It started the Monday after Andy began her new job at the Mirror. The generic ring tone went off for several seconds before she realized it was her own cell phone.
Andy rummaged around in her purse for the new gadget, tapped the 'on' button, and brought it to her ear.
"Uh, hello?" she asked as her purse slid down her arm, pulling her hand and phone away.
"Oh, shit." Several people bumped past her to get off the subway as she struggled to get the phone back to her ear.
Just as she got her purse rebalanced on her shoulder and the phone back in place, the caller sighed loudly and hung up. Andy groaned, readjusted her jacket, her purse, and tried to avoid getting trampled as she got off at the next stop.
Later that day, while attempting to call Lily, Andy remembered the missed call that morning. After some fumbling with this new post-Runway phone, she found the list of calls received. Sure enough, there was a call there from 7:59 that morning. The number showed up as 'blocked.' Andy didn't give it much further thought. That is, until the following Monday morning.
At 8:00am sharp that next Monday, her cell rang again. This time, she was able to answer by the second ring.
"Hello?" she asked, wondering whose blocked number was ringing her.
"No regrets?"
Andy's attention became immediately focused. The people shoving and coughing and talking around her on the subway melted away. There was only one person with a voice as crisp, elegant, and demanding.
"Uhhh,"
"For a reporter, you have clearly demonstrated a serious deficit in your language skills. Your failure in this area a second week in a row is unacceptable."
"Miranda."
"I had thought that working at the 'Mirror' would provide you with growth opportunities. Now, I'm beginning to think that enrolling you in a basic English class at NYU may be more useful."
"No. No regrets."
There was a soft snort, then, "How profoundly disappointing." The line clicked, then went dead. Andy pulled the phone away and stared at it for a few long moments before realizing she had missed her stop.
And so it went. Every Monday, Miranda rang her up at precisely 8:00am, and every week she asked if Andy had any regrets. And every week, Andy replied in the negative. As the months went by, these calls became so routine, neither woman thought much about them. Occasionally, Andy would pause before answering the question. Or, at times, the two of them stayed on the line for a few beats after the query was posed and responded to – neither saying anything more, just listening to one another breathing.
Andy thought it interesting that Miranda even called her while on vacation with the girls in Musha Cay (Bahamas) during the summer break. She wouldn't have known that Miranda had been on vacation, except Lily had shown her the article and pictures in the Times' gossip column. That next Monday, Andy added, before hanging up, "I hope you enjoyed your time off with the twins."
As the heat of summer gave way to cooler evenings and fall foliage, Andy found herself thinking of ways to mess with her old employer. Sometimes, instead of the usual "no regrets," she would instead ask after the girls, or Patricia (their over-sized canine). These queries would invariably trip Miranda up.
One Monday in October, there was no call. At first, Andy was happy about this. But, as she sat through the weekly staff meeting that morning, she found her mind frequently meandering off. By ten thirty, when the meeting was over, she could stand it no longer. She rang up Emily.
"Miranda Priestly's office."
"Emily. It's Andy. Is Miranda there today? Is she okay?"
"Andy? Oh. You. Actually, she is in a horrid mood this morning. Worse than usual. What do you—"
Andy could hear the soft, yet edgy voice of Miranda in the background calling out to her assistant. The line abruptly cut off.
'Well, at least she's okay,' Andy thought to herself. She settled in at her desk and began outlining her story on the new library being built in Harlem. The article should have been a breeze to write, but Andy found she was having difficulty focusing.
On the following Monday, Andy checked her cell phone repeatedly, waiting for Miranda's call. It didn't happen. So, again, she rang up Emily, who was appropriately non-plussed.
"As far as I know, she is about to pull up out front, Andrea."
The cub reporter stared blankly for a moment into space.
"Oh. Okay." And she hung up. She was distracted all through the Monday morning staff meeting…again. What's worse, she ended up getting the lamest assignments for the week due to her inattentiveness. She groaned as she left the meeting room. It was going to be a long week.
The following week, she rang Emily at 8:01 and when the second assistant picked up, she saw an opportunity. There was no way that Emily would relay a message from Andy, but this new assistant may not be so wise.
"Good morning. I'd like to leave a message for Miranda. Just tell her 'no regrets,'"
There was a long pause, then, "That's it? Who do I tell her called?"
"She'll know." Andy smiled to herself as she hung up.
She enjoyed thinking about what Miranda's reaction might be. And though Miranda didn't ring her back that day, Andy was sure that the next Monday, Miranda would be back in the habit of ringing her. What she didn't know is that Emily sorted through Miranda's messages the second assistant had taken, and thrown out Andy's message.
