Miranda Priestly was an enigma. This is fact. She had to be the most complex, the most complicated, the most difficult walking, talking contradiction in the state of New York, if not the world. She spent her entire adult life working and fighting to raise herself to the professional position that was, in the world of fashion, equal to the status of royalty. She was a queen. She had the talent, the resilience, and the stamina to hold off all usurpers and maintain her power in her regime for as long as she desired. She was ruthless and aggressive in her professional decisions, her acidic tongue capable of carving an employee like a thanksgiving day turkey over the slightest infraction, and yet surprisingly forgiving to the one person who dealt her the most emotional pain in her life. She was high maintenance, impossible, and unwilling to be controlled in her personal relationships, and yet she allowed her twin daughters to keep her on short puppet strings, changing her mind and actions on a whim or a dare. She new herself completely, and yet she found herself on a number of occasions confused at her actions and reactions when they were some way involved with the same betraying individual to whom she had, unequivocally granted total absolution. It was a rare occasion that found Miranda pensive, doubtful, and uniquely puzzled, and it only took her five years to ferret out the existence and cure to her one troubling foible.
Paris fashion week, 2006 was an accumulation of perhaps the worst notable events of Miranda's life. Within a single week, she suffered the embarrassing demise of her failing marriage, she was forced into a political battle over her professional position, she betrayed one of the few people she considered to be a true friend, and she lost the single most important person to have entered her life. Returning to New York after that disaster of a week to nurse her wounds and regroup, she found she couldn't care less that her husband was leaving or that she would now have to move mountains to repay the debt to her friend. She knew she could never be complacent on her throne, but she was thrown for a spin when a request appeared on her desk for a professional reference for one Andy Sachs, and, for some unknown reason she actually decided to write one herself, in person. The words that emerged across plain white paper stock could not have been hers. Although they were indeed, written in her hand, they were too honest, too baring, too forgiving to be her own. Honestly, how could she pen a golden ticket for the slip of a girl who walked out on her, who left her to fend for herself for the last two days of the most important, hectic week of her work year. Unable to ascertain an answer to that question was the first in what would be a string of recurring incidents of losing her sense of self.
Miranda had succeeded in her quest to find an acceptable position for Nigel Kipling. The man was a talented, loyal friend and she had to repay him for using him as a pawn during her battle in Paris. After a few months she found a new designer who, with the right guidance, would thrive and perhaps gain the status of the likes of D&G, Valentino, and Marc Jacobs. Miranda decided Nigel was the one to direct this Savannah McGregor. As usual, Miranda's decision was absolutely spot on. In two years the McG fashion house had become a power player capitalizing on the talents of Savannah, Nigel's business sense, and the rise in popularity of all thing Celtic, expanding and outshining all closest competitors. Over the years after kicking Nigel out of her office for the very last time, Miranda and Nigel scheduled lunches together as often as they could. Of course, as often as possible usually meant once every five or six months. At one such lunch, two years after their professional divorce, Miranda had a thrilling, surprising and disturbing revelation.
Lunch was technically finished but Miranda and Nigel, unwilling to part so soon, were continuing their conversation over coffees.
"Oh, so you'll never believe who I ran into the other day." Nigel spouted with a note of pure glee.
"Unless it was a unicorn or a pink elephant, I expect I wouldn't doubt you." Miranda drolly murmured, refusing to rise to Nigel's excitement.
"I literally ran into Andy."
"Who?" Miranda asked, honestly not comprehending who Nigel was speaking of.
"Andy. Andy Sachs. Surely you remember her. 'The one who walked away'."
"Really?" Miranda's heart jumped, picking up it's pace. Her voice remained cool, refusing to expose her deeper emotions.
Nigel studied his friend, trying to ascertain the truth under the words. Not finding a clue to Miranda's frame of mind, Nigel continued his tale.
"I was just stepping out of a Starbucks on 48th street and turned right into the girl. Saved my coffee but damn near fell on my ass." He chuckled.
"Mmm. And how is our intrepid reporter these days?"
"She's married." Nigel announced with a bit of surprise behind the fact.
"Married?" Miranda's voice had suddenly taken on a gravelly rasp. Clearing her throat, she questioned. "When… who did she marry?"
"His name is Michael Duchane. He's a real estate appraiser or some such thing. A very attractive man, if I do say so myself."
