Why is it I can never get these damned things to work the first time? Figures I’d have to screw with it when I’m juggling everything but the kitchen sink.
Andy
Sachs re-inserted the keycard in the suite’s lock and this time was rewarded with a green
light and the click of the electronic mechanism releasing. Shifting the load of bags and boxes she carried, she turned the
knob and entered the luxurious Parisian hotel suite occupied by her boss Miranda Priestly. At least Miranda’s out tonight. All I need to do is drop these off, grab the faxes, and I can get ready for
dinner with Christian.
But her plan was not to be. As she straightened from depositing the boxes on the hall table
and walked into the living room to get the faxes that needed to be sent she was brought up short by the sight of Miranda sans
makeup, barefoot and clad only in her grey bathrobe sitting on the sofa.
“Oh!”
“Oh, there you are.” Miranda cleared her throat as she toyed with her reading glasses
then continued. “We need to go over the seating, uh, chart for the luncheon.”
“Oh, okay. Um, yeah, sure. I have it right here.”
Miranda slipped her glasses back on and extended her hand for the folder while Andy rummaged
in her bag for it.
“By all means, move at a glacial pace. You know how that thrills me.” When Andy
finally located it and handed it to her Miranda opened the folder and examined the chart of tables inside. “Okay. So,
first of all we need to move Snoop Dog to my table.”
“But your table’s full.”
Miranda looked up from the chart but couldn’t quite meet Andy’s eyes. “Stephen
isn’t coming.”
“Oh, Stephen’s… so I don’t need to… fetch Stephen from the airport
tomorrow?”
“Well, if you speak to him and he decides to rethink the divorce, then, yes fetch away.
You’re very fetching so… go fetch. And then when we get back to New York we need to contact… um, Leslie,
to see what she can do to minimize the press on all this. Another divorce. Splashed across Page Six. I can just imagine what
they’re going to write about me. The Dragon Lady. Career-obsessed. Snow Queen drives away another Mr. Priestly. Rupert
Murdoch should cut me a check for all the papers I sell for him. I don’t… I don’t really care what anybody
writes about me. But my, my girls, I just…it’s just so unfair to the girls. It’s just… just…”
Then the iron control cracked, and the single most powerful person in the fashion industry
began to cry. Andy wasn’t aware of moving but found herself on the sofa holding Miranda as she wept for everything that
had suddenly changed in her life. Andy’s heart broke for her boss, and at that moment she would have done anything to
make the hurt go away. To shelter and protect Miranda from all the pain that now crashed down on her slender shoulders.
Miranda buried her face in the crook of Andy’s neck and sobbed, instinctively knowing
that within the circle of those arms she was safe. For a few precious minutes, Andy gave the legendary Dragon Lady of Runway
Magazine the security to be human and weak and weep.
The weakness didn’t last long though; Miranda managed to pull herself together after
a couple of minutes and, sniffing, pulled away from Andy to wipe her eyes. She appeared flustered, unsure of how to deal with
her loss of control in front of an employee. Andy, for her part, knew all she could really do to help would be to insure that
every aspect of Miranda’s life she had anything to do with would be smooth and worry-free. She vowed to be the
best assistant Miranda’d ever had from that moment onward.
But inwardly, she mourned the loss. For those brief minutes, she’d held the woman who
more and more had captivated her heart. Up until now Andy had managed to ignore her growing feelings for her irascible employer,
but holding Miranda had brought them into sharp focus. She hadn’t a clue what to do about it, but at least she could
now admit to herself that Miranda meant far more to her than a mere boss should. She looked at the older woman keenly. Miranda
would not meet her eyes.
“Miranda, it’s okay. You’re safe with me. Nothing that happens in this suite
will ever leave it.”
The laser-blue eyes locked with hers. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
“I’m not. I mean every word. Nothing will ever be said about… tonight.”
“Nothing, Andréa?”
“Nothing, Miranda.”
Miranda’s breath caught in the throat. Do I dare? God, I’ve wanted to for so long… but I don’t want to frighten her. I need her with
me, by my side.
Hesitantly, she reached up and cupped Andréa’s cheek. As she did, Andréa leaned into the touch savoring the warmth and
intimacy of it. Then Miranda Priestly did something neither of them ever dreamed she would do… she leaned in
and kissed her assistant, tasting the full lips she had secretly longed for since Nigel had taken the girl by the hand and
turned their ugly duckling into the graceful swan they’d always known she was. She had no earthly idea why she ignored
everything that had held her in check up to now, only that at this moment she needed Andréa in a way she never had before.
She could no more have resisted that need than she could have swum against the current of Niagara.
Andy couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but focus on
the tender lips moving gently against hers. Desire exploded within her and, groaning, she pulled Miranda back against herself,
acutely aware of every soft curve concealed by that grey bathrobe. She could not get enough of Miranda; could not taste her
enough, could not caress or touch her enough, could not kiss her enough. Losing herself in the moment she drank deeply of
the softness of Miranda’s mouth until the older woman broke their kiss and slowly pulled back.
Miranda gazed into the warm brown eyes before her and lightly caressed the downy-soft cheek
beneath them. Avidly she gazed, trying to fix the memory for all time. Finally she dropped her hand and took a shaky breath.
Clearing her throat, she finally spoke.
“I’m… I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
“It’s all right, Miranda. I told you… I’ll do whatever… Do you
need me to do anything?”
The Ice Queen of Runway began to emerge once more from the weeping woman Andy’d
just held in her arms. Back in control, Miranda was again the ruler of the fashion world. Her life might be in shambles, but
there was work to do. She had survived worse; she would survive this.
“Yes. Your job.”
Andy nodded in understanding and rose. She gathered the faxes she’d originally set out
to pick up and left the suite. As she closed the door behind herself she felt a quick stab of regret at the knowledge that
she’d irrevocably left her heart behind as well. But even knowing that moment of intimacy would never again be mentioned
let alone repeated, she still couldn’t manage to suppress a giddy happiness that bubbled up within her.
She was supposed to have dinner with Christian Thompson but called and canceled after she’d
returned to her room. She had just decided to enjoy a leisurely soak in her obscenely large bathtub when Nigel appeared at
her door. Over champagne he announced that he was taking the helm of James Holt International as President and would be working
with the designer and his financial backers to expand the line and take it international. Andy was thrilled for him –
the opportunity was tremendous and the fact that Miranda had recommended him for the position was icing on the cake. A just
reward for his years of service at Runway.
The next morning she opted to eat on the terrace café of their hotel. Miranda had a breakfast
meeting with Irv scheduled, and Andy wanted to take the extra time for one final check that the floral arrangements were freesia-free
and everything was correct for the luncheon that afternoon. Just as she ordered herself Quiche Lorraine, fresh berries and
café-au-lait, Christian showed up and asked if he could join her. He took the seat across from her and ordered the same. As
they sipped their coffee and waited for their meal they chatted about the events of the previous week. He was his usual charming
self, asking her thoughts on the shows she’d attended, and they discussed the lines of a couple of the more avant-garde
designers. To her surprise, he made repeated references to Jacqueline Follet and her opinions. When Andy questioned him about
that he balked.
“Christian, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you even mention Jacqueline
before this. I didn’t know you knew her that well. Why is she suddenly the center of your fashion world?” Her
eyes twinkled merrily. “Something going on there I should know about?”
“Actually, yeah, there is. But not what you think. I was going to wait to tell you, but
now’s as good a time as any. Irv’s moving Miranda out and bringing Jacqueline in to edit Runway.
I’ll be overseeing all of the editorial content. I want to bring you on board as a junior editor. It’s a good
step up for you, and I know you can handle the job. So what do you say?”
But Andy heard nothing beyond the fact that Irv Ravitz was removing Miranda as Editor-in-Chief
of Runway. Not only had Stephen just destroyed her personal life, but now the Chairman of Elias-Clarke was destroying
Miranda’s professional one as well. Andy could not fathom that depth of betrayal.
“He’s what? This will kill Miranda… Runway is her life!
How could you?”
