If you don't hire her....Part 6
Author's Note: Just to let you know the rating on this story is going to go up. It will probably be T or M by the time I am done. Thank you for all the reviews and the support to continue this, I am becoming very attached to this story. This chapter paints Miranda in a differnet light, but I wanted her to have someone to reach out to. This needs to happen before she can think about a relationship with Andrea. Please Review!!!
Miranda feeling very confused began the long run home, still wondering what on earth just happened. I crashed into her; she apologized and then realized it was me and thanked me. Then if it wasn’t weird enough she told me I had nice legs, but she said it like it was an afterthought, and walked away. So not knowing what this meant she went home, showered and changed and headed for Nigel’s. He would know what to do, or at the very least he would be able to shed some light into the puzzle that was Andrea Sachs.
“She said what?!?” Nigel asked as he sprayed coffee all over the counter in front of him. Miranda torn between disgust and amusement, handed him a napkin and repeated herself.
“She said I had nice legs. But she said ‘nice legs by the way’ and then left. What does that mean, ‘nice legs by the way.’?”
“Well first off, she’s right you have great stems.”
“Stems, please Nigel no one says stems anymore, you are aging us. But thank you, I try. However that was not what had be confused,” at a ‘please don’t kid a kidder look from Nigel she reevaluated, “okay so it bugged me but the thank you and the walking away did more. That girl is a puzzle, and I hate puzzles.”
“Why is it such a big deal, no strike that, why is she such a big deal? I mean isn’t she just one more assistant in a long line of assistants. Didn’t you call her, fat, lazy, incompetent, and a wide variety of things in another language when she left you in Paris? You said she was your greatest disappointment, so why Ms. Miranda whatever you middle name is Priestly, is what she said or didn’t say, do or didn’t do so important?” He sat back and watched the wide variety of emotions run across Miranda’s face. He could see that she was going through all the interactions she had with Andrea to try to figure out why she was making a big deal about this.
When it came to Miranda and the topic of emotions, you had to beat it into her with a sledgehammer. She was an amazing woman and a great friend but she had so many walls up that it was impossible to see the real woman. Nigel had absolutely no idea about her past and her childhood but he did know that in it held the reasons to explain why she was the way she was.
He watched her stand and walk over to his large picture window and the sunlight shimmer off her hair, it made her look angelic in an odd sense. She heaved a great sigh and while keeping her back to him she said, “We are going to have this conversation once and only once. You need to understand me to help with whatever is going on with me. So I am going to be completely honest with you. Ask whatever I will answer. But if you ever breath a word of this to anyone, I will kill you myself,” she turned and shot him the hardest glare he had ever received before continuing, “understood?”
“Understood, come on with me, I think we are going to need to be more comfortable, or at the very least I want to get you away from sharp objects.” He tried to joke but saw the look on her face and almost tripped over his feet. Her walls they were gone and she stood open and vulnerable. The trust that she had in him astonished him. He knew that this was going to be hard on both of them.
“Why don’t we start with something easy, what’s your middle name?” He settled her down in his most comfortable chair and watched her tuck her legs underneath her and wrap her arms around her. In front of her he set a box of tissues and a tall cool glass of water.
“Davenport, it was my maiden name.”
“So Miranda Priestly isn’t a creation?”
“Nope, sorry to disappoint, but it was a combination of birth and luck.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“London, I lived there until I was 18.”
“And then what?” He knew there was more in her childhood but he wanted to get a basic overview before going back and getting details. He knew what he was doing and although it was hard for her, she needed to let it out sometime and who better than your best friend?
“Then I moved to New York and got a job at Vogue assisting for the features editor. I rose quickly up through the ranks and joined Runway as Editor-in-Chief at 30.”
“Yea, I know, but what else?”
“Umm…I got married for the first time at 27 to John Priestly, an up and coming doctor. We both worked long hours and were too tired for each other and got divorced at 33. Then I met Paul Hartman and we married two years later. I had the girls when I was 38 and unfortunately we were divorced by 45. At 47 I married Stephan and am now going through another divorce.” She said this plainly without any emotion and he could tell that although this had hurt her, it was just additional hurt.
