vicious animal that ruled by eliciting fear and sowing terror in the hearts of those around her, Andrea had actually looked right through her, and seen her for the woman she was inside.
How could a girl half her age so easily see what even her three husbands had barely ever acknowledged? The thought of Andrea having that much power over her was startling and Miranda felt vulnerable and exposed. A feeling she absolutely detested and had long ago learned to vanquish with her steely attitude and cold demeanour.
She had no idea what intentions the girl was harbouring. Would she use her gift of reading Miranda like an open book to propel her own career? To threaten and blackmail her in an attempt of retaliation for the often brutal way Miranda treated her employees? The editor could not picture her assistant doing any of those things, but it certainly would not be the first time someone had attempted to dethrone her, just before meeting their own, quick and untimely demise at Miranda’s hands.
The editor exhaled slowly while rubbing the delicate bridge of her nose. She clearly was not in the state of mind to get any more work done today. She did not exactly like the idea of returning to her empty home, but it surely would be an improvement from remaining here and wasting another minute on mulling over her assistant’s hidden agenda.
She felt the urge to send some kind of reply to Andrea’s email before actually making her way out and past the girl’s desk, but she was unsure of what to write, or if it was even appropriate to acknowledge her words. Maybe she could pretend she hadn’t read it? No, her assistant would see right through that. Frustration rang through her and the editor determinedly closed her laptop and stood.
As soon as she was at the doorway to the outer office, her assistant shot up and briskly moved to retrieve Miranda’s coat and bag from the wardrobe. Andrea smiled hesitantly has she handed both over and Miranda felt something burn in her chest at her decision to simply ignore the girl’s words.
Standing this close to her assistant that she was able to smell her subtle perfume, made the blur of the girl calling her beautiful in the email reality, and the editor had a hard time resisting the instinct for flight rippling up inside her. Dark brown eyes locked with hers when the editor pulled on her coat as calmly and controlled as possible, and there was something in that gaze, questioning her waiting for a reaction to those beautifully written words.
Miranda donned her trademark sunglasses, disrupting the intense connection and she watched as something akin to hurt briefly flashed over Andrea’s soft face. She must have imagined that. Surely the girl knew that Miranda Priestly did not answer to anyone. And why would the sudden shift in Andrea’s face leave a murmur of unease in the pit of her stomach?
Not trusting her ability to currently speak, the editor turned around and made her way out of the office, definitely feeling her assistant's gaze cutting through the laden atmosphere and clinging to her back.
***
The next day saw RUNWAY’s senior staff members rush in panic around a silently brooding editor-in-chief at the photo studio. The re-shoot was going to hell and nobody seemed to be able to follow simple instructions. The hired musicians had no chemistry with the models and the models had no idea how to hold their instruments or portray even the slightest interest in music, which ensured that none of the elegant evening gowns were done justice and the shots looked dull and uninspired.
Miranda took a deep breath. It didn’t help that she had spent her entire morning arguing with snooty lawyers over the leaked news of her impending third divorce. She was surrounded by incompetent people and it made her feel powerless and as if control had not only been slipping in her private life, but also at work. Her own visions and creativity could only carry her as far as her staff’s ability to adhere to them.
A cardboard cup of Starbucks coffee appeared before her and she steered her annoyed gaze at the girl holding it. “Finally!” She snatched the beverage from Andrea’s grasp and focused back on the action on the main floor of the photo studio.
Of course she hadn’t even asked for coffee in the first place, so there was no reason to bite at her assistant for its delay. Her own inability to remain calm and focused around the girl since the swan email had forced her to pull up the entire defense force of icy glare, blank expression and chilled tone.
Miranda always closed herself off and lashed out at any potential threat and the way Andrea had started to make her feel was most definitely a threat. It endangered the very core of being “Miranda Priestly”, editor-in-chief of one of the world’s most-read magazines; the self-made, unwavering queen of the world of fashion. A persona she had created and fed by emotionally distancing herself from those who were merely unimportant pawns in her empire of beauty and perfection.
The fact that her young assistant had somehow slipped across the field and was now one step away from checkmating the woman Miranda had tried to keep hidden for so many years, was disconcerting and set off so many alarm bells that her head hurt.
No, Andrea was not important. She did not possess the ability to see through her and touch and inspire her in ways no one ever had before. She definitely did not have beautiful hair and skin and she most certainly did not smell of spring rainstorms and strawberries.
A soft voice lured her out of her self-reprehension and she raised head while asking, “I beg your pardon?”
Her assistant regarded her thoughtfully before repeating her question. “I asked whether it was not going well.”
Miranda sniffed and gave a defeated wave in the direction of Nigel and a model who looked on the verge of crying. “Well, what does it look like?”
Andrea studied the scene before them, biting down on the corner of her bottom lip, before she softly spoke again. “There is no passion. No love for music. The musicians in the back have no connection with the models, because they are not actually playing together.”
