Fic: Colorblind (part 3/7)
Fandom: DWP
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: T
Andy unlocked her door and made her way into her apartment. She smiled as she entered - it was a great space. The door opened up to a spacious room where Andy worked most of the time. There was a large work table in the middle cluttered with sketches and fabrics, and a few mannequins in various places around the room, some half-dressed. Andy’s favorite aspect of her apartment though was the floor-to-ceiling window spanning the front wall. She’d set up a plush leather chair and a portable desk directly behind the large table in the middle of the room so she could have as much natural light as possible to work from during the day.
As it stood, Andy didn’t often have visitors, and as such her apartment wasn’t quite set up for entertaining visitors, instead it was an extension of her studio downtown. Off to the right of the door was a small kitchen, and to the left, down a short hall, her bedroom. Although most nights Andy fell asleep in her chair, working.
Pulling out her cell once again Andy eyed the number that had called her twice and left no message. Probably Nigel’s landline, she mused, and pressed a button to return the call.
She thought she’d receive no answer as the phone rung and rung, but then a groggy “Hello?” made its way to Andy.
“Hello? Who is this?”
“What?” The voice was confused, probably due to the early hour. “You called me!”
“I, uh, received a few calls from this number yesterday…?” she trailed off. This was definitely not Nigel.
“Um I doubt it,” and the voice sure did sound as if she doubted it. “Wait. Are you mom’s new assistant?”
“What?” Andy felt dread in her chest.
“You know you’re not supposed to call the house phone. I mean Jesus - Caroline and I are sleeping! And mom already left, you should know -“ Andy hung up.
Caroline and I. Caroline and Cassidy. Priestly. Shit.
Miranda had called her last night. Miranda knew. Nigel had figured it out some how and Miranda knew. Shit.
After a short nap Andy made her way down to the studio. The models wouldn’t be in for a few hours but she had a lot of work to do. She’d had a stroke of inspiration yesterday in the Park and had to get started right away if she wanted these new pieces to be showcased during the show.
Her studio, much like her apartment, was light and lofty, sparsely decorated but for all the tables and mannequins. Large corkboards hung on the walls where various fabrics and sketches were pinned. Opening the door and making her way in, Andy was not surprised to see Monica working at her desk. Monica, who made all this possible, who was born in Paris but grew up in Brooklyn and learned French from her father, who had light mocha skin and a bouncing, curly afro, and who was the only person on the planet Andy trusted.
“Hey,” Monica smiled, “I’m surprised to see you here this early.”
“Yeah, I know. Before I left I started working on some new designs.” Andy pulled out her sketchbook and handed it over. “They need to get into this show.”
Flipping through the pages Monica’s eyes widened. “This is gonna be a lot of work, Andy, but…” she stopped at one particular gown, the fabric meant to be ethereal with light blues and silvers. “These are beautiful.”
“Yeah?” Andy was uncertain. She always was when it came to her work, but she was especially worried about these new ones. They were more personal somehow.
Monica laughed, “Yeah. Wow, Andy, these are… you’re right. These need to get into the show next Thursday. You have a little over a week… I say get to it.”
Andy chuckled, “Yes, boss,” an inside joke between the two woman. “I’m hoping to have at least one ready by the time the models get here.” Monica nodded and went back to her work, Andy walking away to look for fabric.
An hour or so later Monica sidled up to Andy’s work station with a mug of tea and started asking about New York - Andy had been there less than a week. She rarely went back to the states, but when she did it was to Ohio to see her parents, and when she stopped in New York it was usually for at least a couple of weeks. She had kept in contact with Lily and Doug - they were her oldest friends, after all.
“Did you get what you went there for?” Monica took a seat across the table, making sure not to invade Andy’s space. They often talked while she worked, Andy finding the distraction soothing.
“What do you mean?”
“Well you weren’t there for very long, and you came back early.” Andy shrugged and there was a long silence. “So, Miranda Priestly?”
Andy’s head shot up at that. “What? Did she call?”
Monica gave her a questioning look. “No. But you asked about her yesterday. Didn’t you work for her?”
“I was just her assistant, it wasn’t even for a year.” Andy bent her head back to her work.