It became a new routine for the next two months. Andrea would ring Miranda's office at 8am – either leaving a message with the 2nd assistant or getting hung up on by Emily.
One Thursday evening in early December, Andy huddled against the wind, leaves swirling around her in the darkening night sky. She slowly passed by a couple of office buildings, each step a fight against the gusts blowing the other way. Because she was concentrating on keeping her jacket closed and her feet moving, she didn't notice the black town car slowly pass and pull over to the curb just ahead of her.
"Ms. Priestly wishes to speak with you."
Andy almost jumped out of her skin before she realized that the man standing by her elbow was Ted, Miranda's newer driver.
"I can drop you off wherever you are headed, Ms. Sachs. The weather isn't exactly conducive to walking."
Glancing over at the car before turning back to Ted, she responded, "Um. Sure. Okay." She had to admit that the wind was getting harsh.
As she slid in to the back seat and fastened her seat belt, Ted closed the door behind her.
Hesitantly, Andy glanced over at the woman beside her. Miranda's face was turned towards the nearby window. The woman's stony, expressionless countenance was nothing new. However, Andy could tell by the pursed lips that Miranda was NOT in a good mood.
As the car pulled away from the curb, Andy cleared her throat.
"Since my answer didn't change, you stopped calling."
"There appeared to be no value in continuing. You made yourself clear."
Andy could see Miranda's reflection in the window. As the older woman spoke, she saw a certain sadness cross the woman's face. A lump rose in her throat at the sight.
"But," she paused in her protest as an eyebrow ascended the porcelain face reflected in the glass, "But, um, well, I enjoyed talking to you."
"I can't imagine why," came the soft reply.
Andy had no clue how to respond to that comment. Her mind was beginning to spin. Her chest tightened.
"If you enjoyed the calls so much, why didn't you call me?" The silver-haired woman shifted in her seat to face her guest. Andy could feel Miranda's eyes boring into her, searching her soul. She felt her own vision blur, the air in the car growing warm and thick.
"I did," she squeaked. "Well, I called your office. Every Monday."
"Hmmm." Miranda Priestly turned back to the window. Andy could feel her vision clearing slightly and her breathing ease a little.
"You were too afraid to call me directly. How interesting." Miranda snorted, rather loudly. The chill had returned to her voice. It felt, to Andy, as if the temperature in the car had dropped as well. The hot flash had been replaced by a quick freeze. She reached with trembling fingers for a nearby heat vent.
When Miranda spoke again, her voice was icy smooth; "My staff think you were sooo brave to walk away from me. As it turns out – you are a coward. Facing the truth was too difficult. It is much easier to just scamper away and call Emily than to talk to me directly." Miranda sunk back into the smooth leather seat, laid her silvery grey-white locks against the headrest, and propped an elbow on the window ledge – allowing her immaculate fingernails to rest on her pearl necklace.
Her eyelids remained closed as she stated, dully, "Ted will drop you wherever you like." She remained in that position, motionless, while Andy directed Ted to her apartment a few minutes away. The ride was eerily silent, and Andy took advantage of Miranda's resting state to observe the woman. She marveled at the tiny crow's feet just visible under the immaculate makeup, the way the pearl necklace ended just above the notch of Miranda's breastbone, the rise and fall of chest. Andy caught Ted glancing at them in the mirror, and felt embarrassed for staring at her former employer. Still, she couldn't help herself. She found her eyes drawn back to the woman, studying the hand resting on her lap – odd, how she hadn't noticed before, but Miranda's fingers were actually somewhat blunt. She had always thought them to be slender and tapered. If she had stopped to think about it before, it should only be appropriate for Miranda's fingers to be strong and capable, not fragile at all.
"Ms. Sachs? Is this the place?" Andy's reverie was broken by Ted's query. She looked up towards the window, verifying with a nod and a simple, 'yep' that he had the address correct. As he got out and came around to hold open her door, she dragged her gaze towards Miranda again – and almost forgot to breathe.
Miranda was no longer resting her head back, but this position was not welcoming, either. Her face was turned, as before, towards the window. Andy then glimpsed, for a brief moment, a sparkling, twinkling of light reflected back at her. It took only the most fleeting second for her to capture that it was not a droplet of water on the outside of the glass, but, rather, a reflection of a small tear on Miranda's cheek.
