Chapter 8

 

Andy was only vaguely aware of the music surrounding them. Her entire being, her entire life force, every molecule in her body was focused on the woman in her arms as they began to sway gently to the beat. And then, by some unsought gift from the gods, the many hours spent practicing in her Cincinnati basement came into play, and Andy and Miranda began to dance.

 

Hesitantly at first, getting a feel for each other, they moved around the room. Miranda was light on her feet and a good dancer; under normal circumstances Andy would have been pleased by that fact. But these circumstances were most certainly not normal…this wasn’t some pre-teen friend giggling as her parents demonstrated the steps. This was Miranda Fucking Priestly in her arms; and Miranda Fucking Priestly left no doubt whatsoever that Andy was holding a woman. A beautiful, desirable, soft, wonderful-smelling woman that every straight man (and quite a few gays ones) in the greater Tri-State area would give his left nut to be holding like this. Miranda Priestly who twirled into a spin with a soft smile and melted back into Andy’s arms to glide into another set of box turns.

 

Now Andy knew she was losing her mind because before the spin Miranda’s left hand had been resting on her shoulder, and now it was pressing gently against the back of her neck. Andy felt the tiny hairs there rise at the thought, and suddenly her whole body was aware of Miranda’s nearness. The weight of her forearm across Andy’s shoulder. The rustle of the black dress against Andy’s jeans as they pivoted through a turn. The firmness of Miranda’s back as Andy used her right hand to guide her into a promenade step, and the faint brush of Miranda’s hair on her cheek when the older woman pivoted sharply back into position.

 

Gradually, Andy’s courage grew; she began to enjoy this impossible dance and the marvelous nearness of Miranda. She linked two slightly more complex steps together and, as they came out of the combination, the twins whistled and applauded loudly.

 

“Way to go, Mom!” “Andy, you rock!”

 

Andy nearly danced them into a bookcase when Miranda’s cheek came to rest against hers and warm breath brushed her ear with a whispered, “Dance lessons, Andréa? It was lacrosse when I left.”

 

Without thinking and completely focused on the goosebumps that whisper had raised, Andy murmured back, “Well, I try to be a full-service coach, Miranda,” and pivoted her partner into another promenade. But this time, instead of ending the combination with a basic step, Andy swayed to the side, pivoted her torso a quarter turn and dipped Miranda Priestly. As the women held the stunning pose for a two-count, something happened which few people in the world had ever witnessed: Miranda threw her head back and laughed. The full, uninhibited laugh of a delighted woman enjoying herself immensely.

 

Andy brought her back to basic position, and they finished the dance with a flourish; Andy twirling Miranda twice and then applauding as Miranda curtsied to the twins. The girls immediately bounced to their feet demanding to be taught ‘that totally cool dip thing!’  Andy and Miranda each took a twin and did so, the four of them exchanging partners frequently with the adults demonstrating when necessary.

 

An hour and a half later Miranda called a halt to the merriment, telling the twins that even though it was a Friday night, it was long past their bedtimes. Andy and the girls unrolled the rug and replaced the furniture under Miranda’s supervision, and then the twins bid them good night and headed for bed. To Andy’s surprise and great delight, both Cassidy and Caroline gave her the same hugs and kisses on the cheek that they gave Miranda as they went to their rooms.

 

Andy closed the sitting room doors and headed for the media room with a grin on her face. She gathered the detritus of their lacrosse lessons and carried it to the kitchen. Miranda powered down the home theatre system and followed her.

 

“They’re very fond of you, Andréa. I hope you realize that.”

 

“I do. And I’m very fond of them. You’ve got great kids, lady.”

 

Miranda’s facial expression turned almost wistful. “I hope so. I’ve put them through so much, and sometimes it seems like everything is conspiring to keep me away from them. They are the most precious part of my life.”

 

Unthinking, Andy reached out and touched Miranda’s hand. “That’s obvious to anyone who knows you, Miranda.” Then, realizing what she had done, Andy flushed and pulled her hand back. “You’re right, it is getting late. I’d better be going.”

 

They walked to the foyer, and Miranda took Andy’s coat from the front closet. Andy shrugged into it, and while pulling on her gloves, turned to face her former boss.