“Tell me about baby Miranda,” he tried to ask lightly but could see her tense up. She stood and faced the window and took a deep breath before beginning to speak. He stayed very still and waited. “Well I grew up in a very privileged household, maids, nanny’s the works. My father was a prominent lawyer and I hardly ever saw him. I always remember him smelling of peppermint, and old books. My room would always smell like peppermint and old books when he came in late at night to kiss me goodnight. I remember how I used to lie awake under the covers and wait for the sound of his feet on the steps. Now I wonder if my girls do that. Do they only recognize me by the smell of my perfume and shampoo and Elias Clarke. I do the same thing every night, I go into their rooms and kiss them goodnight.” He heard her sigh but wisely refrained from saying anything. After a moment she continued, “And my mother. Ahh my mother, Sara, she was a ballerina. So beautiful and graceful, she held her head high and didn’t let anything get in the way of her dreams. She had no use for people and found me a burden. She told me time and time again that I was not good enough smart enough, pretty enough, etc… I tried so hard to earn her praise but nothing I ever did was good enough. I never really noticed how little she loved me, but when I was six I came home with a picture of the two of us that I spent all day on.”
When Nigel chuckled she turned around and gave him a look, “What I was young too once. Anyway I ran into her room and climbed onto her lap and showed it to her. And all she said that I was not to call her mommy and that my picture was horrid. As I left, I saw her throw it away. Things like that continued all throughout my life in growing severity. It was as though she wanted to blame me for everything that went wrong in her life. Because of her I have never been able to have a close relationship with anyone. I may be over the direct insults but there are lasting effects, like nightmares and trouble eating and physical contact, which I will always have to deal with.”
Nigel stood and moved over to her, he knew better than to scoop her into a hug so he opened his arms and kept his expression calm. He watched her look at his arms and his face before carefully stepping into his arms and he waited for her to wrap her arms around him before returning the favor. As he made soothing circles on her back, he heard her begin to cry and he rocked them, feeling his heart break because of the heart wrenching sobs that were coming from his best friend, the ice queen Miranda Davenport Priestly. As he thought of little six years old Miranda and her picture, he felt his eyes well up with tears and he hid his face in her hair.
How long they stayed like that Miranda didn’t know but she suddenly felt like she was going to be sick and wrenched herself from Nigel’s arms and ran to the bathroom. He watched her run away and headed for the kitchen and heated up some chicken soup and boiled water for tea. And when she returned he sat her down at the kitchen table and placed the steaming bowl of soup in front of her with a glass of water, before turning back to get the tea. Peppermint tea, that made her smile when she smelled it.
Miranda feeling very confused began the long run home, still wondering what on earth just happened. I crashed into her; she apologized and then realized it was me and thanked me. Then if it wasn’t weird enough she told me I had nice legs, but she said it like it was an afterthought, and walked away. So not knowing what this meant she went home, showered and changed and headed for Nigel’s. He would know what to do, or at the very least he would be able to shed some light into the puzzle that was Andrea Sachs.
“She said what?!?” Nigel asked as he sprayed coffee all over the counter in front of him. Miranda torn between disgust and amusement, handed him a napkin and repeated herself.
“She said I had nice legs. But she said ‘nice legs by the way’ and then left. What does that mean, ‘nice legs by the way.’?”
“Well first off, she’s right you have great stems.”
“Stems, please Nigel no one says stems anymore, you are aging us. But thank you, I try. However that was not what had be confused,” at a ‘please don’t kid a kidder look from Nigel she reevaluated, “okay so it bugged me but the thank you and the walking away did more. That girl is a puzzle, and I hate puzzles.”
“Why is it such a big deal, no strike that, why is she such a big deal? I mean isn’t she just one more assistant in a long line of assistants. Didn’t you call her, fat, lazy, incompetent, and a wide variety of things in another language when she left you in Paris? You said she was your greatest disappointment, so why Ms. Miranda whatever you middle name is Priestly, is what she said or didn’t say, do or didn’t do so important?” He sat back and watched the wide variety of emotions run across Miranda’s face. He could see that she was going through all the interactions she had with Andrea to try to figure out why she was making a big deal about this.
When it came to Miranda and the topic of emotions, you had to beat it into her with a sledgehammer. She was an amazing woman and a great friend but she had so many walls up that it was impossible to see the real woman. Nigel had absolutely no idea about her past and her childhood but he did know that in it held the reasons to explain why she was the way she was.