"Goodnight," was all she could meek out, and impulsively she reached to the hand resting in Miranda's lap, giving it a light touch before slipping out of the car.
"Thank you, Ted," she nodded to him as he closed the door behind her. He seemed about to say something in reply, but then changed his mind. She slowly climbed the stairs and made her way up to her unit, readied for bed, and crawled under the covers, quite mechanically.
It took almost an hour for her to fall asleep. She kept running through the conversation she'd had with Miranda. And why had she been so obsessed with Miranda's fingers? She was going insane. That's all there was to it. Insane. She'd even had hot and cold flashes. Maybe that was it. The flu. She was coming down with the flu. Great. Only her mother and Nate could make the perfect matzo ball soup for the flu. She slept restlessly.
Friday, at work, Peter, the sports writer two desks away, needled her mercilessly.
"Yo, Sachs. The airline called to confirm flight arrangements for your visit home to Ohio next week. Wanted to remind you it's going to cost extra to bring along those bags under your eyes."
"Shove it, Pete."
"Heya, Sachs. Wes Craven called. Said he wants to use you as his model for what the living dead should look like in his next flick."
"Drop dead, Pete."
"No, no. They're LIVING dead, Sachs."
"Don't make me separate the two of you first-graders," broke in the editor as he strode by. Andy sighed in response, took a long drought from her coffee mug, and tried to concentrate on her story. She kept wondering if she was, indeed, coming down with a cold or if something else could be the cause of her symptoms.
She turned down going to the new Meryl Streep movie with Doug and his new boyfriend that night and instead crawled under the warm covers early. She vaguely recalled dreaming about Miranda the next morning.
Saturday evening, Andy met up with Lily and a bunch of her art house friends at the famous Wollman rink at Central Park. They did several laps around the rink, laughing, talking, and generally attempting to keep upright. After a bit, Andy lost track of Lily amidst the crowds on the vast slab of cold ice. She stopped along an edge of the rink, and stood there, watching people go by in varied and colorful trappings.
"C'mon, bro. Get a move on." A large Hispanic looking young man was being pushed along by a smaller, much younger boy no older than eight.
"Hey, now. When I signed up to be your 'Big Brother,' I didn't know I was signing up for this." The young man chuckled.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Andy laughed to herself as they narrowly missed her going by.
"Mom, why did you bring your skates if you weren't going to actually skate?"
"She's just scared. She isn't as brave as all that." Andy could hear the youngsters taunting their mother just over her shoulder.
"Girls, girls," came the soft reply. So soft that Andy almost didn't catch it. In fact, the only reason she heard it was that it was so familiar.
"I'm getting on the ice. See, my skates are on. Now Cassidy, dear. Please, do mum a favor and wrap that scarf around your neck. It won't do you any good being dragged along the ice."
Andy's head whipped around so quickly, she could feel the muscles strain.
There, only about five or six feet away, Miranda Priestly and her daughters stepped onto the ice. They had their backs to Andy, but she could have identified the silhouette of her former employer from a good football field away. She watched them move along, Miranda with a black leather gloved hand on each daughter's shoulder, guiding them forward.
Andy, as if in a trance, followed. The girls moved along the ice in small, jerking steps. Miranda appeared to barely be moving her feet, gliding majestically between them, the train of her lightweight black coat hardly ruffling.
After a few moments, the girls pushed a hand against their mother's back simultaneously, likely the result of some secret thought-sharing phenomena common to twins. Miranda willingly slid forward, and after a brief pause, darted between a few people and nimbly began to weave her way to a clearing in the crowds, closer to the center of the rink. Andy craned her neck to see. The white cap of hair glistened in the lights and caused Miranda to appear marvelously angelic and breathtakingly gorgeous.
She was spellbound by Miranda's agility, speed and, admittedly, her ability to adjust her trademark white Hermes scarf around her neck even while making a slow, lazy turn, now skating back and looking intently towards her daughters. And Andy. Hurriedly, Andy ducked, but not before she saw a large man cut in front of Miranda, causing them both to crash to the ice.
Andy was flabbergasted to see Miranda smile, yes, smile, as her girls hovered over her. The older woman carefully stood, casually brushing off the ice dust, and tucking a few stray hairs back into place. She watched, smiling, as Miranda ignored the man still floundering on the ice. As Miranda reached back her hands to her daughters, Andy noticed that one of them was instead looking right at her. The penetrating blue eyes of the young Priestly offspring caused a cold shiver to run up her spine.
With quickened breath, she stepped off the ice and bent over to remove her skates, attempting to position herself somewhat behind an overweight woman and out of the Priestly girl's probable line of sight.