The editor’s eyes shot back toward the girl and her heart was racing at the words which so flawlessly described exactly how she herself was feeling. It startled her, but she could only stare on as the assistant continued.
“Maybe the musicians should actually play something, to pull the models in and educate them about the importance of music for this shoot and for this collection. I don’t think a CD or MP3 would do. They’d need to really hear and also see them play, in order to appreciate the beauty of the instruments they’re holding, and thoroughly present the dresses at the same time.”
How could this girl, who only weeks ago had shown not the slightest interest in fashion, understand exactly what was wrong with this photo shoot and the entire rest of the staff was oblivious? How was it that Andrea was able to so easily voice the frustrations the editor had felt for the past two hours, but was unable to communicate to her art director? She had certainly pointed out all the things that were going wrong, however she had not thought of a solution. That was why she had employees, she paid them to fix these kind of things.
Miranda did not know how to handle the fact that her assistant had yet again surprised her and invaded her thoughts without warning. Andrea was now watching her, seemingly contemplating, as if she could see the many wheels simultaneously turning inside the editor’s head. It was too intimate, too close to her last defenses and the older woman immediately squared her jaw.
“Well, what do you know!?” she spoke icily.
The brief flash of hurt on the assistant’s face was quickly replaced by a plastered half-smile and the girl straightened her shoulders.
“Nothing, Miranda. Was there anything else?”
Flicking one hand out in emphasis as she fluttered her eyes closed, the editor merely uttered her typical “that’s all”, and brought her coffee up for a long, slow sip.
Andrea only nodded her head and walked away, leaving the editor to silently berate herself again for her harshness. Before she could wallow in sentimentality, though, Nigel moved to her side and removed his spectacles with a sigh.
“Sometimes I really curse the god for only bestowing either beauty, or brains. I swear those models are completely clueless.”
Miranda raised an eyebrow at the art director and cocked her head at the fact that he had just insulted either her mental capabilities or her appearance. Nigel only gave her a challenging stare and replaced his glasses.
“I’m just saying. This is a train wreck, Miranda. Nothing works. I can honestly picture your great vision inside my head but I have no idea how to inspire these girls.”
Thinking back at her assistant’s words the editor narrowed her eyes at Nigel. He had been working for her for well over a decade, and he barely ever disappointed. So why was it so difficult for him when it came to this photo shoot? Was it the subject matter? Maybe he just did not share her passion for music, and could therefore not fully envision how elegant evening gowns, intended for visits to operas and classical concerts, would be beautifully enhanced by the musical theme.
She pursed her lips at his helpless face when all of a sudden the distinct sound of a piano travelled through the studio.
It was playing a familiar sequence consisting of three notes being played back and forth, the soft, flowing keystroke creating an image of a pair of feet paddling below the surface of a still water.
Miranda turned her head and saw the concert pianist, who they had hired for the background, work at the keys of the shiny black grand piano. Sitting on a stool next to him, sliding the bow forward for the first note, was Andrea, gently holding the cello while her eyes were closed and her knees were loosely resting to either side of the instrument.
The sound was slow and soft, the girl’s fingers eliciting the perfect vibrato as she guided the melody down and then up again, dragging out the long note with precise movement of the bow. Her upper body was swaying along with the notes and her lips were slightly parted, the image of which, reached deep inside Miranda.
The editor’s heart clenched and she was forced to close her eyes at the intense sensation. The song was easily recognized and the realization struck her so hard that she involuntarily brought a hand to her chest, while trying to avoid spilling her coffee with the other.
Behind closed lids she could see the swan gracefully gliding over the crystal clear water, its serene beauty slowing time and demanding the attention of everything and everyone around it. She remembered the girl’s words, likening Miranda to this very image, and that thought completely shattered any remaining walls that had so efficiently been protecting her heart.
She had no idea that Andrea could play an instrument; that she could play it so exceptionally well was beyond all logical reason.
Slowly opening her eyes again she watched as her assistant let the music paint emotions across her features, guiding the melody, and in return, letting it guide her.
The song was about indescribable and unreachable beauty as observed by an outsider. Full of longing and sincere appreciation. A short glimpse at true and utter perfection.
Her eyes were drawn to Andrea’s slender neckline, as she bent with the sound, her long fingers delicately gliding over the strings. The girl radiated passion and love for what she was playing.
Miranda realized that her breathing had become shallow and her chest was heaving rapidly against her palm. The distinct sensation of her cheeks burning from the sudden rush of blood to her face and the water stinging in her eyes did not even surprise her anymore. She wet her parted lips and watched as her assistant leaned in for the final long pianissimo note, moving the bow so tenderly that it was merely whispering as the piano slowed down and came to a soft halt.
The studio was completely quiet. Everybody remained rigid, eyes staring in disbelief at the brunette behind the cello, and at the awestruck editor in her chair.