 

“Thank you for having me. I had a good time.”

 

“Thank you for giving me and the girls another memorable evening. I enjoyed myself far more here than at the Black and White Gala. It was…fun, Andréa.”

 

Both women leaned in for a generic air kiss; afterwards, Andy was never sure exactly what happened next. One moment she was bussing the air in the general vicinity of Miranda’s ear, and the next an impossibly soft pair of lips were pressed to the corner of her mouth. When they withdrew she eased back, trembling, to look into Miranda’s eyes. Pools of deep blue gazed back at her as Miranda gently wiped the smudge of lipstick off Andy’s cheek with her thumb.

 

Neither spoke. Neither had words. Andy merely smiled, touched Miranda’s cheek, and left. One instant looking lovingly at the woman who, beyond reason, had captivated her heart and the next, wrapping her muffler around her neck and walking toward the subway with the world’s goofiest grin on her face.

 

Inside the townhouse, Miranda leaned back against the door, stunned by what she had done. A moment later she caught sight of a slightly flushed, smiling woman in the hallway mirror and it took a moment to dawn on her that the woman in the mirror was her. The smile widened as she turned off the lights and slowly climbed the stairs.

 

* * * * *

 

Andy spent the next day at work proofing and correcting stories on the bid-rigging scandal. In between edits, she relived THE MOMENT, as she now thought of it, when Miranda had so fleetingly kissed her. If she thought about it for any length of time, she started to hyperventilate. Miranda kissed me. Miranda kissed me. Ohmygod, Miranda kissed me!

 

Every time she thought of what had happened as she was leaving the night before, one part of her melted into a gooey puddle of love-struck female and another tried to talk her out of believing it. The gooey, love-struck part of her was thrilled at the idea (preposterous as it might sound) that Miranda might actually feel something akin to desire for Andy. The disbelieving part kept up a repeating list of reasons why it was not possible.

 

Miranda had been married twice and was in the middle of her third divorce. She kissed me. Miranda had conceived the twins the old-fashioned way…no turkey basters, no frozen sperm, no donor choices. Just her and her husband doing the nasty. She kissed me. Every day Miranda was surrounded by models – some of the most beautiful women in the world - in all states of undress and never even glanced at them. She kissed me. She has kids who sort of like me and she won’t let anything in the world hurt them. She kissed me. I’ve never been remotely attracted to a woman before. But…she kissed me and my knees went weak. And the way she looked when she walked into the media room!  I wanted her; I wanted her so badly.

 

And she kissed me! Not a social air kiss and not on the cheek either! It was…almost…on the lips. On the corner of my mouth … that’s still lips, isn’t it? Oh God, why didn’t I kiss her back? I could have. I saw it in her eyes. If I’d have just pushed a little, I could have…no, I couldn’t. If I’d pushed I’d have frightened her off. I don’t want to frighten her off. I want her to come willingly. I want her to walk into my arms to make love like she walked into my arms to dance.

 

Oh, God, that dance! She felt like…I don’t know what… in my arms. No wonder guys are always touching us and trying to hold us….she felt amazing against me. I danced cheek to cheek with Miranda Priestly and afterward she kissed me! How lucky am I? Her cheek was so soft, if I’d turned my head just the tiniest bit I could have…

 

“Sachs? Where are those rewrites on the DPW office manager’s Grand Jury testimony? I needed them ten minutes ago!”

 

“Filing them now, Greg!” Andy snapped her attention back to her workstation and the article displayed on the screen. She read it one last time, saved her corrections, then transferred the files to the queue for Greg’s terminal. She had to stay focused, or she’d be stuck in the office all night. And she did not want to spend the night at the office. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to talk to Miranda about what happened last night, but she certainly needed to do some serious thinking about where her head was. She’d call Miranda tomorrow once she figured everything out.

 

In the meantime, there was work to do. She brought up another mock-up article and began to edit it. Absently, she tapped her cheek with her pencil on the very spot Miranda had kissed her last night.

 

She kissed me!

 

“Sachs! Get in here!”