Standing up after donning her shoes, Andy came face to face with a young blonde Priestly offspring. Not the same twin that had stared at her. This one had on a different colored turtleneck.
"You should just kiss her."
Andy's eyes bugged out, her jaw dropped, and she found herself speechless.
"She talks about you all the time, and gets the same look on her face that Cassidy gets when she watches Doctor McDreamy. It is soo annoying to have to put up with Mum in this state. And I saw you looking all like that at her tonight. So, please," she paused, and Andy saw a steely Priestly gene shine through at this point, "If you are as smart as she thinks, then I shouldn't have to tell you what to do." The flaxen haired child, obviously Caroline, tucked her long hair behind her shoulders. She turned nimbly in her skates, and was gone before Andy found her voice. After a few moments, the cub reporter pulled her mind back from the edge of reason and slid on her pumps.
As she turned in the rental skates, Lily tapped her on the shoulder.
"Shit!" Andy practically jumped out of her skin.
"What's wrong with you?" Lily retorted.
"Sorry, Lily. Nothing. You just scared me."
"Uh-huh. Well, let's get going." Andy followed her friend's hot pink coat through the masses and out towards the street. On the subway trip back towards her apartment, she stood and mused over the sight of Miranda Priestly on ice. Well, that and the crazy proposal from one of the twins.
"What's his name?"
"Huh?"
"The guy you're daydreaming about?"
"Not a guy," Andy absentmindedly replied.
""What?" Lily's eyebrows shot up her forehead.
"Hmm? Oh, no, no. Not daydreaming at all. Just spacing."
"Yeah. Right."
"Did you see her? She was there tonight."
"Who?" Lily's brow furrowed.
"Her. With the twins. Skating. She seems so much more relaxed with them. And Caroline came up to me right before I saw you."
"Caroline who?"
"Caroline. One of the twins. One of Miranda's daughters. Anyway. I realized something tonight."
"Oh, dear. What now? Are you going back to work for her?"
Andy looked at Lily and noticed the concern on her face.
Laughing, she replied, "No, no. I'm not going to back to work at Runway. I like 'The Mirror.' It's okay, Lily. Everything will be fine." She patted her friend's shoulder as the stepped off the subway platform and head off in separate directions to their apartments.
After getting ready for bed, she sat down at the desk and after staring at her laptop for a moment, pulled out a sheet of stationary and a pen, and wrote a short note.
"I didn't leave Runway because of the workload, or because what the work required of me. I left because I was afraid of falling in love with an indifferent woman. I am not afraid of falling in love with a woman full of life – a woman who falls on the ice, smiles, and brushes it off, because she is focused on enjoying the time with her family."
She slipped the note into a matching envelope, secretly thanking her aunt Sophie for giving her the set to begin with, whispering a quiet thanks for the fact that Sophie knew that there would always be times when a handwritten note would be best.
That night, Andy slept well. She took two subway transfers and a short cab ride to get to the Priestly townhouse the next day. After dropping the note, without hesitation or regret, into the mail slot, she made the return trip home, smiling the whole time.
She had put herself out there, put her heart in Miranda's hands. The response was deafening silence. The rest of the day went by uneventfully, and the following week was filled with the usual hectic pace of people preparing for the holidays.
"Who you bringing to the party Saturday night? Peter Parker or Clark Kent?" Pete teased her as he tossed a paper ball through the air at her.
"Your girlfriend called me. She's afraid you won't be allowed in due to the 'No dogs allowed' clause – so I'll be escorting her myself."
"Ha, ha." Pete came around and leaned against the wall by Andy's desk.
"Hey. Sachs. Seriously. I hope you're coming. It's always a great party. Something for everyone."
Andy glanced up at him from her computer screen, "Okay, Pete. Thanks."
"Alright, you two. Get back to work before I start telling everyone that you're both going soft."
"Ugh. Thanks for making me sick, Phil," Pete tapped a fist to the editor's well-built shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah."
Saturday evening, Andy walked into the VFW Hall where they were holding the company party, wearing a long, black and red vintage Dior that still fit her after leaving Runway. She was surprised at the size of the place. There was plenty of food, drink, and dancing. Since she was scheduled to leave the following morning for a couple of weeks in Ohio, Andy decided to live it up. After all, she had gotten the courage to tell Miranda how she felt, and was rebuffed. Time, and life, had to move on.