Andrea’s eyes finally opened and directly locked onto Miranda’s blue gaze. The older woman saw such warmth shining in the pools of brown, such sincerity, that she was rendered completely speechless. She realized at that moment that although the girl had completely defeated every last defense inside of her, she came in peace. She had not captured her in order to exert revenge or hurt her in any way.
No, what she saw in Andrea’s eyes now, was pure, raw affection. The girl truly cared about her and there was no escaping it.
All of a sudden the single clapping of hands broke through the silence and all eyes landed on the photographer. His applause triggered more people to follow and soon a majority of the studio was cheering for the assistant’s performance, with the exception of the editor, who still sat tongue-tied and unmoving, and the art director, who frantically glanced between the two women.
“Bravo! That was fantastic!” The photographer called out.
Andrea moved her eyes away from Miranda and regarded the rest of her audience with a shy smile. A smile, which Miranda knew, could be so much much brighter when directed only at her.
Everyone in the room was swarming her assistant with praise and requests for more and it cheapened the feeling of exclusivity the editor had just experienced. She had been completely ignorant to the crowd when Andrea had played and the eagerness of people, to all of a sudden share her assistant, immediately darkened Miranda’s mood.
“Enough,” she said calmly, yet loud enough for the whole studio to hear, and everyone turned around to look at the editor.
“Now, that you’ve seen how it’s done, you shouldn’t waste a single moment with pointless pleasantries,” she continued, eyes travelling anywhere but at her assistant.
The art director came to her aid. “Alright, you’ve heard the boss, let’s continue. Allison take your position, Katie, touch up and hair, please.”
People started back into motion and soon the room was a noisy blur again, leaving Miranda in a daze at her own harsh words. She blinked to look around for Andrea and caught a glimpse of the girl exiting through the back door.
“Queen Bee. I told you,” Nigel whispered grimly.
He was right. She was a complete bitch, but it was her second nature. Why would she care about what other people thought? The problem was, though, that she did care what one particular person thought, and she also cared how that person felt. She felt ashamed of herself.
The whole time she had only worried about her own vulnerability and about having her own defenses being lowered by Andrea. It had not crossed her self-centered mind that the girl had put herself out there, more than once, just as exposed and vulnerable, and with so much more to lose.
“Nigel, shut the hell up,” she hissed while quickly leaving her chair and rushing in the direction of the door.
The New York street welcomed her with it’s typical humming of the ever present traffic. There was no immediate sign of Andrea and Miranda glanced down both directions before looking at the park across the street. She spotted the girl running down a gravel path, and the editor swiftly slipped between the sluggish flow of cars to the other side.
For a moment she was concerned that she’d have to chase her assistant through the entire park, but to her relief Andrea had sat down on a nearby bench. As she approached, the editor began to second-guess following the girl. Miranda Priestly did not run after people, it was the other way round. She also never explained herself, to anyone.
Why then, did she feel the inexplicable urge to comfort Andrea. To tell her... what exactly? That everything would be alright? Would it be? What was the definition of ‘alright’?
She came to a stop a few yards to the girl’s left and watched as silent tears ran down those perfect cheeks. The brunette was facing the lake in front of her and seemed to stare off into the distance. Miranda followed her gaze and spotted two swans gliding over the smooth surface toward each other.
Her breath caught with a gasp when the swans met and leaned the tops of their heads together, their curved necks forming a well-known symmetrical shape before gracefully wrapping around each other in an elegant embrace.
Miranda looked back at Andrea and stared directly into shiny, brown eyes.
Something inside the editor buzzed awake at the sight of the teary-eyed girl, and she willed her feet to carry her closer, not leaving her assistant’s gaze until she stood right before her.
“May I sit?” she asked timidly, unsure of how Andrea would react.
The girl just nodded and focused her eyes on the tips of her own shoes as Miranda elegantly lowered herself onto the bench, slightly flinching at the thought of her Chanel pantsuit getting ruined, but scooting closer to Andrea nonetheless.
They remained quiet for a while, both looking ahead and watching the two swans.
Miranda felt ridiculous. She had followed her assistant all the way out here and now she felt too shy to speak. It felt as if no words were adequate for showing Andrea that she more than anything wanted to take the figurative hand the girl had extended out toward her.
She gingerly looked at the brunette and saw her fidget with her fingers. No longer able to fight her impulses, Miranda reached out and slowly clasped her right hand around the girl’s left.
Andrea’s eyes snapped to the editor’s and they gazed at each other for a long while, still unable to speak. A shiver from the girl shook both of them from their daze and Miranda realized that neither of them was wearing a jacket.
Spring Fashion Week might have been fast approaching but right now it was still winter and certainly no weather to be frolicking about in nothing but a blouse. However instead of getting up to return to the photo shoot, the editor simply settled back against the backrest and let go of Andrea’s hand to gently wrap her arm around the girl and pull her closer.
“Have dinner with me tonight?”