“C’mon, Andy, it’s a done deal. Jacqueline’s younger, has a fresher
take on things. She does the same thing Miranda does only a lot cheaper. And Irv’s a businessman. Miranda’s a big girl, she’ll survive.”
“Christian, up until a moment ago I thought you were just a shallow twit who could write.
But you’re far more than that: you are an unmitigated shit.” She
rose and threw some cash on the table, intent on warning Miranda.
“Andy, really. This is business. Don’t make it personal, Miranda-girl.” He
gave her his most entreating look.
She looked back and smiled sweetly. “Fuck off, Christian.”
* * * * *
Andy collapsed onto her lumpy sofa in the empty apartment, numb from the events of that endless
day. She’d rushed to Irv’s suite to warn Miranda and had been summarily dismissed. When she finally had managed
to tell Miranda what she’d learned from Christian her boss had been singularly uninterested. And then Miranda’s
counter coup to Irv’s power play: sacrificing Nigel’s dreams to save herself. Still, Andy could have dealt with
all that. But when Miranda held up a metaphorical mirror and showed her that she was becoming an unfeeling bitch Andy
had snapped. Striding off across the Place de la Concorde, she had tossed her phone into a convenient fountain, left Miranda
high and dry, and flown home.
Nate had moved out while she had been gone, and the apartment that had once seemed so homey
now seemed dusty and abandoned. She had no idea how she was going to live or even get another job. After the way she’d
left Miranda it was a good bet she’d never work in publishing again. Her stomach growled, and she glanced at the kitchen.
It was empty; Nate had cleaned it out.
“Well, I guess there’s always take-out.”
But Andy had been wrong. Miranda hadn’t blacklisted her; in fact, she’d given Andy
a good reference. After a week of licking her wounds, Andy had landed a job at the Mirror and all of a sudden
had the dream job she’d come to New York to find. Granted, she and Nate had called it quits when she had learned he
was moving to Boston, but on the upside she’d managed to mend most of her bridges with Lily and Doug. Well, Doug at least. Lily was still sulking, but Andy had hopes she’d come around. They’d been
friends since the first grade, but if she was being completely honest with herself, she felt just a little bit used by Lily.
Her friend had eagerly taken every expensive gift item Runway had supplied and then sided with Nate against
her. She missed her best friend, but if Lily wouldn’t at least meet her halfway she’d survive without her.
A few weeks after being hired at the Mirror, she and Doug were out treating themselves
to monster corned beef sandwiches and Blue Moon beer. Andy was still buoyant about landing the job and after three beers had
told him about seeing Miranda for a brief moment outside Elias-Clarke. Doug cocked an eyebrow and asked her why that was so
important. Andy waffled and stuttered and Doug pounced, demanding the truth from her.
“Okay, spill it. You’ve never once talked about what really happened in Paris.
It’s been over a month. You’re free of the Dragon Lady. She didn’t blacklist you. It’s time to come
clean. I want to know why you came home early.”
“Nothing happened. I just got fed up with everything, and I couldn’t take it anymore.
So I came home.”
“After eight months? You just suddenly got fed up? And flew home? From Paris
Fucking France? In the middle of Fashion Week? How dumb do I look?”
She replied with a smirk, “You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?”
But Doug would not be put off. “Don’t you dare try that with me, Missy! I’ve
known you since you walked into the guys’ bathroom by mistake your second day at Northwestern. I’ve held your
hand through three major breakups and a pregnancy scare. You’ve held mine through…” he grimaced, “Steve.
Now spill. I know there’s more than what you’ve told me.”
“There isn’t anything. I told you what happened.”
“Bullshit! I can read you like a book. What really went on?”
For the first time she hesitated. “Doug, I can’t. I promised.”
It took him another hour and two more beers before he wore her down. “Okay, so what’s
the big deal? I mean her husband told her he was divorcing her. It’s not surprising that she’d be upset and need
to cry a little.”
“Well, it was maybe a little bit more than that.” Her voice was very quiet.
She didn’t recall his left eyebrow ever arching quite that high before. “Would
you care to define ‘maybe a little bit more than that’?”
“She might have kissed me.” Her eyes focused everywhere but on his face.
“’Might have kissed you?’! Andy, either she did or she didn’t.”
“Well, then, she kissed me.”
“And?”
“And I kissed her back.” A whispered answer as she stared at her hands in her lap.
“And?”
“And nothing. Nothing. It was just… just...”
“And?”
She looked up at him helplessly. “And I… I… oh God, Doug….”
He shot her a megawatt grin. “At last! The moment every gay man dreams of: a legitimate
reason to break into a show tune!” He jumped up, threw his arms wide and to the delight of surrounding diners began
to sing in a clear tenor.
“It only takes a moment
For your eyes to meet and then
Your heart knows in a moment
You will never be alone again.
You held her for an instant
But your arms felt sure and strong
It only takes a moment
To be loved a whole life long.
And that is all that love’s about
And you’ll recall when time runs out
That it only took a moment
To be loved a whole life long.”
The restaurant broke into cheers and applause. Doug took a bow and then sat down again looking
at a sputtering Andy.
“You are not right in the head! I love you, but you’re just not right.”
He leaned close to her and said quietly, “I may not be right in the head, but I’ve
got your number, Andy Sachs. You’re in love with Miranda!”
She looked bleakly at him as her eyes brimmed with tears. “Dougie, what am I gonna do?
Nothing can ever come of it.”
His eyes went tender. “Oh, honey, it’s all right. Your head knows that, but your
heart just hasn’t gotten the message yet. Besides, what’s wrong with being in love?”
“It was only that one time…”
“Like the song says, sometimes that’s all it takes. So what if nothing more can
come from it? At least you had that moment. How can that be a bad thing?”
But even as he reassured his friend, Doug vowed to himself to do everything he possibly could
to help Andy get her dream girl. If Miranda was what made her happy, well, then he’d do whatever he could to bring the
two of them together. He’d scale the heights of Elias-Clarke and lay siege to the Dragon Lady’s lair if need be.
To that end, figuring knowledge was power, he began to follow Miranda in the press and gossip
blogs. The particulars of her divorce were sketchy at first as Leslie kept ahead of developments, but as the case dragged
on and tempers frayed things began to heat up. The scandal sheets gobbled up every salacious detail. It went from bad to worse
when the news broke shortly before Christmas that Stephen was living with Missy Hardesty and that the two had been an item
long before he had served Miranda with the papers. She counter filed for cause: infidelity. And that’s when the
shit hit the fan.
New York divorce law was both civilized and antiquated. There were only a few causes deemed
valid enough to end a marriage in New York and irreconcilable differences was not one of them. Neither was there the usual
no-fault divorce. Typically, couples filed for divorce without cause, lived apart for a year and were, generally, granted
a routine divorce decree after that time. But filing for divorce for cause was a completely different matter.
A for cause divorce could be granted much quicker than the year required for a no cause one.
But charges and countercharges could be filed and the divorce judge had wide leeway in what he or she chose to hear in terms
of evidentiary proof for those charges. Things could get ugly fast in a “for cause” divorce. Priestly v. Tomlinson
was no exception. After he was charged with infidelity, Stephen countercharged spousal abandonment and the gossip rags went
berserk.
Abandonment was one of those causes deemed valid enough to end a marriage in New York.
There were two types of abandonment: physical and spousal. Physical abandonment was precisely what it sounded like. Spousal
abandonment was defined as the denial of the rights of marriage to one’s spouse:
specifically, the sexual rights of marriage. Stephen filed a brief charging Miranda with spousal abandonment
and listed page after page of supporting incidents as evidentiary proof.
It was just too juicy to stay private. Shortly after the New Year somebody talked. Not only
talked, but managed to slip copies of the filings to Page Six. Suddenly intimate details of Miranda Priestly’s sex life
were splashed across every media source in the country. Jay, David and Conan
made her a nightly joke in their monologues. Stand-up comics speculated that perhaps she wasn’t really frigid;
maybe the real reason she’d refused to give her husband a blow job was that she simply didn’t want to smear
her lipstick. “Missionary Miranda” became an inside joke, and the “doggie style” associated with her
name had nothing to do with couture for canines.