 

* * * * *

 

Things were not going well across midtown at the Runway offices, either. The proofs from the Michael Kors shoot were gone, and Testino had finally admitted that he had no idea where the original memory cards were. They were stuck and would have to move up another photo spread if they couldn’t re-shoot within the next few days. Miranda had Emily and Nigel working the phones, and to make matters worse, Irv had fired off a memo stating that unless the shoot could be re-photographed for under two hundred thousand, it would not be re-shot at all.

 

The rest of the editorial staff was in the offices, frantically culling through their files, trying to find a location they could use. Miranda hadn’t needed to summon everyone in on a Saturday; Irv’s memo had done that for her. By 10:00 am, critical mass had been reached.

 

“Emily?” The quiet voice summoned her assistant more efficiently than a shouted command ever would.

 

“Call Nigel and ask him to come over then call an editorial meeting for 10:30. We have to get a handle on this right now or scrap the entire issue and start over.”

 

“Yes, Miranda.” Spying the half-drunk Starbucks cup on the desk next to Miranda, Emily risked breaking her cardinal rule of never asking Miranda a question. “Do…do you need more coffee?” To her amazement, Miranda not only answered her but also thanked her absently. Something was wrong…very, very wrong.

 

She scurried back into the outer office and dispatched the second assistant for fresh coffee - including Nigel’s favorite blend in the order as well. When he arrived several minutes later, the second assistant was just stepping out of the elevators, balancing two Starbucks trays precariously. Emily relieved her of them and handed Nigel his cup.

 

“How’s the mood?” he asked quietly as she rearranged the cups into one carrier.

 

“Something’s wrong, and I don’t know what it might be.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Just watch her during the meeting. I mean she actually answered me when I asked if she wanted more coffee and said ‘thank you’!” Emily hissed. Nigel’s eyes widened.

 

“What?” It’s difficult to deliver a whispered comment with the same impact as a shout, but Nigel managed it.

 

“Just watch her. See if you don’t notice something…off.”

 

They were interrupted by the quiet voice from the office. “Emily?”

 

“Coming, Miranda!”

 

Nigel arranged himself in one of the twin chairs facing the desk, and Emily took the other. Miranda swung around from her examination of the midtown skyline behind her and began.

 

“We have a serious problem. If we can’t reschedule the Michael Kors shoot within a week, the entire issue will need to be scrapped. Despite the fact that none of the blame rests with our staff, Irv’s memo made it crystal clear that we will be on a tight leash financially. So we need a location with a climate that can pass for summer, doesn’t cost much, and that we can have on two or three days’ notice. Moreover, as if that’s not enough, we need to accomplish all this before we leave for London in three weeks. Where are we?”

 

Nigel opened. “I just got off the phone with Jeffrey Talbot down in Savannah. The Roadhouse restaurant group was scheduled for their annual corporate retreat down there and cancelled. Something to do with their Chapter 11 filing. The important thing is there are plenty of rooms available, and a major revenue source just bailed. He said we could get rooms on an hour’s notice and that civil permits wouldn’t take much longer. I think we could make Savannah work if we can get the Historical Society behind us, and Jeff’s working on that right now. I’ll know more in an hour or so.”

 

Miranda nodded in approval and looked at Emily. “Where do we stand with photographers? And do not tell me that Testino is ready to shoot again. It will be a long time before he shoots another spread for Runway.”

 

“I just got off the phone with Demarchelier’s assistant. Patrick is willing to rearrange his schedule and shoot this week if we can lock down a location. He says he and his crew can be on site in twenty-four hours or less. As far as the…”

 

They were interrupted by the ringing of Nigel’s cell phone. He jumped to his feet and headed into the outer office to take the call. It was brief and he returned to his chair, wreathed in smiles, a minute later.

 

“That was Jeff. We’ll get all the cooperation the city of Savannah and its Historical society can give us. He’s even talked The Marshall House into holding a block of rooms for us for twenty-four hours. If we confirm within that time, they’re ours.”

 

Miranda actually showed the hint of a smile for the first time that day. “Excellent. We’ll meet with the entire editorial staff in fifteen minutes. Pull up everything we’ve got from the spring shoot we did there in 2005. We’ll need contact information for…well, everything.”

 

Nigel rose and nodded. “I’m on it. I’ll pull the records and get a list of contacts for us to work with.”

 

Miranda nodded absently. “That’s all.”