“I would love to.”
And with that the assistant lay her head on the editor’s shoulder and together they stared out onto the lake and at the two swans gliding gracefully across the smooth surface, side by side.
~ The End ~
Rating: G
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Length: 5000 words
Setting: Timeline is slightly off. The divorce from Stephen is earlier and this takes place about a week after the HP event but before Paris Fashion Week.
Summary: Andy has a talent we didn’t know about.
Disclaimer: I don’t own The Devil Wears Prada.
A/N: Dedicated to one of my favourite pieces of music ever! The title should give it all away, but for those of you who are not familiar with classical music, you can find plenty of videos online of great performances of “Saint-Saëns - The Swan”.
A/N 2: This is just a standalone story which started out as a single scene with the cello. I kind of formed a bit of a wider story around it but I have no plans for continuing. It’s more of a snapshot which focuses on their special connection. ^_^
A/N 3: This is not the music prompt story but something I had already started a while back. It was requested that I finish this one and post it, so here it is ^_^
Le Cygne
by kendokuschi
The silence in the bright office seemed to choke four of its five occupants. Miranda Priestly rose from her chair, arms crossed in front of her chest and the tiniest hint of a smirk graced her thin lips as she stood before her employees. “Well?”
Nobody knew exactly how their work-related conversation about the latest photo-shoot had suddenly turned toward the most recent Page Six headlines. ”Priestly Lioness Devours Third Husband”, it had said in big, bold letters. Miranda had found it amusing how the press had compared her to yet another predatory animal. “Lady Cougar”, “Fashion Shark” and of course “White Widow” were only a few of the gossip rags’ favorites.
“Come on, say it. Don’t waste my time,” the editor-in-chief said evenly as she leaned to rest her perfect backside elegantly against her glass desk.
The first to speak was Nigel, a pleasant, bald man with round spectacles and RUNWAY’s art director. “Hmmm...” Out of everyone in the room he was the one who had known Miranda the longest, but the question seemed to have caught even him by surprise. “Which... animal?” He asked, his chin low and both his eyebrows raised.
Jocelyn, a tall woman with blond hair, cleared her throat and spoke timidly. “Maybe... a jaguar?”
The glare Miranda was giving her would have rivaled anything a jaguar could have thrown at its lunch-to-be. The editor exhaled sharply and her nostrils flared in disgust.
“Jocelyn, I didn’t ask you what kind of animal you think I’d like to be compared to, but which animal you, yourself would compare me to.” There was nothing worse for Miranda than people sucking up to her while being dishonest.
Emily, Miranda’s red-haired first assistant shot out “A viper!” At this Nigel snorted and Miranda rolled her eyes.
“Is that somehow amusing to you, Nigel? I’m a poisonous reptile?” She sent her art director a venomous look.
“Well, Miranda, I actually see you more as a queen bee,” he chuckled.
The magazine editor stared at him icily. She did consider him somewhat of a friend, however that did not give him the right to disrespect her in front of her staff. She wasn’t even sure what on earth had possessed her to even ask the damn question in the middle of a meeting. If it hadn’t been for that dreadful headline glaring at her from the stack of newspapers on her desk, mocking her with its finality, the closing of yet another chapter of failure in her life, she would have never even brought up the topic with anyone. She did not make a habit of speaking about her private life, nor of asking silly, irrelevant questions during meetings.
“Uhm...” Everyone in the room turned to look at the second assistant, Andrea Sachs. Miranda’s eyebrows arched expectantly at the young woman, who was fiddling with her pen and notepad, large brown eyes nervously darting around the room.
“Uhm... maybe... a swan?” Andrea mumbled.
The editor pursed her lips and regarded Andrea through lowered lids. “A. Swan?” The other three remained completely silent, eyes wide with terror. Miranda was not pleased, and when she wasn’t pleased her staff always cowered like the spineless, incompetent worms they were.
“Andrea, do I waddle?” the older woman asked slowly in barely subdued exasperation.
“N-no, Miranda.” The young woman stammered, her eyes drilling into the carpet.
Okay, social time was over. Miranda strode back behind her desk and picked up a set of proofs from the shoot and started giving out orders to prepare a re-shoot.
“Jocelyn, I do not enjoy repeating myself. The accessories need to actually work with the instruments. Just because we’re trying to sell glorious evening wear does not mean we can defy the laws of physics. Nigel, this time, get me real musicians for the background and not those clowns from the academy. Also, is it so impossible to find a model with the right cleavage for the gowns, who does not hold a violin by its neck as if it were a tennis racket?”
Nigel and Jocelyn nodded hurriedly and quickly moved out of the office, not awaiting their actual dismissal, and leaving the two young assistants alone in the room with the editor who was known to make grown men weep with a single icy look.
Miranda regarded the newspapers on her desk with pursed lips and narrowed eyes.