* * * * *
Winter blanketed the city, and still the story raged as the attorneys slugged it out in court.
Andy would read the latest screaming headlines and explode in impotent rage at the assaults on Miranda’s character.
Knowing how intensely private Miranda was made Andy’s heart break every time new intimate details were revealed.
There was a brief respite in mid-February when the two friends moved into apartments on West
89th street just off the Park. Doug had gallantly assisted an elderly lady home during a particularly nasty snowstorm
one evening and had been dumbstruck to discover that she had converted her Upper West Side town home into three luxury apartments.
To complete his surreal night, she had offered him one of them and asked politely if he knew of anyone suitable for the third.
Not surprisingly he did, and the following morning had dragged Andy uptown through the snow to meet Ruth Goldberg. Leases
were signed on the spot and two weeks later they had both moved in.
Ruth was far more than just a landlady. To her way of thinking she’d just adopted two
new kids, and Andy and Doug wouldn’t have had it any other way. Another unconventional family was born on West 89th
as the three settled in together. It took Ruth all of a minute and a half to figure out how Andy felt about her former boss
the first time Miranda’s name came up, and she willingly gave Andy another shoulder to cry on as the divorce spun out
of control and the media went wild. To add insult to injury, it now seemed that the twins’ father was making noises
about trying to gain full custody of the girls.
Doug and Ruth did their best to keep her from self-destructing, but as things got worse Andy
became more and more upset at the unfolding events. One enterprising paparazzi snuck into the Mirror and asked
her snidely what it had been like to work for “that frigid bitch that wouldn’t take it from behind”. Andy’d answered with a hard left hook that had knocked the sleazeball on his
ass. When he had started making noises about pressing charges Andy’s boss had informed him that if he tried, the Mirror
would have him arrested for breaking and entering, trespassing and felony assault. After that warning he had been content
to slink away with his tail between his legs and a couple of loose teeth. Andy had settled for an hour-long crying jag and
twenty-two stitches across her knuckles.
Finally, in desperation, Doug informed her that they were going out the following night to
blow off some steam. He and Ruth took her to a favorite burger place which just happened to be mere blocks from the Priestly
residence, and afterwards it wasn’t hard to steer their walk home down East 73rd Street. Fat snowflakes drifted
down as they strolled slowly past elegant townhouses while Andy told tales of ferrying The Book to Miranda.
Suddenly Doug grabbed her arm and dragged all of them into the shadows of a closed bistro as
the familiar silver Mercedes glided to the curb across the street. Roy emerged a moment later and trotted around the vehicle
to open the door for his passenger. Andy watched silently as Miranda stepped from the car in the falling snow, bid Roy a good
evening and turned toward the townhouse door. She paused on the top step and
suddenly turned back to stare into the darkness across the street.
The twin coach lights flanking the front door illuminated a Miranda that Andy had never seen
before. Her flawless complexion was pale and haggard. The normally ramrod-straight posture was lost in the slumped shoulders
that seemed to carry the weight of the world. Andy gave a soft cry and took a step to go to her. Only quick grabs from her
companions kept her hidden from the blue eyes that slowly turned away to focus on the townhouse door in front of its owner.
As it closed behind Miranda, Andy sagged against Doug in dismay.
“Oh God, did you see her? She looks like she’s at the end of her rope. I’ve
got to do something!”
Ruth patted her arm soothingly. “There’s nothing you can do, bubbeleh,”
she said softly. “Your Miranda's a strong woman; she’ll make it through
all of this. Just wait and see.”
* * * * *
April heralded the arrival of springtime and the annual Press Club dinner. Andy and another
reporter had won awards for their special feature on the NYPD’s post 9-11 evolution. When she got the news she immediately
called Doug and told him to rent a tux. Dragging Ruth downtown the next Saturday for moral support, he went her one better
and had Armani tailor one for him. Andy made a discreet call to Nigel, and the doors of the Closet magically opened. Fate
smiled on her when a scarlet Armani Privé fit her like a glove and Nigel gave his stamp of approval.
The Mirror arranged for town cars to drive their staff to the banquet. Ruth was
worse than a parent on prom night. As their driver waited patiently she took what seemed like several hundred pictures of
Doug and Andy, declaring they looked like a million bucks. Finally, warning Ruth that Andy would be late to receive the award,
they made their escape into the rear of the limo. As they drew nearer to the venue Andy began to fidget. She was nervous for
several reasons, not the least of which was the fact that she knew Miranda would be in attendance.
.
The Grand Ballroom of the Waldorf sparkled with crystal and silver. Service bars had been set
up around the perimeter to insure none of New York’s Fourth Estate would get parched during the evening’s festivities.
Andy and Doug created quite a stir amongst the Mirror’s staff when they arrived. Andy’s dress had
the women shooting her envious looks and Doug’s bespoke tux left no doubt as to who was wearing a rental and who wasn’t.
Andy introduced him to her co-workers and, being Doug, he immediately charmed the entire group.
They were chuckling over one of his anecdotes about work when an unseen pair of laser-bright blue eyes fastened onto them
from across the room. They missed nothing as he grabbed Andy’s hand and dragged her, laughing, to the dance floor. The
handsome young couple began an accomplished foxtrot to the cheers and catcalls of their compatriots, and still the blue eyes
never left them, growing more intense by the moment as they followed the twirling pair.
She’s moved on. There’s a new man in her life. I’ve well and truly lost
her.
Turning suddenly to her companion, Miranda touched his arm urgently. “Richard, forgive
me, but I feel the start of a migraine coming on. Would you mind terribly giving my regrets to everyone?”
“Let me call for the car, I’ll take you home. Is there anything else I can do?”
“Don’t be silly, you need to be here tonight, and I’m only
doing the make-sure-they-see-us corporate appearance. Roy can take me home. I’ll be fine once I take some medication
and lie down. I’m so sorry for leaving you in the lurch like this.”
“Nonsense, Miranda. If you’ve got a migraine, you’ve got a migraine. We all
know what they can be like. Just go home. The last thing you need is to be sitting around listening to a bunch of long-winded
reporters singing their own praises.” He bussed her on the cheek, and she took her leave.
Roy arrived in minutes and helped her into the back of her car. Letting her head fall back
on the seat she lost herself in visions of the beautiful brunette, unaware of the lights of the city flashing by outside the
tinted windows.
They’re an attractive couple; he suits her. A damned sight better than that fry cook
ever did. She was glowing tonight. Of course, that Armani Privé helped. Miranda chuckled to herself. Nigel’s work, obviously. I shouldn’t be surprised
that she’s kept in touch with him. Serena and Emily too for that matter. Just because she couldn’t stand to be
near me didn’t mean she’d abandon the friends she made.
God, she looked radiant. Young and exciting and beautiful with her whole life ahead of her.
How could I have thought that a few stolen moments in Paris with a wreck like me would mean anything? Old fool! Hoping against
hope that a middle-aged woman with all my problems could be attractive to her. She closed her eyes as a single tear coursed down her cheek. She’s better off with him. What could I possibly offer to make her happy?
But still, I thought she hated me, and now I don’t know. At least if that story Nigel
told me has any truth to it she doesn’t. She split her knuckles to the bone on that bastard’s front teeth defending
my honor. Why would she do that if she hated me? I may never have her, but I’ll always have the memories. Paris. How
I felt when she held me. How strong she seemed, how steady. How secure I felt in her arms. Sheltered. Protected. Safe.
She wasn’t aware of the car stopping until the door next to her opened. She unfastened
her seat belt and allowed Roy to hand her from the car. She gained the warmth and security of her foyer
moments later and heard the car pull away from the curb as she locked up behind herself and keyed in the alarm codes.
Unseeing, she climbed the stairs to her room and began to undress. Mechanically she
took off her gown and hung it where it would be sent to the dry cleaners the
next morning. She removed her makeup and donned her nightclothes with her thoughts focused across town on a ballroom and a
beautiful woman laughing gaily and dancing in the arms of a handsome man. Even though it was still early by her usual standards,
she fell into bed feeling completely exhausted.