He watched her stand and walk over to his large picture window and the sunlight shimmer off her hair, it made her look angelic in an odd sense. She heaved a great sigh and while keeping her back to him she said, “We are going to have this conversation once and only once. You need to understand me to help with whatever is going on with me. So I am going to be completely honest with you. Ask whatever I will answer. But if you ever breath a word of this to anyone, I will kill you myself,” she turned and shot him the hardest glare he had ever received before continuing, “understood?”
“Understood, come on with me, I think we are going to need to be more comfortable, or at the very least I want to get you away from sharp objects.” He tried to joke but saw the look on her face and almost tripped over his feet. Her walls they were gone and she stood open and vulnerable. The trust that she had in him astonished him. He knew that this was going to be hard on both of them.
“Why don’t we start with something easy, what’s your middle name?” He settled her down in his most comfortable chair and watched her tuck her legs underneath her and wrap her arms around her. In front of her he set a box of tissues and a tall cool glass of water.
“Davenport, it was my maiden name.”
“So Miranda Priestly isn’t a creation?”
“Nope, sorry to disappoint, but it was a combination of birth and luck.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“London, I lived there until I was 18.”
“And then what?” He knew there was more in her childhood but he wanted to get a basic overview before going back and getting details. He knew what he was doing and although it was hard for her, she needed to let it out sometime and who better than your best friend?
“Then I moved to New York and got a job at Vogue assisting for the features editor. I rose quickly up through the ranks and joined Runway as Editor-in-Chief at 30.”
“Yea, I know, but what else?”
“Umm…I got married for the first time at 27 to John Priestly, an up and coming doctor. We both worked long hours and were too tired for each other and got divorced at 33. Then I met Paul Hartman and we married two years later. I had the girls when I was 38 and unfortunately we were divorced by 45. At 47 I married Stephan and am now going through another divorce.” She said this plainly without any emotion and he could tell that although this had hurt her, it was just additional hurt.
“Tell me about baby Miranda,” he tried to ask lightly but could see her tense up. She stood and faced the window and took a deep breath before beginning to speak. He stayed very still and waited. “Well I grew up in a very privileged household, maids, nanny’s the works. My father was a prominent lawyer and I hardly ever saw him. I always remember him smelling of peppermint, and old books. My room would always smell like peppermint and old books when he came in late at night to kiss me goodnight. I remember how I used to lie awake under the covers and wait for the sound of his feet on the steps. Now I wonder if my girls do that. Do they only recognize me by the smell of my perfume and shampoo and Elias Clarke. I do the same thing every night, I go into their rooms and kiss them goodnight.” He heard her sigh but wisely refrained from saying anything. After a moment she continued, “And my mother. Ahh my mother, Sara, she was a ballerina. So beautiful and graceful, she held her head high and didn’t let anything get in the way of her dreams. She had no use for people and found me a burden. She told me time and time again that I was not good enough smart enough, pretty enough, etc… I tried so hard to earn her praise but nothing I ever did was good enough. I never really noticed how little she loved me, but when I was six I came home with a picture of the two of us that I spent all day on.”
When Nigel chuckled she turned around and gave him a look, “What I was young too once. Anyway I ran into her room and climbed onto her lap and showed it to her. And all she said that I was not to call her mommy and that my picture was horrid. As I left, I saw her throw it away. Things like that continued all throughout my life in growing severity. It was as though she wanted to blame me for everything that went wrong in her life. Because of her I have never been able to have a close relationship with anyone. I may be over the direct insults but there are lasting effects, like nightmares and trouble eating and physical contact, which I will always have to deal with.”
Nigel stood and moved over to her, he knew better than to scoop her into a hug so he opened his arms and kept his expression calm. He watched her look at his arms and his face before carefully stepping into his arms and he waited for her to wrap her arms around him before returning the favor. As he made soothing circles on her back, he heard her begin to cry and he rocked them, feeling his heart break because of the heart wrenching sobs that were coming from his best friend, the ice queen Miranda Davenport Priestly. As he thought of little six years old Miranda and her picture, he felt his eyes well up with tears and he hid his face in her hair.
How long they stayed like that Miranda didn’t know but she suddenly felt like she was going to be sick and wrenched herself from Nigel’s arms and ran to the bathroom. He watched her run away and headed for the kitchen and heated up some chicken soup and boiled water for tea. And when she returned he sat her down at the kitchen table and placed the steaming bowl of soup in front of her with a glass of water, before turning back to get the tea. Peppermint tea, that made her smile when she smelled it.