“She fire you? I hear she has a reputation for that,” Monica sounded amused.
Andy opened her mouth, about to confirm, but held back. She should just tell Monica the truth. Or as much of the truth as she felt she could. The woman was her best friend, after all - a little honesty wouldn’t kill her. “No,” Andy let out a sigh, “I quit.”
“Really?” Monica drew the word out, obviously interested in what happened.
Andy nodded and continued to work. “Yeah I, uh, walked out on her during Paris Fashion Week seven years ago.”
Monica whistled. “Jesus. You walked out on the Dragon Lady without so much as goodbye? What the hell happened?” Monica started laughing a little, “What did she do? Did she eviscerate you with her words? Call your parents to tell you how bad a job you were doing? Make you wash her feet?” She was on a roll and the laughing got louder as she went. “Did she make you watch her devil spawn children? Lock you in her basement and torture you - or wait! Did she do weird sex stuff to you? Were you guys sleeping together?!” At this Monica started tearing up from laughing so hard but stopped when she saw Andy’s face. “Holy shit.”
“No!” Andy held up her arms palms out, as if to stop - what? “We were not sleeping together.”
Monica looked at her then, at the woman she had been close friends with for the past six years. “But you… have feelings for her?”
“No! Don’t be ridiculous!” Andy’s eyes were wide and her mouth formed a frown. Shit. Is she right? No. No. No. No. But maybe. “I only asked because apparently Miranda has been looking for the designer behind Eliza Elisabeth since we had our first show. Seriously. There was nothing between us.”
Monica nodded slowly. “Why did you walk out on her?”
“There was,” Andy shook her head, “some stuff that happened. I didn’t like the way she treated this guy who was - still is, I think - her right-hand man. He was a friend, and when I said I could never have done anything like what she did, she reminded me that I had done basically the same thing to someone I worked with. So I left. I didn’t want to be like her.”
“That’s a shitty excuse.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, that’s bullshit.” Andy was shocked. “You don’t leave a job like that, when you only have a few months left until your year is up -“ that much had been conveyed to Monica at some point over the years- “without a damn good reason. And your reason sucks, Andy.”
“My reason does not -“
“Why did you leave?”
“I just told you -“
“Why did you really leave?”
“Monica -“
“Why?!”
“Fine! I had feelings for her!” Andy huffed, throwing her arms up. “But it was just that she was powerful and I was young - hero worship or whatever! And anything I felt for her is long gone.” Andy picked up her pencil and started marking the fabric again, hunching her shoulders over the table.
After a pause, Andy heard Monica ask softly, “You sure?”
Andy looked as if she might start crying now. “No,” she croaked.
****
It was only Wednesday. For god’s sake could this week move any slower? Miranda picked up the fresh Starbucks sitting on the corner of her desk and sipped. Delicious.
This week was going to be hellish. And so it was.
Wednesday saw a disaster in the accessories department for the November issue. Miranda had the sneaking suspicion it was because Emily had been trying to be silent first assistant and work in accessories at the same time. Her trying to help cater to Miranda’s every whim really had to stop. She’d talk to Nigel about it.
On Thursday her second assistant - Jamie? Janet? - informed her of a glitch in seating for the flight to Paris. The flight that would be leaving on Friday afternoon. Miranda so wanted to fire what’s-her-name, but the timing wasn’t good. She needed someone here while she and Clarissa, her first assistant, were in Paris.
There was also a mishap with getting some of the designers’ work early. Being Miranda Priestly meant that she got a preview of everything before it hit the runway. Being told no to such a request didn’t bode well for any designer, as Vera Wang soon found out. It was a disappointment to learn that she’d not wanted Miranda to see her designs beforehand - usually Vera was so very good about these things, although when Miranda finally got her hands on the designs she could see why… they were less than adequate. Oh well.
Miranda made it a point to have breakfast with her daughters on Friday morning before she left. Sitting at the kitchen island once again Caroline and Cassidy began telling their mother about their week as they shoved yogurt and a bagel into their mouths, respectively.
“Oh and there was a weird phone call on Tuesday morning, after you left for work,” Cassidy began.
“Oh?” Miranda raised her eyebrows.