She’s moved on. She’s his now. But the thought of her has been what I’ve
clung to through all of this. How can I give up the only thing that’s kept me going? I don’t know if I can survive
it. Oh God, what do I do now?
But Morpheus was kind and Miranda finally fell into a restless slumber.
The wide corridor was unbroken white. Bright lights at either end concealed what might
have been exits, but she couldn’t seem to get closer, no matter how long she walked toward it. Finally, something flickered
in the glaring light ahead of her, and she squinted to make out what it might be. A figure emerged out of the blinding radiance
striding toward her, tall and strong. Flowing brown hair in a ponytail bounced with each step, and Miranda gasped as recognition
dawned. She began running as best she could toward it.
Andréa was wearing faded 501 jeans and a man’s white button-down shirt with sleeves
rolled to the elbow. She quickened her pace to meet Miranda and that oh-so-familiar grin broke over her face. Miranda felt
herself stumble as she reached out for the apparition, but strong arms caught her and pulled her hard against the lush body.
Soft lips captured hers, and Miranda snaked her arms around that slender neck and hung on for dear life as she returned the
kiss and her tears flowed and the universe swirled around them.
“I’ve got you, baby. It’s all right now. Nothing bad can happen;
you’re safe with me.”
Still Miranda sought those wine-shaded lips, unable to assuage the thirst for them
that overwhelmed her. Arms tightened around her, holding her, supporting her as strong hands swept over her back and sides.
Lips trailed down her throat and back up to nuzzle just below her ear.
“Gonna take you to bed now, Miranda. Gonna love you now.”
She could manage only a single word in response, “Please…”
Those same strong hands swept aside her clothes as if they were merely vapor, and she
found herself nude on a feather-soft bed gasping as Andréa kissed her belly and stroked along her ribcage and hips. She reached
for her lover, but long fingers captured her wrists and gently stretched them over her head.
Held there by some invisible force, she lay helpless as those fingers caressed slowly back down her arms and swept
over her breasts. Miranda could only whimper and moan as her nipples pebbled into diamond-hard nubs when warm breath caressed
them.
“So beautiful, so soft… Every inch of you; I’m going to make love
to each and every inch.”
Her breasts ached for the touch of Andréa’s tongue. She arched her back offering
them to the woman above her and was rewarded with a quiet chuckle. Warm breath wafted across the shell of her ear and raised
goosebumps all over her body.
“What is it you want, love? Whisper it; tell me what you want…”
“Oh god… I… lick them, suck them… Please!” she begged,
gasping in anticipation.
Her body stilled for an eternal moment as her lover gazed down at her, and then a hot
mouth captured a puckered nub and drew it deeply in. A rough tongue swept over it as the edge of teeth grazed its side. Miranda
sobbed and tried desperately to rub herself against the denim of Andréa’s jeans, anything to ease the agony of
need between her legs. Andréa continued to lavish attention on her breasts, a hand stroking one firmly as that voracious mouth
engulfed the other.
One denim-clad knee slipped between hers and nudged her legs apart. The hand on her
breast began a slow descent toward the wiry thatch of hair at the edge of her sex. Warm fingers slipped through the tangle
to slide easily into wet heat. Unerringly they found their goal, and Miranda moaned and bucked her hips in response. Those
firm fingers began a rhythmic stroking, and her hips arched up to meet each touch. In seconds Miranda was at the edge, gasping,
begging for more. Andréa gave it to her, and Miranda’s belly clenched as the waves of orgasm crashed over her again
and again.
As the spasms faded and the frantic thrusts of her hips eased Andréa left her throbbing
breasts and kissed her way down Miranda’s body. Slipping between her lover’s legs, Andréa pushed Miranda’s
thighs as far apart as possible and ran her tongue over the swollen and glistening flesh she found there.
Miranda shrieked and her legs thrashed as Andréa’s mouth fastened on her and
began to feast. She writhed, powerless to do anything but respond to the tender assault on her sex. Agile fingers found their
way to her center and gently slid inside, stroking and probing as the molten mouth continued to devour her.
“Please… oh, God, please… more…”
Thrusting fingers picked up their pace, and her arousal soared as Andréa’s mouth
bore down harder on what had become the center of her being. The muscles of Miranda’s belly twitched uncontrollably
as her need rose. Faster and harder Andréa drove her, and she could do nothing but moan and open herself further to the lips
and hands that claimed her utterly. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as her breath caught in her throat, and then
she cried a single word as she plummeted over the edge of ecstasy, a shattering climax overwhelming her.
“Andréa!”
The intimate caresses that had driven her eased into soft, loving ministrations as
she came back to herself. Fingers gently withdrew, and lips traced their way back up her trembling body to once again nuzzle
beneath her ear. Murmured endearments soothed her, and the heat of her lover’s body covered her.
When Miranda could finally open her eyes again, she looked up into the loving gaze
of her Andréa. The young woman kissed her and smoothed the silver hair back from her sweaty brow.
“I’ve wanted to do that forever.” Her voice was husky with want,
and her eyes darkened as her kisses became more intense. Miranda couldn’t believe that she was capable of responding
again after that orgasm, but that voice and the look on Andréa’s face made her sex tighten and flood with moisture.
Slowly Andréa rose and sat back on her heels. Her jeans brushed against Miranda’s
inner thighs as she sat up and gazed down at the glistening folds in front of her. Her
eyes traveled slowly up the taut body covered with a sheen of sweat. Languidly, her hands rose and began to unbutton her shirt.
Miranda was frozen, panting with desire as inch by inch the creamy skin of her lover’s chest was revealed. When the
final button fell open Andréa shrugged the shirt back and off her shoulders. She wore nothing beneath it and the sight of
her lush bosom caused Miranda’s breathing to falter. She struggled to swallow, but her mouth was completely dry.
Andréa rose to her knees as her hands drifted downward. Ever so slowly she unbuttoned
the fly of her jeans. As with her shirt, she was nude beneath the faded denim. Miranda shivered as her eyes locked on the
hint of dark curls peeping out from the opening. Andréa leaned forward, holding
herself at arm’s length above Miranda. Then she eased her body down, allowing her nipples to drag over Miranda’s
as her lips came down on Miranda’s once more.
Miranda groaned deep in her throat when Andréa’s tongue invaded her mouth sweeping
against hers. She arched up into the firm body, desperate to rub against it. She felt as if her own skin was peeled away when
the young woman raised herself up and rolled off. But it was only a moment until
the heat of her lover’s body returned, this time with nothing to separate them. She felt the wiry curls and the heat
and the wet as Andréa ground their centers together. Conscious thought left Miranda as her entire world narrowed down to the
feeling of that lithe body moving provocatively against hers and the burning need it created.
Hot breath again caressed her ear. “Show me what you want. Show me what you need.”
In desperation, Miranda wrapped her legs around the small of her lover’s back
and began to frantically grind herself against the muscled belly on top of her.
“Please… oh god, please…”
Andréa rose up and leaned forward, bringing her breasts over Miranda’s face.
Without hesitation she lifted her head and caught a pink nipple with her lips, sucking it deeply into her mouth. Her moans
were muffled as she licked and sucked with all her might. Andréa hissed in pleasure as she leaned to the side, offering the
other breast for Miranda’s lips. It too was given Miranda’s full attention, and the brunette groaned with desire.
“So good, baby… so good…” Andréa pulled back and lowered herself
fully onto Miranda to kiss her deeply as her hands caressed the softness of Miranda’s breasts.
“What do you want? Tell me, love…”
The whispered words drove Miranda beyond frantic with lust. Feeling the soft cheek
against hers, she leaned into it and captured an earlobe between her teeth. Sucking on it and giving it a small nip before
releasing it and rasped, “Fuck me… I need… oh, inside… please!”
Andréa sat up and once more leaned back on her heels. Her hands rose to her own breasts,
now reddened and wet from Miranda’s mouth. Slowly she pinched her nipples and stroked them as her head fell back and
she moaned. Then one hand snaked down her belly and slipped into the thatch of brown hair between her legs. Lazily, she stroked
herself using her fingers, now glistening, to spread her own juices on her sex.