A couple of drinks later, she was definitely enjoying the evening. She danced with a few of her coworkers, both male and female, and even managed to be a proper lady when dancing with the paper's president. After that, Andy decided she'd had enough, so she sought out a few individuals and bade them goodnight.
"Um, did you do say goodnight to Santa?"
"Excuse me?" Andy's normally wide eyes squinted slightly at Pete's girlfriend, Katie.
Pete responded, "Every year, we all have to sit on Santa's lap and ask for something. Usually it's Ralph. And he really gets into it."
"Ralph as in Ralph Peterson, the President? I just danced with him."
"Yeah, yeah. But before the evening is over, he gets into his Santa outfit and gets everyone's holiday wishes before they leave."
"Oh. Well, since he doesn't seem ready to get into Santa mode yet, I think I can safely escape. Besides, Pete, you know I'm Jewish." Andy smiled and moved past him and Katie.
She weaved her way towards an exit, and then remembered she had left her coat at the entrance across the room. With a sigh, she crept along the wall, working past some of the more intoxicated members of the paper and their significant others.
"You weren't trying to sneak out already, were you?"
Andy found herself face to face with Santa. And Santa was holding her coat.
"Um," she glanced over her shoulder. Ralph Peterson was out on the dance floor, rotating through a few more members of the staff.
She looked back at Santa, who was looking up. Her gaze followed and she saw that just over Santa's head was a sprig of very wilted looking mistletoe.
"Wasn't there a song about kissing me under this parasitic plant?" Santa's voice was smooth and feminine. Perhaps, Andy thought, Ralph's wife?
"Um, I don't mean to be rude, but when it comes to kissing someone under a parasitic plant, I have preferences on whom that person might be."
Blue eyes twinkled at her, "Perhaps someone full of enough joy of life to parade around in a Santa suit?" There was something about the voice that was at once familiar and yet not completely so.
Andy leaned in, feeling somewhat irritated by the pursuit, but also a little lighthearted, likely a result of the alcohol she had consumed earlier in the evening. She gave Santa a placating peck on the cheek, "Good night, Santa." She turned, taking her jacket from the arm of the red-suited, pillow-stuffed person.
"No regrets?"
Andy spun on her heel and realized as she looked into those blue eyes again, how blind she had been.
"Mir-" Santa had a white-gloved finger on her lips before she got the name out completely.
"Shhh. Don't make me repeat my question. Just answer me." There was a tone to Miranda's voice, that in anyone else, Andy would have said sounded pleading.
"One regret. I never did this." Andy gave a light tug on the beard, pulling it down so she could properly kiss Miranda. It started as a gentle brushing of lips, then moved to a nibbling, first of Miranda's upper lip, then her lower one.
Miranda pulled away just as Andy's tongue was tickling to enter the older woman's mouth.
As Andy took a moment to catch her breath and focus her vision, Miranda smirked at her.
"What?"
"We've drawn a bit of an audience," she stated as she slid her beard and mustache back into place.
Andy glanced around, then grabbed Miranda's arm and whispered, "Let's go. Before you're recognized and we both end up on the front page."
The older woman pulled a pillow out from her costume and tossed it aside. She clasped one of Andy's hands in her own, sliding off the gloves as they moved. They slipped out a side door to Miranda's car, which had been parked there for who knows how long.
"I have just one question," Andy queried as they slid into the back seat.
Miranda sighed.
"A Santa suit?"
"One of my greatest strengths lies in my fashion sense, as you know. I wanted to see if you found me attractive if I were disguised in a silly red suit. Your willingness gives me some concerns, nonetheless."
"Concerns?" Andy slid the red hat off the older woman's head and let her fingers delve into the silvery white hair, luxuriating in the silky feeling.
Miranda growled, literally, as she pulled the younger woman on top of her. Andy hadn't ever felt as turned on with Nick, or any other man, for that matter, as she was feeling right now with Miranda. She nibbled Miranda's neck and put a hand on a hip, pulling the older woman closer.
"Concerns that such a smart, lovely girl is on my lap at the moment, and we both should just shut up and kiss."
Andy had brought her lips close to Miranda's as the older woman spoke. She smiled now against the corner of Miranda's mouth.
She teased the tip of her tongue against the corner of the older woman's mouth and felt, as well as heard, the gasp of delight in response.
Ted smiled to himself as he navigated the car through the busy New York streets, 'Yep, Ted has been a very good boy this year.' He took a glance at the rear view mirror to confirm the great view unfolding behind him in the back seat.
'A very good boy, indeed.'
That's all ---