“Yeah, woke me up. Some woman.” Cassidy stopped to take another bite of her bagel. “She said she got a missed call or something from our number on Monday,” she shrugged, “Figured it was your new assistant, but you were already at work.”
Miranda nodded slowly. She thought she knew exactly who had called. “What did she say?”
“Nothing, just that she had the missed call. I thought she was the new girl and when I told her not to call so early, cause woke me and Caroline up, she just hung up,” Cassidy shrugged again. “It was weird.”
And that was the last that was said on that subject. In conversation, anyway. Sitting in First Class on her way to Paris, Miranda let her mind wander to Andrea. She’d called back. It was exceedingly possible that she hadn’t recognized the number, and when Cassidy had mentioned assistants, her mother, and Caroline, Andrea had connected the dots. Nigel had said she sounded suspicious.
Miranda found herself picturing the younger woman - a collection, of sorts. When she’d come in for the interview, boasting of her work ethic. That hideous cerulean sweater. The first time Miranda had seen her after Nigel worked his magic. Before then, she’d been sure there was something more underneath the bile-producing clothing her second assistant chose to wear, and well, she’d been right. As usual. She remembered the satisfaction Andrea had shown when she’d produced the Harry Potter manuscript, and she remembered a dozen other impossible tasks the girl had performed.
Mostly, however, Miranda remembered walking in each morning and being greeted with a smile, a cheerful “Good morning, Miranda,” and the perfect cup of Starbucks. She remembered Andrea’s persisting kindness in the face of a sea of scowls - most of them her own. Or Emily’s. Miranda remembered how even after she’d called her fat, Andrea hadn’t started dieting. And thank god for that, too. That remark she’d regretted the instant it’d come out of her mouth.
The most prominent thought in Miranda’s mind now was that of Paris. Andrea had been nice to her. Not because there were people around, not because she thought she might further her career. Just because. And Miranda had pushed her away.
Sitting back in her seat now, Miranda recognized that moment for what it was. She’d grown close to the girl, but when offered support she’d shut it down. Because she cared. Miranda sighed. She hadn’t wanted to get attached, and she knew that the feelings could grow, if given time and inclination, so she’d nipped it in the bud. It wouldn’t do to fall for a girl nearly half her age, someone who’d likely never return her feelings. And then Andrea had left, and she’d remarried.
At this point Miranda let her anger at Andrea overwhelm her. Her anger for being left in Paris, for not being notified when the girl who she’d once worked so closely with suddenly became a notable designer. How could she?
It hit Miranda then, that I might have done the same thing.
****
Andy was exhilarated. She’d worked non-stop except for a few hours of sleep for the last three days, and this newest collection was really coming along. They were going to have to do something different though. She now had two collections, and only one show.
A plan starting germinating in her mind as she hailed a cab. She needed food. Actually, what she really needed was cake, and so she directed the cab driver to her favorite bakery in Paris. It was in a swanky part of town, not too far from where she lived, and they made an orgasmic cheesecake.
Stepping out of the cab, Andy passed a few bills through the passenger-side window and spun around only to bump into a pedestrian with quite a bit of force.
“Woah!” He grabbed her arm to keep her from falling. She was about to extend her thanks when she found herself staring into the face of Christian Thompson. “Andy? Andy Sachs?”
She backed up, steadying herself and smiled a little. “Christian, what a surprise.” She wasn’t thrilled to see him.
“Indeed! What brings you to this fabulous city? Not Fashion Week, I’m sure,” he smiled at her, chuckling, turning on the charm.
Of course he would say something like that - as if he knows me so well. “Well, you know, I heard about this bakery,” she joked, and pointed to the brightly-lit windows next to them.
He laughed, touching her arm. “You know that’s such a coincidence, this was actually my destination as well. I say we should go in,” and with that he guided her by the elbow into the small bakery. It wasn’t too crowded, and they easily found a table. Andy had bought a small tart and a coffee to eat while she and Christian caught up, and had the large cheesecake she’d been craving wrapped up in a box for later.
“So Andy, you never answered my question before.” He smiled at her again.
“Hmm?”
“You never told me why you’re in Paris.”