”Emily, phone my lawyers and reschedule Friday’s meeting to tomorrow morning, 8 a.m., sharp. Contact the girls’ grandmother and ask for them to remain with her for an additional week, and deal with Dalton and twins’ absence from school accordingly.”
The redhead kept glancing at her white-haired boss for a moment too long and received a scathing look at her lingering presence.
“That’s all!”
“Yes, Miranda,” the first assistant replied while dashing out of the room, not without sending imaginative daggers at the brunette second assistant who still stood rooted in her spot, shell-shocked.
“Oh and, Andrea,” the editor commanded without looking up from the headline, “get me my coffee.”
“Yes, Miranda.” And with that the brunette spun around and all but ran to the outer office.
A swan! Miranda sniffed. She had expected, a tiger, maybe a wolf, or even an eagle, but a useless, defenseless, waddling bird? An ugly duckling? And why did it matter what her silly assistant thought anyway?
***
It was 9 p.m. and most people had gone home for the day. Miranda sat at her desk going over a designer’s portfolio but could not fully concentrate on the sketches. She had been in a foul mood ever since the earlier meeting, and none of he staff seemed to be able to do anything right all afternoon. Something was nagging at her but she didn’t want to pin down on the what, or the why. Work was not a place for contemplation. If she wanted to explore the greater depths of her own psyche she could do that in her empty townhouse, now devoid of husband, soon-to-be-ex-husband number three.
A brief sound alerted her to a new email and she glanced at her laptop and saw that it was from her second assistant. Craning her neck Miranda saw the young woman still at her desk in the outer office. Why would she send an email, if she could just walk right over? Granted she had ignored Andrea for most of the day but that silly girl was really testing her now.
She was tempted to click the “delete” button, but after hovering over it with the mouse for a while, she succumbed to curiosity and opened the mail.
Dear Miranda,
It was not my intention to insult you earlier today. Far from it.
Please let me elaborate why I would compare you to a swan.
The swan is one of the most wonderful animals on this planet. Its long elegant neck, the soft white feathers and the regal way it glides over water just really remind me of you.
Miranda subconsciously ran a hand through her silver locks.
When the swan takes to the air, its strong wings can carry it anywhere it wishes. And when it glides in to land on the water’s surface, one can’t help but be mesmerized by its grace.
Miranda’s fingers travelled over her bottom lip and she felt her chest tingle. Usually flattery pissed her off.
Usually flattery didn’t sound this sincere.
The swan is a fighter, it can be vicious. It keeps its distance and snaps at anyone whom it doesn’t trust. But it also protects its family and is incredibly nurturing to those it cares about.
At this Miranda gasped. She thought of her twin daughters and wondered how Andrea would know to what lengths she’d go to protect her children.
In short, a swan is beautiful but dangerous, gentle yet unapproachable.
Just like you.
Sincerely,
Andrea
Miranda kept staring at the screen, the words becoming a blurry mess. Her chest felt tight and she realized she’d been holding her breath. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was feeling but she knew that there suddenly was a deep crack in her perfect La Priestly armor. She felt vulnerable, like something had snuck behind her defenses and deeply touched her.
And she had let it.
Her young assistant had a knack for surprising her. First at her job interview, where she had been bold and had spoken honestly, but out of line, which had tickled something in Miranda and forced an impulse to hire the girl.
Being intelligent and a fast learner, Andrea had picked up her assistant duties very fast and efficiently, but had stayed uninspired by the fashion world surrounding her. Just when Miranda had been about to lose hope, the girl had shocked her with a makeover in style and attitude, which had kindled a very uncharacteristic interest her assistant.
Then Andrea had surprisingly walked in on the final fight with Stephen a week ago, and Miranda had felt so exposed and embarrassed about revealing the slip of control over her domestic life, that she had tried to sabotage the girl out of her job, and out of her life by giving her a completely impossible task. And wonder beyond wonder, the girl had excelled yet again, not only bringing a complementary, piping hot, skimmed-milk latte but also carrying one of those unforgettable, blinding smiles.
The editor focused her eyes back at the words on the screen. Now Andrea had surprised her yet again, by not only smoothing over the chipped pride from her earlier, clearly misunderstood remark, but also somehow knowing exactly the right words to get under Miranda’s skin.
The editor took a deep breath. She knew she should not let her guard down so often around the girl. Her assistant was young and often had trouble speaking up in front of her boss, but it seemed there was a lot more to her than just the shy, smart girl with those deep, dark eyes.
Over the past weeks, Andrea had made a habit of reading between the lines of Miranda’s often vague requests and always knew exactly what the editor actually meant. It was clear that Andrea perceived things more thoroughly than anyone else at RUNWAY, or anyone else in Miranda’s life, actually.
Whereas other people saw Miranda as a predatory, vicious animal that ruled by eliciting fear and sowing terror in the hearts of those around her, Andrea had actually looked right through her, and seen her for the woman she was inside.