 

Emily cast a frightened glance at Nigel then squared her shoulders. “Should I confirm with Patrick?”

 

Miranda seemed to bring herself back to the present with a visible effort. “Yes, tell him we’re looking at Savannah, and we’ll have full information for him within three hours.” She slowly swiveled around in her chair and gazed back out the windows at the skyline, and Emily and Nigel vacated the office.

 

In the reception area, Emily gave Nigel a wide-eyed look.

 

“Do you see what I mean?”

 

“Something’s on her mind and you’re right; it’s not the shoot. Just keep doing what you need to, and let’s just get through this day. We can worry about her later.” Then both rolled their eyes and Nigel left for his office.

 

Miranda found herself preoccupied once again with the events of last night. What in the world had prompted her to cut in on Cassidy and dance with Andréa? The woman was half her age for heaven’s sake. And she was a woman. Was she having some horribly clichéd mid-life crisis? But, try as she might, Miranda could not deny what had happened. She had enjoyed dancing with Andréa far more than she had ever enjoyed a dance before. And then the impertinent child had actually dipped her! The memory of laughing exuberantly sent a thrill through her even today. It had been…fun. She had felt happy, truly happy, for the first time in a long time.

 

Even the twin’s laughter seemed almost a benediction. They hadn’t batted an eyelash when she and Andy had danced together, or even when she had pressed close to Andréa and deepened the intimacy of the dance. The ensuing hours had been filled with laughter and smiles from everyone as the four of them danced. The twins had learned quickly; Andréa was correct, they were well coordinated and surprisingly light on their feet considering the amount of noise their passage through the house usually generated. It had been a delightful evening.

 

And the twins’ kissing Andréa good night…that was a most pleasant surprise. They hadn’t even hesitated, and she had seen how it had made Andréa smile. She really was fond of the girls, for which Miranda was profoundly grateful. Last night they had seemed almost like a happy family. This led her to the thoughts she had been trying to avoid all morning. What had she been thinking when she’d actually kissed Andréa? They had been exchanging an ordinary goodbye, and suddenly she was actually pressing her lips to that marvelous dimple at the corner of the young woman’s mouth. And feeling a shiver of delight run through herself that she hadn’t felt in a very, very long time.

 

So what was actually happening here? She found herself attracted to a woman half her age; a woman of whom her daughters were extremely fond. She had never been in a relationship with a woman before, but she was a veteran of three failed marriages; could a relationship with a woman be any worse? What if they were found out? She’d had too many unpleasant run-ins with the media to think that the discovery of an affair with another woman wouldn’t be splashed all over the tabloids. But what would it really matter? The scandal would die down quickly, especially with her publicist doing damage control. She worked in the one industry where being gay was considered normal. Her custody agreement was ironclad. She had never used the incriminating evidence the investigators had gathered on her first husband during their divorce, but if he attempted to alter the custody agreement in any way, he knew what awaited him.

 

So, in reality, the only factor that might affect her decision about whether or not to have an affair…no, it wouldn’t be an affair. Miranda already knew that her feelings for Andréa ran far deeper than would be dictated by a mere affair. If they embarked on a relationship, it would be just that; a meaningful relationship, not a fly-by-night fling. The only factor that might affect her decision about a possible relationship with Andréa would be its impact on the girls. Their interactions had improved so much of late and Miranda was loathe to do anything that might change that. She would have to think of a way to sound the twins out about their feelings for Andréa.

 

“Miranda?”

 

She turned with a start to see Emily standing in the doorway. “The staff is waiting in the conference room.”

 

As soon as they managed this reshoot, she was going to have a long talk with her daughters.

 

* * * * *

 

Andy’s day had been long and frustrating. Not that the work was either of those, but she simply could not keep her mind off the night before. She’d finally escaped the office around six-thirty and ordered Chinese food for dinner. By the time she was back home and comfortable in her softest pair of sweats, the food arrived.

 

A cold beer and subgum shrimp served to stave off the starvation pangs, and after she cleaned up from her supper, she grabbed another beer and flopped on the couch. She turned on the television for background noise and settled in to ponder what had happened over the past couple of weeks and what it meant for her.