“Maybe I really did come for the cheesecake,” she gave him a tight smile, and he laughed.
“A woman after my own heart. But seriously, what brings you here?”
“I have a friend who’s showing some of her things next week,” clearly Andy was not about to tell him why she was really here. After all, she’d only told about five people in the last six years what she was doing in Paris, and Christian Thompson was not going to be the sixth.
“Oh? Anyone I know? I’m covering the shows, I could give her some press,” he offered.
“Really?” she smiled sweetly, “You mean you’re not here to steal anyone’s job this time?”
Christian gave her a hard look. “That was business Andy. And it was a long time ago. Don’t tell me you still have a stick up your ass about it. Miranda didn’t even need your help, in the end.” He snorted at that last part.
Andy shook her head. This was silly. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I let go of that a long time ago.”
He smiled once again. “Good. You know, thinking towards the future is always more fun anyway,” he waggled his eyebrows, and Andy gave him a smile in return, all the while wanting to puke.
They continued chatting about what they’d been doing for the last seven years - or, Christian had. After several successful dodges of the man trying to pry information from her, Andy had turned her attention toward what he’d been doing, and he’d been happy to talk and talk and talk about who-knew-what - Andy was barely listening.
Finishing their coffees and tarts, Andy mentioned that it was getting late and she had to go. Christian, of course, made it a point to walk her out and down the street.
“So tell me about your designer friend.”
“Oh, uh, you know…” she hesitated. What the hell was she supposed to say? You’d think after five years she’d be better at lying. Or really, coming up with lies.
“Come on, Andy, just give me a name at least. She’s an up-and-comer, right? As long as it doesn’t conflict with any of the big shows I’ll come check it out, give her some press,” he said, like he was doing her the biggest favor in the world.
“I don’t think getting press to cover her is the problem,” Andy was becoming sour about this. She was a big deal, damn it. God, when did I become that person? The answer was painfully obvious. When Christian Fucking Thompson started being all arrogant and in-my-face.
“Really now?” He looked fake-impressed. Like he couldn’t believe she would know someone worth watching. Although, she reasoned, the Andy he knew wouldn’t have any well-known designer friends. Come to think of it, because she’d kept her face out of the spot-light, she didn’t have any designer friends. She’d been contacted by the big names of course, offering her congratulations after every show (she did the same) - but Monica handled all of that. “Come on, now I’m dying to know.” He wasn’t, she could see that.
“Eliza Elisabeth.” But now he was.
They were walking along the Seine when he stopped. “Holy shit. Are you serious? You know Eliza Elisabeth?” She nodded. “Really, though? The real woman behind the curtain?” She nodded again. “Because she is notoriously elusive. Hasn’t been published anywhere- no spreads, no photo shoots. The fashion world only gets what walks on the runway and what has somehow managed to get to stores and boutiques and the like.”
“I know,” she kept nodding.
“So how do you know her?” He was obviously curious now.
She turned to look at him, “I know her by accident, through family. How ‘bout you stop asking me about a woman who obviously has worked very hard to remain hidden?” He chuckled at that and nodded.
At which point Andy felt an arm wrap around her shoulders as Christian pulled her into him. “Christian… I don’t really -“
“Oh come on, Andy,” he squeezed harder, “we had such a great time all those years ago, why not do it again?” He stopped then, bringing her in front of him and kissing her hard, shoving his tongue into her mouth.
Shoving him off her Andy took a few steps back and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “I said no. Good night.” She turned and walked away, hearing a, “I’ll find you later!” called back at her. Disgusting.
Clutching both her purse and the bag that held her precious cheesecake, Andy crossed the Seine and kept walking. The lights in the city were on - shop windows, apartments, hotels.
She looked up to see Hotel Lutetia, one of Paris’ many luxury hotels. As she gazed at the building in all its splendor, something caught her eye. A black town car. A jet of silver.
Andy stopped moving, her heart pounding in her ears, and watching as Miranda Priestly herself stepped from the car, stopped, and turned around every-so-slowly. Their eyes met across the street, Miranda’s widening in surprise. She looked as if she was about to make her way over, or at the very least beckon Andy to her. So Andy, supporting the bottom of her cheesecake, ran.