Miranda was transfixed, unable to do anything but whimper in her need and watch her
lover caress herself. Then Andréa reached to the side and picked up a strapless sex toy. Gazing wantonly at Miranda, she inserted
the bulbous end into herself and leaned back once more. She reached down again, this time coming up with fingertips full of
a silky lubricant which she began to spread lasciviously over the silicone phallus.
Miranda was mesmerized, frozen. The walls of her sex began to clench in anticipation.
The toy was far longer and thicker than any of her lovers, and she swallowed convulsively as Andréa braced herself on one
arm and brought the tip of it against her vulva. Slowly the young woman rubbed it up and down against her, creating an exquisite
friction and spreading Miranda’s fluids over her sex. Then the tip pressed against her and slowly slid inside. It entered
only a short way before it was gently withdrawn. Then it was pressed into her again and withdrawn. Miranda began to moan and
raise her hips to meet each thrust in a vain attempt to take more. But Andréa was in control and refused to go faster. Slowly
she eased the toy deeper and deeper until Miranda could do nothing but sob when it finally filled her completely.
“Look at me, Miranda. I want you to watch me fuck you.”
Powerless to resist, she opened her eyes and looked up into those above her. Then Andréa
began to move, thrusting slowly into her. Miranda raised her hips to meet her, drawing her lover as fully into herself as
possible. The cords stood out on Andréa’s neck as a drop of sweat trickled down the side of her face and ran down her
chest. She began to move faster, and soon she and Miranda found their rhythm. Harder and faster she thrust, reveling in Miranda’s
soft grunts as she took each one.
Miranda’s eyes widened and she began to writhe rapidly, hips gyrating wildly
as her orgasm neared. Andréa’s eyes never left her face as she pumped faster, bringing their centers together with each
stroke. Crying out her lover’s name, Miranda’s back arched as her climax swept her away.
Still, Andréa thrust into her. Sweat began
to drip down her back and chest as she took her lover, and Miranda felt herself panting aloud as once again her desire rose.
She watched as Andréa arched in ecstasy, gasping “Miranda!” as she came. Still, the young woman rode her, continuing
to drive into Miranda as they both neared climax again.
Miranda was crazed with need and rolled her hips up, wrapping her legs around Andréa’s
back and giving her deeper access. The head of the toy began to rub against that special place inside, making her gasp and
beg for more. Andréa lowered herself fully onto Miranda and took her lover into her arms. Miranda found her hands suddenly
freed and wrapped her arms around the broad shoulders of her lover as Andréa bit down on the strap muscle of her throat. Higher
and higher they climbed, seeking their peak together. Andréa pounded into her, filling Miranda as never before. Faster they
ground against each other seeking release, seeking Nirvana; clutching one another as their sweat-slicked bodies moved together.
Gasped words sent Miranda to the very brink.
“Come for me, baby. Come for me now…”
She woke from the dream with a gasp, sobbing and sweating and so aroused her whole
body shook. Without thought her hand slipped into her pajama bottoms and down to her dripping labia. Two firm strokes brought
her to a shattering orgasm, and she cried “Andréa!” in ecstasy as the waves of pleasure washed over her again
and again. Finally, as the spasms ceased and her body relaxed she fell deeply asleep for the first time in months.
The next morning she woke up rested and clear-headed. The only physical reminders of
her dream were sticky thighs and tear-swollen eyes. In the shower, Miranda blushed as she cleaned herself up and thought of
the dream. Not once during her love affairs or marriages had she ever relinquished control completely in bed. But in
her dream she had surrendered totally to Andréa and had reveled in every moment of it. Was freed by it. Freed to need, to
want, to trust. To love, utterly and completely. And her body had responded. God, how her body had responded.
She dressed for work and sipped a cup of coffee as she quickly read through the Mirror
at the kitchen table. She made a mental note to get home early from work that evening; the cook was making something special
for them. The girls would be back from their father’s and would no doubt
be eager to talk about their adventures in the wilds of Park Slope.
Mercifully, her ex-husband had withdrawn his petition for full custody of the twins.
A sealed envelope messengered to him via her attorneys had insured that the status quo would remain unchanged. Miranda had
no desire to destroy him in the eyes of their daughters; he’d been an unfaithful prick as a husband, but she couldn’t
deny he was a good father. Neither did she wish to jeopardize his marriage or position on the faculty of Columbia University.
The photos of him in compromising positions with several of his recent graduate students would remain private just as the
others had remained since their divorce. As long as he didn’t interfere with their custody agreement his life and reputation
would remain intact. However, one did not mess with Miranda’s daughters and expect to emerge from the fray unscathed.
She would do anything to protect them and her relationship with them. The fool should have remembered that.
Glancing at her watch she rose and rinsed her coffee cup. Gathering her folio, bag
and The Book, she let herself out the front door and allowed Roy to hand her into the back seat of the town car. When he’d
slid into the drivers’ seat and pulled smoothly into traffic he glanced back at her in the rearview.
“You look rested this morning. I take it you beat back the migraine?”
“Yes, thank you, Roy. The medication worked, and it never fully developed. I
was able to get a full night’s sleep, and that took care of the rest of the headache.” Roy had been her driver
since she had first taken over Runway but she wasn’t about to reveal the real reason she had slept so
soundly the night before. Bad enough that he could read Stephen’s scurrilous allegations about their sex life in the
scandal sheets; she wasn’t about to relay any hard information on that subject to anyone.
Once at the office she launched into the business of Runway with a sense
of purpose she hadn’t felt in weeks. Minions flew around the offices reworking layouts and assembling advertisers’
clothing for an impromptu run-through. Much to her surprise, everyone rose above their usual incompetence, and the day went
smoothly. Even her lattes were the correct “center-of-the-sun” temperature. Emily managed a smile as she swept
out of the office for the day and wished her a good evening.
The twins were their ebullient selves, chattering all through dinner about their father
and his second wife. Considerably younger than their dad, the new stepmother thought herself far too young to have daughters
– even step-daughters – as old as the girls and had a great deal of difficulty dealing with them. She preferred
to let her husband do so, condescending to join in “family” activities only when it suited her mood. Cassidy and
Caroline might only be eleven, but both were astute enough to recognize when someone didn’t like them and delighted
in harassing, teasing and generally bedeviling their stepmother whenever possible. Miranda greatly enjoyed the tales of their
misbehavior, relishing the discomfort it caused her ex.
After dinner the girls headed upstairs to finish the last of their homework, and Miranda
adjourned to her study to await the arrival of The Book. The last gasp of winter
had turned the evening cold, and she lit a fire to warm the room. Tucking her legs under her on the sofa, she poured a glass
of wine and settled in with a novel she’d been reading. But no sooner had she opened the book than visions from the
night before danced in her head. Her cheeks flushed bright pink as she relived the encounters from her dream. Over and over
she saw Andréa above her, possessing her completely, bending Miranda to her will and bringing her pleasures she had only dreamed
of.
Finally giving up, she set her book aside and allowed her thoughts to drift toward…
possibilities. Of falling asleep every night, safe and warm in the arms of the woman she loved. Of the four of them having
breakfast together on a rainy weekend morning, happy together as a family. Of the girls laughing at something Andréa said
and her lover grinning back at them. Of walking Patricia with her daughters and her lover in the Park.
The sound of the front door opening and closing brought her back to the here and now
with a start. She rose from the sofa and walked into the hall with every intention of taking The Book back to her study. But
as she walked back to her haven, an errant thought occurred to her. She sat behind her desk, but instead of getting to work
she picked up her cell phone and called her car service. That done, she rang their housekeeper, Mrs. Grant, on the intercom
and informed her she had to leave for a short while and asked her to keep an eye on the twins.
In the front hallway she called upstairs to the girls telling them to get ready for
bed and that she was going out for a bit. They called back telling her they understood. She glanced out the window just as
the car pulled to the curb out front. She shrugged into a warm coat and stepped onto the front stoop, locking the door behind
her.
To her surprise, a casually dressed Roy was standing by the rear door preparing to
open it for her. His shift had technically ended once he’d dropped Miranda off for the night. If something came up after
that time, a swing driver and car were usually dispatched to carry her wherever she needed to go.