How could a girl half her age so easily see what even her three husbands had barely ever acknowledged? The thought of Andrea having that much power over her was startling and Miranda felt vulnerable and exposed. A feeling she absolutely detested and had long ago learned to vanquish with her steely attitude and cold demeanour.
She had no idea what intentions the girl was harbouring. Would she use her gift of reading Miranda like an open book to propel her own career? To threaten and blackmail her in an attempt of retaliation for the often brutal way Miranda treated her employees? The editor could not picture her assistant doing any of those things, but it certainly would not be the first time someone had attempted to dethrone her, just before meeting their own, quick and untimely demise at Miranda’s hands.
The editor exhaled slowly while rubbing the delicate bridge of her nose. She clearly was not in the state of mind to get any more work done today. She did not exactly like the idea of returning to her empty home, but it surely would be an improvement from remaining here and wasting another minute on mulling over her assistant’s hidden agenda.
She felt the urge to send some kind of reply to Andrea’s email before actually making her way out and past the girl’s desk, but she was unsure of what to write, or if it was even appropriate to acknowledge her words. Maybe she could pretend she hadn’t read it? No, her assistant would see right through that. Frustration rang through her and the editor determinedly closed her laptop and stood.
As soon as she was at the doorway to the outer office, her assistant shot up and briskly moved to retrieve Miranda’s coat and bag from the wardrobe. Andrea smiled hesitantly has she handed both over and Miranda felt something burn in her chest at her decision to simply ignore the girl’s words.
Standing this close to her assistant that she was able to smell her subtle perfume, made the blur of the girl calling her beautiful in the email reality, and the editor had a hard time resisting the instinct for flight rippling up inside her. Dark brown eyes locked with hers when the editor pulled on her coat as calmly and controlled as possible, and there was something in that gaze, questioning her waiting for a reaction to those beautifully written words.
Miranda donned her trademark sunglasses, disrupting the intense connection and she watched as something akin to hurt briefly flashed over Andrea’s soft face. She must have imagined that. Surely the girl knew that Miranda Priestly did not answer to anyone. And why would the sudden shift in Andrea’s face leave a murmur of unease in the pit of her stomach?
Not trusting her ability to currently speak, the editor turned around and made her way out of the office, definitely feeling her assistant's gaze cutting through the laden atmosphere and clinging to her back.
***
The next day saw RUNWAY’s senior staff members rush in panic around a silently brooding editor-in-chief at the photo studio. The re-shoot was going to hell and nobody seemed to be able to follow simple instructions. The hired musicians had no chemistry with the models and the models had no idea how to hold their instruments or portray even the slightest interest in music, which ensured that none of the elegant evening gowns were done justice and the shots looked dull and uninspired.
Miranda took a deep breath. It didn’t help that she had spent her entire morning arguing with snooty lawyers over the leaked news of her impending third divorce. She was surrounded by incompetent people and it made her feel powerless and as if control had not only been slipping in her private life, but also at work. Her own visions and creativity could only carry her as far as her staff’s ability to adhere to them.
A cardboard cup of Starbucks coffee appeared before her and she steered her annoyed gaze at the girl holding it. “Finally!” She snatched the beverage from Andrea’s grasp and focused back on the action on the main floor of the photo studio.
Of course she hadn’t even asked for coffee in the first place, so there was no reason to bite at her assistant for its delay. Her own inability to remain calm and focused around the girl since the swan email had forced her to pull up the entire defense force of icy glare, blank expression and chilled tone.
Miranda always closed herself off and lashed out at any potential threat and the way Andrea had started to make her feel was most definitely a threat. It endangered the very core of being “Miranda Priestly”, editor-in-chief of one of the world’s most-read magazines; the self-made, unwavering queen of the world of fashion. A persona she had created and fed by emotionally distancing herself from those who were merely unimportant pawns in her empire of beauty and perfection.
The fact that her young assistant had somehow slipped across the field and was now one step away from checkmating the woman Miranda had tried to keep hidden for so many years, was disconcerting and set off so many alarm bells that her head hurt.
No, Andrea was not important. She did not possess the ability to see through her and touch and inspire her in ways no one ever had before. She definitely did not have beautiful hair and skin and she most certainly did not smell of spring rainstorms and strawberries.
A soft voice lured her out of her self-reprehension and she raised head while asking, “I beg your pardon?”
Her assistant regarded her thoughtfully before repeating her question. “I asked whether it was not going well.”
Miranda sniffed and gave a defeated wave in the direction of Nigel and a model who looked on the verge of crying. “Well, what does it look like?”
Andrea studied the scene before them, biting down on the corner of her bottom lip, before she softly spoke again. “There is no passion. No love for music. The musicians in the back have no connection with the models, because they are not actually playing together.”
The editor’s eyes shot back toward the girl and her heart was racing at the words which so flawlessly described exactly how she herself was feeling. It startled her, but she could only stare on as the assistant continued.