To be continued
part four
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: T
Andy unlocked her door and made her way into her apartment. She smiled as she entered - it was a great space. The door opened up to a spacious room where Andy worked most of the time. There was a large work table in the middle cluttered with sketches and fabrics, and a few mannequins in various places around the room, some half-dressed. Andy’s favorite aspect of her apartment though was the floor-to-ceiling window spanning the front wall. She’d set up a plush leather chair and a portable desk directly behind the large table in the middle of the room so she could have as much natural light as possible to work from during the day.
As it stood, Andy didn’t often have visitors, and as such her apartment wasn’t quite set up for entertaining visitors, instead it was an extension of her studio downtown. Off to the right of the door was a small kitchen, and to the left, down a short hall, her bedroom. Although most nights Andy fell asleep in her chair, working.
Pulling out her cell once again Andy eyed the number that had called her twice and left no message. Probably Nigel’s landline, she mused, and pressed a button to return the call.
She thought she’d receive no answer as the phone rung and rung, but then a groggy “Hello?” made its way to Andy.
“Hello? Who is this?”
“What?” The voice was confused, probably due to the early hour. “You called me!”
“I, uh, received a few calls from this number yesterday…?” she trailed off. This was definitely not Nigel.
“Um I doubt it,” and the voice sure did sound as if she doubted it. “Wait. Are you mom’s new assistant?”
“What?” Andy felt dread in her chest.
“You know you’re not supposed to call the house phone. I mean Jesus - Caroline and I are sleeping! And mom already left, you should know -“ Andy hung up.
Caroline and I. Caroline and Cassidy. Priestly. Shit.
Miranda had called her last night. Miranda knew. Nigel had figured it out some how and Miranda knew. Shit.
After a short nap Andy made her way down to the studio. The models wouldn’t be in for a few hours but she had a lot of work to do. She’d had a stroke of inspiration yesterday in the Park and had to get started right away if she wanted these new pieces to be showcased during the show.
Her studio, much like her apartment, was light and lofty, sparsely decorated but for all the tables and mannequins. Large corkboards hung on the walls where various fabrics and sketches were pinned. Opening the door and making her way in, Andy was not surprised to see Monica working at her desk. Monica, who made all this possible, who was born in Paris but grew up in Brooklyn and learned French from her father, who had light mocha skin and a bouncing, curly afro, and who was the only person on the planet Andy trusted.
“Hey,” Monica smiled, “I’m surprised to see you here this early.”
“Yeah, I know. Before I left I started working on some new designs.” Andy pulled out her sketchbook and handed it over. “They need to get into this show.”
Flipping through the pages Monica’s eyes widened. “This is gonna be a lot of work, Andy, but…” she stopped at one particular gown, the fabric meant to be ethereal with light blues and silvers. “These are beautiful.”
“Yeah?” Andy was uncertain. She always was when it came to her work, but she was especially worried about these new ones. They were more personal somehow.
Monica laughed, “Yeah. Wow, Andy, these are… you’re right. These need to get into the show next Thursday. You have a little over a week… I say get to it.”
Andy chuckled, “Yes, boss,” an inside joke between the two woman. “I’m hoping to have at least one ready by the time the models get here.” Monica nodded and went back to her work, Andy walking away to look for fabric.
An hour or so later Monica sidled up to Andy’s work station with a mug of tea and started asking about New York - Andy had been there less than a week. She rarely went back to the states, but when she did it was to Ohio to see her parents, and when she stopped in New York it was usually for at least a couple of weeks. She had kept in contact with Lily and Doug - they were her oldest friends, after all.
“Did you get what you went there for?” Monica took a seat across the table, making sure not to invade Andy’s space. They often talked while she worked, Andy finding the distraction soothing.
“What do you mean?”
“Well you weren’t there for very long, and you came back early.” Andy shrugged and there was a long silence. “So, Miranda Priestly?”
Andy’s head shot up at that. “What? Did she call?”
Monica gave her a questioning look. “No. But you asked about her yesterday. Didn’t you work for her?”
“I was just her assistant, it wasn’t even for a year.” Andy bent her head back to her work.