“What in the world are you doing here?
I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in anything but a suit. Shouldn’t you be at home, relaxing?”
He just grinned as he helped her into the rear seat and closed the door. When he’d
taken his seat behind the wheel their conversation continued.
“Well, you know how it is. I went home and had supper and then went back to make
sure the car had been properly serviced. I was just finishing up when the call came in. I know how you hate chit-chat in the
car, and I didn’t want to take the chance you’d get a rookie who didn’t know when to shut his mouth. Sorry
about the jeans.”
“It’s quite all right. Casual attire sets the proper mood for this insanity.”
“What insanity is that, Miranda?”
“Do you remember my former assistant Andréa?”
“Andy? Of course.”
“Do you remember where she lives? And how fast can you get us there?”
“She’s at 258 Broome Street, and I can get you there in fifteen to twenty
minutes this time of night.”
“Then please do so.” She settled back into the warm leather.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Roy was as good as his word and slightly less than twenty minutes later they rolled
to a stop in front of a red-faced building. A single red door between a kosher poultry shop and a secondhand jewelry store
indicated the entrance to the apartments above the retail shops. Miranda stepped from the warmth of her car and walked quickly
to the door. Scanning the list of names next to the buzzers she didn’t find what she sought. Turning back to the street
she asked Roy’s help.
“Do you remember what apartment she lives in?”
“Yeah, she’s on the third floor. 3B.”
“The name on that buzzer is Rizzoli. What was the fry cook’s name?”
He hid his grin at her choice of words. “Her ex was named Nate. Nate Feldman.”
Miranda searched the list of names again and could find neither. Her heart sank as she realized the futility of her actions.
Slowly she turned back to the car and allowed Roy to help her back in.
“Back home?”
“Yes, please. I’m sorry I dragged you out on a wild goose chase, Roy.”
“No problem. Happy to do it.”
Neither spoke again until Roy helped her out of the car back at the townhouse.
Next morning Miranda got the girls ready for school and spent the time until Roy returned
from dropping them off to review The Book again. She hadn’t been able to give it her full attention the night before
and wanted to make sure that her choices hadn’t been colored by the futile trip downtown to find Andréa. Everything
seemed in order, but she found she still couldn’t concentrate. Glancing at her watch she realized that Roy was probably
already waiting on her and gathered her things.
The silver Mercedes was idling at the curb when she emerged from the townhouse several
minutes later. Roy stood waiting to hold the rear door but before he assisted her into the car he cleared his throat. Miranda
looked up at him questioningly, and he silently handed her a folded slip of paper. She slid into the rear cabin and opened
it as he climbed into the driver’s seat.
187
West 89th Street
Third
Floor
Her heart began to race and she looked up quickly, catching his eyes in the rearview
mirror. A soft smile bloomed on her face.
“Thank you, Roy.”
“My pleasure, Miranda.”
* * * * *
Spring melted into summer and the city baked under the blazing sun. A massive high
pressure system camped right over the Big Apple and a record heat wave blistered the city. The Jersey, Long Island and North
Shore beaches were packed daily. Priestly v. Tomlinson, New York’s foremost sideshow for so long, was finally
bumped as the lead story in the gossip rags due to the latest in a long line of child stars suffering a very public drug-induced
meltdown and ping-ponging several times between jail and rehab. When the gossip mavens turned their attention back to the
courtroom battle, the tenor of their reports changed noticeably.
The slogging research Miranda’s lawyers had done was beginning to pay off. Suddenly
there were cracks in Stephen’s case, inconsistencies that hadn’t shown up before. A business associate testified
that Stephen had vowed to “get the friggin’ bitch” even before he’d served her with the papers.
Social acquaintances testified that he and Missy Hardesty had laughed about dragging Miranda’s name through the mud,
and Missy had joked that if even half of what Stephen claimed was true he would have moved out a week after he had married
Miranda. Some of his claims were shown to be outright lies when Miranda’s attorneys proved that she wasn’t even
in New York on the dates he had claimed she’d refused him. The final nail in the coffin of his case came with
the revelation of a company-mandated stay in rehab to dry out when his drinking began to interfere with work. For the first
time since mid-October Miranda and her lawyers caught a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel.
Doug followed each development intently, keeping a weather eye on Andy. He watched,
smiling, when the news of Stephen’s peccadilloes made her shout “YES!” and gave a fist pump. For what seemed
like the first time in half a year she was the Andy he remembered, and Doug and Ruth breathed sighs of relief.
The scorching heat broke in early August with the last gasps of Hurricane Glenda. The
once-monster storm collapsed the dome of high pressure, and for four solid days torrential downpours lashed the city driven
by cool Canadian air. New Yorkers looked up toward the heavens and danced in the raindrops. The sweltering city finally cooled
off as drought-depleted reservoirs and aquifers were replenished.
The three amigos of West 89th Street enjoyed their evenings under the roofs
of their back porches, finally able to grill out and not succumb to heatstroke in the process. Andy nearly required an emergency
Heimlich maneuver when Doug read the latest broadside in Priestly v. Tomlinson. The gossip rags were reporting with
glee that Missy had dumped Stephen when he went into rehab. When Donatella Versace had been asked her opinion of Ms. Hardesty
she’d replied with a sniff that the woman had gone down on everything but the Titanic and nothing
she did should come as a surprise. Unfortunately, Andy had been in the middle of swallowing a mouthful of beer when Doug read
the quote, and it collided with a hoot of laughter. The result was not pretty as she spewed Blue Moon Ale all over forty dollars’
worth of sirloin on the grill.
Over the next weeks, with the bulk of Stephen’s allegations now being seriously
questioned, Miranda became far less interesting to the gossip columnists, and the divorce finally slipped off the front pages
for good. Miranda celebrated by taking the twins to Orlando for a week. She’d been hesitant at first, worrying that
the press might pursue them outside the safety of their home turf. But to her relief, they’d had a marvelous time even
though Miranda swore she’d die before riding Space Mountain again.
Back in the city the staff of Runway plunged into final preparations
for their fall issue. It promised to be the biggest and best of Miranda’s tenure as editor and she was determined to
let no detail escape her scrutiny. Layouts were assembled, critiqued, revamped, demolished and rebuilt until each was a visual
work of art. Miranda had given both Nigel and Serena greater freedom, and the two had risen to unexpected heights. Under Serena’s
guidance, the Art Department began to take some real chances and more and more frequently earned a raised eyebrow and a somewhat
surprised “Acceptable.”
Nigel pored over proofs from past shoots and began to juxtapose the couture in ways
no one had yet conceived. Miranda insisted on one final shoot with very exact specifications. Demarchelier nearly had a nervous
breakdown before he realized what Miranda was going for and then he went for broke. The resulting spread was a shoo-in for
every prestigious award in the business. Shot in the light of a full moon, the visual effect of a slender brunette in a scarlet
Armani Privé gown dancing on the sparkling waters of Long Island Sound with a tall handsome man in white tie and tails was
spectacular. The contrasting indigo and silver of the background and the stunning red and black and white of the clothing
were a feast for the eye.
Miranda’s breath had caught in her throat as she’d viewed the proofs on
her lightbox. The shoot had been an unexpected vision born from morning-after remains of yet another scorching sex dream featuring
a certain reporter from the Mirror. Miranda didn’t bother to examine why Andréa was prowling her dreams
more frequently. She knew only that dreams of the tall brunette ravishing her had sustained her through the worst of the divorce
cesspool, and now that it seemed she would finally emerge victorious she had no intention of giving them up. The only problem
was that those dreams were beginning to invade her daily life as well, and that would not do.
Deciding that a dose of reality would do the trick, she approached Leslie quietly and
requested a media search for Andréa’s name. Assuming that there would be at least some mention of her and the name of
her new beau, Miranda hoped to glean some bit of information on the young woman’s life. Being force-fed photos of Andréa
with the man in her life should bring her back to earth in a hurry. But to her surprise Leslie came up empty. There were numerous
mentions of Andréa in various publications, but not one citation featured her with anyone else. The identity of her handsome
escort at the Press Club dinner remained a mystery.