“Maybe the musicians should actually play something, to pull the models in and educate them about the importance of music for this shoot and for this collection. I don’t think a CD or MP3 would do. They’d need to really hear and also see them play, in order to appreciate the beauty of the instruments they’re holding, and thoroughly present the dresses at the same time.”
How could this girl, who only weeks ago had shown not the slightest interest in fashion, understand exactly what was wrong with this photo shoot and the entire rest of the staff was oblivious? How was it that Andrea was able to so easily voice the frustrations the editor had felt for the past two hours, but was unable to communicate to her art director? She had certainly pointed out all the things that were going wrong, however she had not thought of a solution. That was why she had employees, she paid them to fix these kind of things.
Miranda did not know how to handle the fact that her assistant had yet again surprised her and invaded her thoughts without warning. Andrea was now watching her, seemingly contemplating, as if she could see the many wheels simultaneously turning inside the editor’s head. It was too intimate, too close to her last defenses and the older woman immediately squared her jaw.
“Well, what do you know!?” she spoke icily.
The brief flash of hurt on the assistant’s face was quickly replaced by a plastered half-smile and the girl straightened her shoulders.
“Nothing, Miranda. Was there anything else?”
Flicking one hand out in emphasis as she fluttered her eyes closed, the editor merely uttered her typical “that’s all”, and brought her coffee up for a long, slow sip.
Andrea only nodded her head and walked away, leaving the editor to silently berate herself again for her harshness. Before she could wallow in sentimentality, though, Nigel moved to her side and removed his spectacles with a sigh.
“Sometimes I really curse the god for only bestowing either beauty, or brains. I swear those models are completely clueless.”
Miranda raised an eyebrow at the art director and cocked her head at the fact that he had just insulted either her mental capabilities or her appearance. Nigel only gave her a challenging stare and replaced his glasses.
“I’m just saying. This is a train wreck, Miranda. Nothing works. I can honestly picture your great vision inside my head but I have no idea how to inspire these girls.”
Thinking back at her assistant’s words the editor narrowed her eyes at Nigel. He had been working for her for well over a decade, and he barely ever disappointed. So why was it so difficult for him when it came to this photo shoot? Was it the subject matter? Maybe he just did not share her passion for music, and could therefore not fully envision how elegant evening gowns, intended for visits to operas and classical concerts, would be beautifully enhanced by the musical theme.
She pursed her lips at his helpless face when all of a sudden the distinct sound of a piano travelled through the studio.
It was playing a familiar sequence consisting of three notes being played back and forth, the soft, flowing keystroke creating an image of a pair of feet paddling below the surface of a still water.
Miranda turned her head and saw the concert pianist, who they had hired for the background, work at the keys of the shiny black grand piano. Sitting on a stool next to him, sliding the bow forward for the first note, was Andrea, gently holding the cello while her eyes were closed and her knees were loosely resting to either side of the instrument.
The sound was slow and soft, the girl’s fingers eliciting the perfect vibrato as she guided the melody down and then up again, dragging out the long note with precise movement of the bow. Her upper body was swaying along with the notes and her lips were slightly parted, the image of which, reached deep inside Miranda.
The editor’s heart clenched and she was forced to close her eyes at the intense sensation. The song was easily recognized and the realization struck her so hard that she involuntarily brought a hand to her chest, while trying to avoid spilling her coffee with the other.
Behind closed lids she could see the swan gracefully gliding over the crystal clear water, its serene beauty slowing time and demanding the attention of everything and everyone around it. She remembered the girl’s words, likening Miranda to this very image, and that thought completely shattered any remaining walls that had so efficiently been protecting her heart.
She had no idea that Andrea could play an instrument; that she could play it so exceptionally well was beyond all logical reason.
Slowly opening her eyes again she watched as her assistant let the music paint emotions across her features, guiding the melody, and in return, letting it guide her.
The song was about indescribable and unreachable beauty as observed by an outsider. Full of longing and sincere appreciation. A short glimpse at true and utter perfection.
Her eyes were drawn to Andrea’s slender neckline, as she bent with the sound, her long fingers delicately gliding over the strings. The girl radiated passion and love for what she was playing.
Miranda realized that her breathing had become shallow and her chest was heaving rapidly against her palm. The distinct sensation of her cheeks burning from the sudden rush of blood to her face and the water stinging in her eyes did not even surprise her anymore. She wet her parted lips and watched as her assistant leaned in for the final long pianissimo note, moving the bow so tenderly that it was merely whispering as the piano slowed down and came to a soft halt.
The studio was completely quiet. Everybody remained rigid, eyes staring in disbelief at the brunette behind the cello, and at the awestruck editor in her chair.
Andrea’s eyes finally opened and directly locked onto Miranda’s blue gaze. The older woman saw such warmth shining in the pools of brown, such sincerity, that she was rendered completely speechless. She realized at that moment that although the girl had completely defeated every last defense inside of her, she came in peace. She had not captured her in order to exert revenge or hurt her in any way.