“She fire you? I hear she has a reputation for that,” Monica sounded amused.
Andy opened her mouth, about to confirm, but held back. She should just tell Monica the truth. Or as much of the truth as she felt she could. The woman was her best friend, after all - a little honesty wouldn’t kill her. “No,” Andy let out a sigh, “I quit.”
“Really?” Monica drew the word out, obviously interested in what happened.
Andy nodded and continued to work. “Yeah I, uh, walked out on her during Paris Fashion Week seven years ago.”
Monica whistled. “Jesus. You walked out on the Dragon Lady without so much as goodbye? What the hell happened?” Monica started laughing a little, “What did she do? Did she eviscerate you with her words? Call your parents to tell you how bad a job you were doing? Make you wash her feet?” She was on a roll and the laughing got louder as she went. “Did she make you watch her devil spawn children? Lock you in her basement and torture you - or wait! Did she do weird sex stuff to you? Were you guys sleeping together?!” At this Monica started tearing up from laughing so hard but stopped when she saw Andy’s face. “Holy shit.”
“No!” Andy held up her arms palms out, as if to stop - what? “We were not sleeping together.”
Monica looked at her then, at the woman she had been close friends with for the past six years. “But you… have feelings for her?”
“No! Don’t be ridiculous!” Andy’s eyes were wide and her mouth formed a frown. Shit. Is she right? No. No. No. No. But maybe. “I only asked because apparently Miranda has been looking for the designer behind Eliza Elisabeth since we had our first show. Seriously. There was nothing between us.”
Monica nodded slowly. “Why did you walk out on her?”
“There was,” Andy shook her head, “some stuff that happened. I didn’t like the way she treated this guy who was - still is, I think - her right-hand man. He was a friend, and when I said I could never have done anything like what she did, she reminded me that I had done basically the same thing to someone I worked with. So I left. I didn’t want to be like her.”
“That’s a shitty excuse.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, that’s bullshit.” Andy was shocked. “You don’t leave a job like that, when you only have a few months left until your year is up -“ that much had been conveyed to Monica at some point over the years- “without a damn good reason. And your reason sucks, Andy.”
“My reason does not -“
“Why did you leave?”
“I just told you -“
“Why did you really leave?”
“Monica -“
“Why?!”
“Fine! I had feelings for her!” Andy huffed, throwing her arms up. “But it was just that she was powerful and I was young - hero worship or whatever! And anything I felt for her is long gone.” Andy picked up her pencil and started marking the fabric again, hunching her shoulders over the table.
After a pause, Andy heard Monica ask softly, “You sure?”
Andy looked as if she might start crying now. “No,” she croaked.
****
It was only Wednesday. For god’s sake could this week move any slower? Miranda picked up the fresh Starbucks sitting on the corner of her desk and sipped. Delicious.
This week was going to be hellish. And so it was.
Wednesday saw a disaster in the accessories department for the November issue. Miranda had the sneaking suspicion it was because Emily had been trying to be silent first assistant and work in accessories at the same time. Her trying to help cater to Miranda’s every whim really had to stop. She’d talk to Nigel about it.
On Thursday her second assistant - Jamie? Janet? - informed her of a glitch in seating for the flight to Paris. The flight that would be leaving on Friday afternoon. Miranda so wanted to fire what’s-her-name, but the timing wasn’t good. She needed someone here while she and Clarissa, her first assistant, were in Paris.
There was also a mishap with getting some of the designers’ work early. Being Miranda Priestly meant that she got a preview of everything before it hit the runway. Being told no to such a request didn’t bode well for any designer, as Vera Wang soon found out. It was a disappointment to learn that she’d not wanted Miranda to see her designs beforehand - usually Vera was so very good about these things, although when Miranda finally got her hands on the designs she could see why… they were less than adequate. Oh well.
Miranda made it a point to have breakfast with her daughters on Friday morning before she left. Sitting at the kitchen island once again Caroline and Cassidy began telling their mother about their week as they shoved yogurt and a bagel into their mouths, respectively.
“Oh and there was a weird phone call on Tuesday morning, after you left for work,” Cassidy began.
“Oh?” Miranda raised her eyebrows.