Finally, one Friday evening Miranda could resist no longer. The twins were at a slumber
party, and she’d worked on the fall issue after dinner. But the temperature was still a balmy 72 degrees as the sun
began to set, and she needed to know. She summoned her car then debated changing her clothes. She’d changed into lightweight
linen slacks and a Tommy Hilfiger nautical top when she had gotten home from work and decided they were good enough for a
spur of the moment road trip to the Upper West Side. To her surprise, when she walked out the door Roy was standing by the
opened rear door of a black Mercedes town car.
“Have I made a new purchase you neglected to tell me about?”
He grinned at her. “I thought that if we were going to indulge in a little more
insanity that a bit of camouflage might be in order.”
“Well then, West 89th and don’t spare the horses.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It only took fifteen minutes to cut through the Park and head north to 89th
Street. Roy swung the car westbound and slowed as they approached the address.
“Do you want me to try and park?”
Miranda was suddenly nervous. “No, just circle the block. We might find a space
the next time around.”
Roy said nothing, merely accelerated toward the corner and did as he was told. To his
surprise, Miranda was right. As they started down the block for the second time a Volvo pulled out from a parking space across
from the townhouse. He pulled smoothly into it and cut the engine. Miranda looked intently at the house, desperately trying
to work up the nerve to cross the street.
“Would you like me to go check if her name’s on the door?” asked
Roy quietly.
“That might be best. At least she…”
Miranda’s voice died as she caught sight of the three figures walking toward
them. Andréa was wearing a teal colored cotton camp shirt and white Banana Republic cargo shorts. Her boyfriend was clad in
khaki walking shorts and a navy polo. Both wore leather deck shoes and were grinning widely at something that had been said.
Between them walked an older woman in summer slacks and a sleeveless top. All three carried grocery bags and were obviously
enjoying themselves as they strolled home.
Roy moved to duck his head as they approached the car, but they cut across the street
before anyone got close enough to get a good look. He glanced in the rearview at his employer, and his eyes widened in amazement.
Miranda stared out the window, transfixed. Her gaze locked on the brunette beauty moving
across the street and never wavered. Cheeks flushed, she stared avidly as the trio ambled past a small mid-block park and
climbed the front steps of the townhouse. Andréa and her boyfriend managed to
juggle the older woman’s bags amid a storm of laughter as she unlocked the front door and let everyone into the building.
Only when the door closed behind them did Miranda look away, the light going out of her eyes.
Roy started the car and waited silently for his instructions, instinctively knowing
his employer needed a moment to collect herself. When they came he executed them without hesitation.
“Please take me home, Roy.”
“Yes, Miranda.”
* * * * *
The ringing phone was, as always, answered immediately.
“Miranda Priestly’s office. Of course, Mr. Donahue. If you’ll hold
for a moment, I’ll put you right through. Miranda? I have Michael Donahue for you.”
“Michael? Is there news?”
“It’s over, Miranda. You’ve won. The judge just dismissed Stephen’s
countersuit and granted you a divorce for cause. Because Stephen was at fault he was granted nothing, no alimony, nothing
of so-called joint earnings, zero, zip, nada. Total victory. I’m just sorry that it took us so long to get there. Sorry
for what you had to endure.”
“Michael, I’m just glad it’s finally over. I can withstand all the
media hype; most of it was proved false anyway. I have my girls and my freedom, that’s all that matters. I can’t
thank you enough for all your hard work in bringing that about.”
“You’re entirely welcome. This one felt good for us, too. It sticks in
my craw when a shitheel like Stephen tries to manipulate the system for his own ends. Makes beating them down feel that much
better. The final papers should be messengered over to you by Friday morning, signed, sealed, and delivered. It’s finally
finished.”
“Thank you, Michael.”
“My pleasure. We’ll be in touch when the documents arrive here. Go home.
Get a good night’s sleep. Hug your daughters. Then go out and start living again. You’ve earned it.”
She hung up the phone feeling as if the weight of the heavens had been lifted from
her shoulders. Fighting back a wave of giddiness, she instructed Emily to cancel her afternoon, call home and give their housekeeper,
cook, and nanny the night off, make a reservation at the twins’ favorite burger place, and have Roy pick her up downstairs
immediately. Emily’s jaw dropped when Miranda clarified her instructions
in her usual concise manner as she strolled out of the office.
“I’m taking the afternoon off.”
By Friday morning, every media outlet in the western hemisphere and most of those in
the eastern as well had posted the news of Miranda’s triumph in divorce court. The office had been besieged by requests
for comments, and all had been referred to Leslie to deal with. A messenger from Miranda’s attorneys arrived right around
9:30 a.m. with the completed documents. Miranda promptly signed where she needed to and had them returned to the lawyers to
file with the clerk of the court that afternoon.
It was finished. Finally. The unholy mess that had begun the previous October was at
long last over. She was free. Miranda swung her chair around to look out her panoramic windows and let out a long sigh of
relief. Then, replacing her reading glasses she spun her chair around and went back to work.
“Emily? Starbucks. Now.”
Roy had safely deposited the girls and their nanny on the train out to Stony Brook
and their grandmother’s for the weekend. When he dropped Miranda off he made sure she was safely inside and then climbed
back into the driver’s seat of the Mercedes. He looked back at the townhouse door, thought for a long moment and then
sent a text message to their garage. Finally, with a half-smile on his face he drove off to grab some dinner. Carnegie John’s
sounded good.
Miranda changed out of her work clothes and into a pair of casual Ralph Lauren slacks
and a crisp Donna Karan blouse. She absently ate the chilled seafood salad the cook had left for her and when she’d
finished she bypassed the wine rack and hunted through the fridge until she located something she would never admit to liking.
During the worst of the heat wave she had encouraged the girls to drink far more than
usual as had most parents of growing kids. The twins had responded by demanding a ridiculous powdered pink lemonade mix as
their drink of choice. Miranda had finally tired of the whining and given in. Much to her surprise she thoroughly enjoyed
a glass when she’d sampled it. Their cook had refined the drink even further by adding lime slices and fresh mint to
it as well. It was now standard operating procedure in the Priestly household that a pitcher of the refreshing liquid was
kept cold in the refrigerator at all times, accompanied by the requisite lime slices and mint sprigs. She poured herself a
tall glass and took it back to her study to work.
Settling in, she pulled up her emails and began to respond to the non-essential ones
she had postponed from earlier in the day. But she hadn’t gotten through more than a couple when the vision of Andréa
in her white shirt and jeans began to infiltrate her thoughts. Stop this insane daydreaming
at once! Nothing can come of it. It’s time to get back down to earth. But even as she forced her attention back onto the laptop screen in front of her she could almost feel the
warmth of that lithe body behind her, leaning over her shoulder to gently nuzzle that sensitive spot beneath her ear. Two
more brusque emails were dispatched and she opened a third before those words echoed through her mind… Gonna take you to bed now, Miranda. Gonna
love you now. Her heart pounded and she could barely catch her breath.
Before she lost her nerve she grabbed her cell phone and called the garage ordering
her car. She shut down her laptop with shaking hands and took a long drink of her lemonade to collect herself. It didn’t
work. Nothing did. Even as she stood and gathered her bag and headed for the front door she told herself she was being ridiculous.
Right up until the time she walked out into the evening twilight and saw Roy in khakis and a polo shirt holding the back door
of the idling car for her.
“Nice night for a little insanity, Miranda.”
Shaking her head she entered the car on his hand. “You have no idea, Roy.”
When he’d belted in and glanced back to make sure she was as well he put the
car in gear and headed for the corner. “Upper West Side?”
“Yes, please, Roy. I… how did you know?”
“Emily texted me earlier that you signed the papers today and that the mess with
the asshole… errr… excuse me, Mr. Tomlinson was finally over. Seemed like a good time for you to indulge
in a little insanity. You’ve earned the right.”
She laughed mirthlessly. “You’re right. No fool like an old fool.”
His eyes gentled in the rearview. “For what it’s worth, I always liked
Andy. And I know she thought the world of you.”