 

She’d discovered that she could be extremely attracted to another woman. That wasn’t quite right. She was extremely attracted to Miranda Priestly, not just to another woman. To one very specific woman. She ran over the significant friendships she’d had with various women in her life, and concluded none had ever sparked the response Miranda had. So she didn’t think that she had been gay all along and in denial. This was something completely new and different to deal with. Okay, so she was attracted to Miranda. What did that mean?

 

Andy worked all around the issue, poking at it from different directions and trying to make sense of how she felt. At the end of two hours, she had finally peeled back all the layers of rationalization and excuses to uncover one essential truth. After being tormented, tortured, belittled, worked to exhaustion, used, abused and ignored for almost a year, she, Andy Sachs of Cincinnati, Ohio, had fallen ass-over-teakettle in love with Miranda Priestly. No matter what excuses she came up with for her reactions of late that one fact always seemed to be at the source of everything.

 

Now, what was she going to do about it? Miranda had flirted outrageously with her when she had asked if Andy liked her ensemble. It had been Miranda who had stepped into her arms without hesitation to dance. It had been Miranda who had moved closer, making that dance intimate. And it had been Miranda who had moved and changed their goodbye from something friendly to something… else. It was Miranda…it had always been Miranda. Nate had subconsciously known. The person whose calls you always take? That’s the relationship you’re in. And she had always taken Miranda’s calls. Except once. In Paris. Andy realized, at that moment, she had been trying to make up for that ever since.

 

I need to talk with Miranda, she thought, reaching for the phone.

 

* * * * *

 

The twins sat on Miranda’s bed and complained half-heartedly.

 

“But you said you’d be here for tryouts. You promised!” said Cassidy.

 

“And I will be, darling. We’re leaving tonight and I’ll be back on Wednesday morning. Your team practices run through Thursday, and final cuts won’t be until Friday afternoon. I will be back two days before then. And you both said that you don’t want Andréa or me at practices. That you want to do it on your own.”

 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t want you around. How are we supposed to tell you about it?” griped Caroline. The twins continued to complain about the last-minute trip to Savannah. They understood the need for the trip but really had wanted Miranda around for encouragement during their tryout week, even if they didn’t want her hovering at practices. They were scheduled for one last practice with Andy tomorrow afternoon, and then Andy had been forbidden from attending the team practices as well.

 

“You can call me each night I’m away and tell me every single detail. In fact, if you’d like, I can conference Andréa onto our calls and you can tell both of us. That’s not so bad, is it?” The bedside phone began to ring. “Darling, would you get that for me?”

 

Cassidy answered and promptly handed the phone to Miranda. “It’s Andy, for you.”

 

“Andréa?”

 

“Hello, Miranda. I hope I’m not disturbing you?”

 

“Not really, but I haven’t much time. The girls were just helping me finish packing. I’m on a late plane to Savannah tonight and the car is due in fifteen minutes.”

 

“Savannah?” Andy thought for a moment. “You’re going to reshoot the Michael Kors feature?”

 

“Yes, Nigel worked his usual magic and got us the permits we needed on an hour’s notice, so everyone is flying in tonight. We start the shoot tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be home on Wednesday morning. What was it you wanted?”

 

Andy took a deep breath, torn between bringing up her feelings when Miranda obviously didn’t have time to discuss anything and saying nothing. She decided she’d waited long enough. “I… I think we need to talk about last night. I don’t want… it’s taken me a while to figure out how I feel and I don’t… I don’t want to lose… God, I’m doing this badly.”

 

Miranda stiffened at what she heard and spoke coolly, glancing at the twins as they folded the last of her blouses. “I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. There is no need for you to worry about… anything. I assure you there won’t be a repeat if that’s what concerns you.”

 

“But that’s just it, Miranda. I want there to be a repeat. I want there to be a repeat and so much more! I know you need to catch your plane, but will you promise me we’ll talk – really talk – when you get home?”

 

Miranda could hardly breathe. “You want…? Andréa, are you sure?”

 

“As sure as I’ve ever been about anything. Promise me? Promise me we’ll sit down and talk?”

 

“I promise. I’ll call you Wednesday morning when I get back.” Miranda felt a fluttering in her chest at that thought.

 

Andy’s voice became a soft purr. “I’ll be waiting.”