“Yeah, woke me up. Some woman.” Cassidy stopped to take another bite of her bagel. “She said she got a missed call or something from our number on Monday,” she shrugged, “Figured it was your new assistant, but you were already at work.”
Miranda nodded slowly. She thought she knew exactly who had called. “What did she say?”
“Nothing, just that she had the missed call. I thought she was the new girl and when I told her not to call so early, cause woke me and Caroline up, she just hung up,” Cassidy shrugged again. “It was weird.”
And that was the last that was said on that subject. In conversation, anyway. Sitting in First Class on her way to Paris, Miranda let her mind wander to Andrea. She’d called back. It was exceedingly possible that she hadn’t recognized the number, and when Cassidy had mentioned assistants, her mother, and Caroline, Andrea had connected the dots. Nigel had said she sounded suspicious.
Miranda found herself picturing the younger woman - a collection, of sorts. When she’d come in for the interview, boasting of her work ethic. That hideous cerulean sweater. The first time Miranda had seen her after Nigel worked his magic. Before then, she’d been sure there was something more underneath the bile-producing clothing her second assistant chose to wear, and well, she’d been right. As usual. She remembered the satisfaction Andrea had shown when she’d produced the Harry Potter manuscript, and she remembered a dozen other impossible tasks the girl had performed.
Mostly, however, Miranda remembered walking in each morning and being greeted with a smile, a cheerful “Good morning, Miranda,” and the perfect cup of Starbucks. She remembered Andrea’s persisting kindness in the face of a sea of scowls - most of them her own. Or Emily’s. Miranda remembered how even after she’d called her fat, Andrea hadn’t started dieting. And thank god for that, too. That remark she’d regretted the instant it’d come out of her mouth.
The most prominent thought in Miranda’s mind now was that of Paris. Andrea had been nice to her. Not because there were people around, not because she thought she might further her career. Just because. And Miranda had pushed her away.
Sitting back in her seat now, Miranda recognized that moment for what it was. She’d grown close to the girl, but when offered support she’d shut it down. Because she cared. Miranda sighed. She hadn’t wanted to get attached, and she knew that the feelings could grow, if given time and inclination, so she’d nipped it in the bud. It wouldn’t do to fall for a girl nearly half her age, someone who’d likely never return her feelings. And then Andrea had left, and she’d remarried.
At this point Miranda let her anger at Andrea overwhelm her. Her anger for being left in Paris, for not being notified when the girl who she’d once worked so closely with suddenly became a notable designer. How could she?
It hit Miranda then, that I might have done the same thing.
****
Andy was exhilarated. She’d worked non-stop except for a few hours of sleep for the last three days, and this newest collection was really coming along. They were going to have to do something different though. She now had two collections, and only one show.
A plan starting germinating in her mind as she hailed a cab. She needed food. Actually, what she really needed was cake, and so she directed the cab driver to her favorite bakery in Paris. It was in a swanky part of town, not too far from where she lived, and they made an orgasmic cheesecake.
Stepping out of the cab, Andy passed a few bills through the passenger-side window and spun around only to bump into a pedestrian with quite a bit of force.
“Woah!” He grabbed her arm to keep her from falling. She was about to extend her thanks when she found herself staring into the face of Christian Thompson. “Andy? Andy Sachs?”
She backed up, steadying herself and smiled a little. “Christian, what a surprise.” She wasn’t thrilled to see him.
“Indeed! What brings you to this fabulous city? Not Fashion Week, I’m sure,” he smiled at her, chuckling, turning on the charm.
Of course he would say something like that - as if he knows me so well. “Well, you know, I heard about this bakery,” she joked, and pointed to the brightly-lit windows next to them.
He laughed, touching her arm. “You know that’s such a coincidence, this was actually my destination as well. I say we should go in,” and with that he guided her by the elbow into the small bakery. It wasn’t too crowded, and they easily found a table. Andy had bought a small tart and a coffee to eat while she and Christian caught up, and had the large cheesecake she’d been craving wrapped up in a box for later.
“So Andy, you never answered my question before.” He smiled at her again.
“Hmm?”
“You never told me why you’re in Paris.”
“Maybe I really did come for the cheesecake,” she gave him a tight smile, and he laughed.