“Oh please, don’t be ludicrous.”
“I’m not, Miranda. Remember, I drove her a lot, too. She was a good kid.”
He hesitated a brief moment and took the plunge. “She’d be worth the risk.”
Miranda looked up sharply and caught his gaze. “I… how…” But
his eyes were kind, -and he was smiling. There was no judgment there. Just an honest assessment of the facts. She took a deep
breath and stepped out onto emotional quicksand.
“Thank you, Roy.”
Before she’d had time to gather her wits he had them double-parked in front of
the townhouse and was walking around to open her door. Her hand trembled as she gave it to him to help her rise. He squeezed
it reassuringly.
“It’ll be fine, Miranda.”
She smiled a shaky smile and slowly climbed the front steps. The three names next to
bells swam in her vision for what seemed an eternity, and still she couldn’t summon the courage to press the one labeled
“SACHS.” She was just about to turn and flee back into the safety of the car when a quiet voice behind her nearly
scared her half to death.
“Can I help you?”
There he stood at the foot of the steps, dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase
and grocery sack. Miranda faltered.
“I… I… no, thank you. I should leave.”
“It’s Miranda, isn’t it? You’re here to see Andy?” His
smile was open and friendly.
“Andréa… I… yes. She… she lives here?”
“She sure does. Why don’t you come on in? I know she’d enjoy seeing
you. I’m Doug by the way. Doug Chapman.”
“No, no. I… I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding at all. Andy doesn’t have plans for the evening
that I know of. She’s home alone tonight. Come on in.” He stepped around her to unlock the front door and gestured
her inside.
Miranda couldn’t make her feet move. “Alone? But… but the Press Club
dinner. I saw her… Wasn’t that you with her?”
Nudging her inside the foyer he moved to the door of the downstairs apartment and knocked.
“Oh, right. The night she won the Newcomer Award. Yeah, that was me. You know: the supportive gay friend and general
purpose rent-a-date?”
“Gay? But… but you were there together. I saw you. I thought…”
She was interrupted by the door opening to reveal the older woman she’d seen
them walking with. Doug made quick work of introductions.
“Miranda, this is Ruth Goldberg our landlady and stand-in mom. Ruth, this is
Miranda Priestly. She’s here to see Andy.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Miranda.” Turning back to Doug she took
the grocery sack from him. “Did you get the cabbage like I asked?”
“Yep. One head of green for the brisket tomorrow night and one of red so you
can do your magic for Sunday.”
“Thank you, bubbeleh. Miranda, in case Andy forgets, we’re having corned
beef and cabbage tomorrow night, and you’re welcome to join us. Around 7:00?”
“I… thank you, Ruth.” Miranda
didn’t have a clue what was going on, but it was always safe to fall back on good manners.
Turning back to Doug, Ruth gave him his marching orders. “Now go show Miranda
up to Andy’s. It was nice meeting you, Miranda.”
Doug bussed the woman on the cheek. “Okay, see you tomorrow. Text me if you decide
you need anything else from the store.”
He pointed Miranda to the broad staircase and gestured upward. “So, you were
saying about the Press Club dinner?”
“I… I thought you two were together.”
“Andy and I? A couple?” He threw his head back and laughed. “Be sure
to tell her that; she’ll get a kick out of it. We cover for each other when we need a socially acceptable date for work
functions. But together? Nope, just best friends.”
“You… you live here as well?”
“Yeah, I’m here on the second floor. Andy’s up top on the third.”
He moved to unlock his door and nodded at the next flight of stairs. “Go on up, Miranda. I know she’ll be glad
to see you.”
Her eyebrow arched. “And how exactly do you know that, Douglas?”
“Andy and I have known each other since our second day at Northwestern. We don’t
have many secrets from each other. This has been a rough year for you, but it’s been a rough year for her as well. So
trust me when I tell you she’ll be thrilled that you’re here.”
Miranda forced a smile and nodded her thanks as she turned to face the stairway. Slowly
she climbed, her stomach full of butterflies. Her heart was pounding, her palms were damp, and she could hardly catch her
breath. She was both excited and terrified at the same time.
Finally she stood before the burled wood door. She took several seconds to collect
herself before she raised her hand and knocked firmly. A moment later she heard heavy footfalls and an achingly familiar voice
growing louder as it neared the door.
“Douglas Elliot Chapman, if you think you’re getting in here for another
Streisand movie night without so much as the offer of a decent bottle of merlot you’re sadly mis…” The door was flung open and an amazed Andréa stood before her.
Dressed exactly as she had been in the dream. Miranda Priestly forgot how to breathe.
Finally, Andy managed coherent speech. “Miranda? I… you… the girls!…
What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
Miranda pulled herself together just enough to stammer a reply. “I… no.
No, I am not all right. Nothing is all right. Nothing has been right since Paris -- since you left.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to, but I… I had to. I
was… I couldn’t…”
Miranda’s heart stuttered and then fell at what she thought she heard. “I
understand. I… I should go.” She wanted to turn away –
she meant to turn away but she simply could not tear her eyes away from the vision of her dream. Those deep pools of
brown held her captive, and she was powerless to escape.
A thousand questions were asked and answered in the endless moments that they gazed
at each other. Then, finally, Andy reached out and gently drew Miranda into her apartment and into her arms.
… Gonna
take you to bed now, Miranda. Gonna love you now.
They made love all night long, coming together over and over. Andy was insatiable,
and Miranda found the courage to surrender completely in the face of that overwhelming desire. Neither could get enough of
the other; the year they had been separated had been too hard, too long. Finally, as dawn approached, the storms receded and,
sated, they were content to simply hold each other. Finally there was time and peace enough to say what needed to be said.
“I’ve missed you so much. I’ve never been able to forget Paris; how
it was with you that night. How you felt in my arms.” Andy gently brushed that forelock off Miranda’s damp brow.
“I haven’t been able to forget either. I’ve never felt like that
before; so safe, so… loved.”
“I do, you know. Love you, that is. I think I always have – it just kept
growing stronger every day.”
“And I love you as well. But you came as a surprise to me. I looked up one morning
and realized that I’d lost my heart to that smart, fat girl sitting in the outer office. And that you were far from
fat even when I hired you. I think it was your grin. You got me with that damned grin every morning.”
Andy flashed it, chuckled, and dropped a brief kiss on the tip of Miranda’s nose.
“So where do we go from here?”
“Well, I’m finally free of Stephen. We can have a future if… if you
want one.”
“I do, Miranda. With all my heart. I have since Paris.”
“I’m… I’m so glad to hear that. But I’m also afraid.
This will be a big adjustment. I come with baggage, Andréa. A lot of baggage.”
“Yeah, I seem to remember something like that. Red hair, blue eyes just like
yours, smattering of freckles on their noses. Big dog; drools a lot. And what was that last thing? Oh, yeah, all of Runway
Magazine.”
“Well, not all of that exactly. I’ve made some changes in the past year.
I’ve set things up so that I can be home with the girls most evenings. For dinner, at least. So I can be there for them
when they need me. It’s made all the difference in our lives.”
“I’m so glad, Miranda. They love you so much; it’s great that you’re
there for them. That they’re happy.”
“It is, and they are. So much so that I don’t think it will be a major
event if I bring someone home to meet them. Someone they know I care deeply about. Especially if they sort of already know
that someone.”
“No big deal, eh? And just how soon were you thinking of bringing this someone
home to meet the girls?”
“Perhaps tomorrow? For dinner? They’ll be at their grandmother’s
until mid-afternoon. I’ll tell them about you when they come home.”
“So soon?” Andy asked, a little surprised.
Miranda gazed deeply into her eyes. “Yes, so soon. I don’t want to waste
any more time. I’ve spent the past year denying how I felt or at least trying to. I don’t want to live like that
any longer.”
“Okay, I’m game. There will be problems, though. When people find out. It’ll be a big thing all over again.”
“Yes, it will. But we’ll deal with it. I have faith in us, Andréa.”
“Us, huh? I like the sound of that.”
“So do I, my darling. So do I.”
FINIS