No, what she saw in Andrea’s eyes now, was pure, raw affection. The girl truly cared about her and there was no escaping it.
All of a sudden the single clapping of hands broke through the silence and all eyes landed on the photographer. His applause triggered more people to follow and soon a majority of the studio was cheering for the assistant’s performance, with the exception of the editor, who still sat tongue-tied and unmoving, and the art director, who frantically glanced between the two women.
“Bravo! That was fantastic!” The photographer called out.
Andrea moved her eyes away from Miranda and regarded the rest of her audience with a shy smile. A smile, which Miranda knew, could be so much much brighter when directed only at her.
Everyone in the room was swarming her assistant with praise and requests for more and it cheapened the feeling of exclusivity the editor had just experienced. She had been completely ignorant to the crowd when Andrea had played and the eagerness of people, to all of a sudden share her assistant, immediately darkened Miranda’s mood.
“Enough,” she said calmly, yet loud enough for the whole studio to hear, and everyone turned around to look at the editor.
“Now, that you’ve seen how it’s done, you shouldn’t waste a single moment with pointless pleasantries,” she continued, eyes travelling anywhere but at her assistant.
The art director came to her aid. “Alright, you’ve heard the boss, let’s continue. Allison take your position, Katie, touch up and hair, please.”
People started back into motion and soon the room was a noisy blur again, leaving Miranda in a daze at her own harsh words. She blinked to look around for Andrea and caught a glimpse of the girl exiting through the back door.
“Queen Bee. I told you,” Nigel whispered grimly.
He was right. She was a complete bitch, but it was her second nature. Why would she care about what other people thought? The problem was, though, that she did care what one particular person thought, and she also cared how that person felt. She felt ashamed of herself.
The whole time she had only worried about her own vulnerability and about having her own defenses being lowered by Andrea. It had not crossed her self-centered mind that the girl had put herself out there, more than once, just as exposed and vulnerable, and with so much more to lose.
“Nigel, shut the hell up,” she hissed while quickly leaving her chair and rushing in the direction of the door.
The New York street welcomed her with it’s typical humming of the ever present traffic. There was no immediate sign of Andrea and Miranda glanced down both directions before looking at the park across the street. She spotted the girl running down a gravel path, and the editor swiftly slipped between the sluggish flow of cars to the other side.
For a moment she was concerned that she’d have to chase her assistant through the entire park, but to her relief Andrea had sat down on a nearby bench. As she approached, the editor began to second-guess following the girl. Miranda Priestly did not run after people, it was the other way round. She also never explained herself, to anyone.
Why then, did she feel the inexplicable urge to comfort Andrea. To tell her... what exactly? That everything would be alright? Would it be? What was the definition of ‘alright’?
She came to a stop a few yards to the girl’s left and watched as silent tears ran down those perfect cheeks. The brunette was facing the lake in front of her and seemed to stare off into the distance. Miranda followed her gaze and spotted two swans gliding over the smooth surface toward each other.
Her breath caught with a gasp when the swans met and leaned the tops of their heads together, their curved necks forming a well-known symmetrical shape before gracefully wrapping around each other in an elegant embrace.
Miranda looked back at Andrea and stared directly into shiny, brown eyes.
Something inside the editor buzzed awake at the sight of the teary-eyed girl, and she willed her feet to carry her closer, not leaving her assistant’s gaze until she stood right before her.
“May I sit?” she asked timidly, unsure of how Andrea would react.
The girl just nodded and focused her eyes on the tips of her own shoes as Miranda elegantly lowered herself onto the bench, slightly flinching at the thought of her Chanel pantsuit getting ruined, but scooting closer to Andrea nonetheless.
They remained quiet for a while, both looking ahead and watching the two swans.
Miranda felt ridiculous. She had followed her assistant all the way out here and now she felt too shy to speak. It felt as if no words were adequate for showing Andrea that she more than anything wanted to take the figurative hand the girl had extended out toward her.
She gingerly looked at the brunette and saw her fidget with her fingers. No longer able to fight her impulses, Miranda reached out and slowly clasped her right hand around the girl’s left.
Andrea’s eyes snapped to the editor’s and they gazed at each other for a long while, still unable to speak. A shiver from the girl shook both of them from their daze and Miranda realized that neither of them was wearing a jacket.
Spring Fashion Week might have been fast approaching but right now it was still winter and certainly no weather to be frolicking about in nothing but a blouse. However instead of getting up to return to the photo shoot, the editor simply settled back against the backrest and let go of Andrea’s hand to gently wrap her arm around the girl and pull her closer.
“Have dinner with me tonight?”
“I would love to.”
And with that the assistant lay her head on the editor’s shoulder and together they stared out onto the lake and at the two swans gliding gracefully across the smooth surface, side by side.
~ The End ~