“A woman after my own heart. But seriously, what brings you here?”
“I have a friend who’s showing some of her things next week,” clearly Andy was not about to tell him why she was really here. After all, she’d only told about five people in the last six years what she was doing in Paris, and Christian Thompson was not going to be the sixth.
“Oh? Anyone I know? I’m covering the shows, I could give her some press,” he offered.
“Really?” she smiled sweetly, “You mean you’re not here to steal anyone’s job this time?”
Christian gave her a hard look. “That was business Andy. And it was a long time ago. Don’t tell me you still have a stick up your ass about it. Miranda didn’t even need your help, in the end.” He snorted at that last part.
Andy shook her head. This was silly. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I let go of that a long time ago.”
He smiled once again. “Good. You know, thinking towards the future is always more fun anyway,” he waggled his eyebrows, and Andy gave him a smile in return, all the while wanting to puke.
They continued chatting about what they’d been doing for the last seven years - or, Christian had. After several successful dodges of the man trying to pry information from her, Andy had turned her attention toward what he’d been doing, and he’d been happy to talk and talk and talk about who-knew-what - Andy was barely listening.
Finishing their coffees and tarts, Andy mentioned that it was getting late and she had to go. Christian, of course, made it a point to walk her out and down the street.
“So tell me about your designer friend.”
“Oh, uh, you know…” she hesitated. What the hell was she supposed to say? You’d think after five years she’d be better at lying. Or really, coming up with lies.
“Come on, Andy, just give me a name at least. She’s an up-and-comer, right? As long as it doesn’t conflict with any of the big shows I’ll come check it out, give her some press,” he said, like he was doing her the biggest favor in the world.
“I don’t think getting press to cover her is the problem,” Andy was becoming sour about this. She was a big deal, damn it. God, when did I become that person? The answer was painfully obvious. When Christian Fucking Thompson started being all arrogant and in-my-face.
“Really now?” He looked fake-impressed. Like he couldn’t believe she would know someone worth watching. Although, she reasoned, the Andy he knew wouldn’t have any well-known designer friends. Come to think of it, because she’d kept her face out of the spot-light, she didn’t have any designer friends. She’d been contacted by the big names of course, offering her congratulations after every show (she did the same) - but Monica handled all of that. “Come on, now I’m dying to know.” He wasn’t, she could see that.
“Eliza Elisabeth.” But now he was.
They were walking along the Seine when he stopped. “Holy shit. Are you serious? You know Eliza Elisabeth?” She nodded. “Really, though? The real woman behind the curtain?” She nodded again. “Because she is notoriously elusive. Hasn’t been published anywhere- no spreads, no photo shoots. The fashion world only gets what walks on the runway and what has somehow managed to get to stores and boutiques and the like.”
“I know,” she kept nodding.
“So how do you know her?” He was obviously curious now.
She turned to look at him, “I know her by accident, through family. How ‘bout you stop asking me about a woman who obviously has worked very hard to remain hidden?” He chuckled at that and nodded.
At which point Andy felt an arm wrap around her shoulders as Christian pulled her into him. “Christian… I don’t really -“
“Oh come on, Andy,” he squeezed harder, “we had such a great time all those years ago, why not do it again?” He stopped then, bringing her in front of him and kissing her hard, shoving his tongue into her mouth.
Shoving him off her Andy took a few steps back and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “I said no. Good night.” She turned and walked away, hearing a, “I’ll find you later!” called back at her. Disgusting.
Clutching both her purse and the bag that held her precious cheesecake, Andy crossed the Seine and kept walking. The lights in the city were on - shop windows, apartments, hotels.
She looked up to see Hotel Lutetia, one of Paris’ many luxury hotels. As she gazed at the building in all its splendor, something caught her eye. A black town car. A jet of silver.
Andy stopped moving, her heart pounding in her ears, and watching as Miranda Priestly herself stepped from the car, stopped, and turned around every-so-slowly. Their eyes met across the street, Miranda’s widening in surprise. She looked as if she was about to make her way over, or at the very least beckon Andy to her. So Andy, supporting the bottom of her cheesecake, ran.
To be continued
part four