"Yes, well…"
"She said they were trying to start a family. Although I think it may be difficult since she's taking a six month post in Eastern Europe. But, young love does prevail."
"Yes, I suppose it does." Miranda checked her cup and, finding it blessedly empty, pushed back from the table. "Lovely as always, Nigel. I do hope you can excuse me. I need to get back for a meeting."
"Of course." Nigel stood, accepting a farewell kiss. "Until we meet again."
"Thank you for lunch."
"Always."
Miranda strode out of the restaurant, cell phone to her ear before she made it to the door. Nigel watched her leave, impressed that not a single step faltered. Shrugging to himself, he signed his credit receipt and followed Miranda's path.
Two days later Miranda was still angry. She was frustrated, confused, and angry. She was attending yet another black tie gala for yet another charity and she was fuming. How did she not know Andy Sachs was married? And why did she not know that the infuriating woman was going to Europe? And why was it her assistant could not find any information on this Michael Duchane? And why the hell was she concerning herself with all of this in the first place? Andy Sachs was an aberration from her past. A momentary mistake in her usual unerring judgment. There was no reason for her to be squandering her time with senseless thoughts over an ex-employee.
Despite her own admonitions, Miranda continued to stew. She was mostly disturbed over her lack of knowledge. Miranda prided herself for her encyclopedic mind. Information was power, and Miranda was an undeniably powerful person. Though loath to admit it, she even knew the names of the entire Elias-Clarke janitorial staff. So how had she missed the engagement announcement, the wedding announcement, and the promotion of her one time protégé?
Miranda's anger had been simmering over the past few days and was morphing into something raw and physical. She needed an outlet for her frustration. She had already dismissed her assistant for the evening so had no one easily available to lash out at. Scanning the guests still in attendance her eyes fell on Gregory Pryne, CEO of the "Share A Dream" philanthropy group. He was a handsome man. Rugged, clean, chiseled features, graying over the temples, athletic build, and, as far as Miranda knew, single. Not particularly interested in whether or not he had a date for the evening, Miranda headed across the floor in a direct line of interception. A simple, casual offer of a night cap after some friendly conversation was accepted and Miranda led her quarry across the ballroom floor towards the back elevators that would carry them to her suite for the night.
Three years. It had been three years since Nigel had dropped that little bomb in Miranda's lap. The consequences of her actions were, thankfully not lingering. Gregory Pryne proved to be an adequate scratch for her occasional overwhelming itch and was perfectly happy to accommodate Miranda on an as need basis over the years. He was fine with being Miranda's go to guy whenever she needed an escort for an evening event, or a tumble in the sheets. No strings attached, no promises made. Miranda was thankful for the friend with benefits on a number of occasions. This night, she was however, flying solo since she was not in the mood to entertain a date for the evening.
She was in attendance of a Runway hosted bash. It was, in fact, her night. It was a celebration in honor of her twenty-five years at the helm of Runway, the premier fashion magazine of all time. Miranda Priestly was the center of attention and she was making a clear statement that she did not need anyone to help her achieve what she had. She did not need a man to support her as she rose to the top, nor to maintain her hallowed position. This night was for her and she was not about to share it with anyone. She earned it.
Miranda's entrance was the epitome of grand. She swept down the palatial staircase without attendance. All eyes widened at the awe-inspiring entity that was Miranda Priestly. Draped in indigo silk that flowed over her skin like water and revealed enough skin to make a eunuch's mouth water, she moved through the throng of sycophants, blessing her followers with a wry smile. She was grace, power and sex. Everyone either wanted her or wanted to be her. She was glorious in her element, and her energy snapped through the room, calling everyone to heel.
The reception line had dwindled and Miranda was circling among the guests when her attention was captured by a familiar presence at the entry. She interrupted her own conversation as she turned towards the latest arrival. Her body stilled and her focus centered into pinpoint accuracy on the one person she never expected to see. Andy Sachs wove her way through the revelers, leading a tall, dark man by the hand towards her ultimate destination. On approach, Andy could easily read Miranda's body language; calm, unperturbed and open. Andy figured she had a good chance of surviving this meeting unscathed.
"Miranda, it is so good to see you again." Andy's voice was barely controlled ardor.
"And you, Andréa. It has been a while." Miranda allowed Andy to approach and offered her usual cheek to cheek greeting.
Miranda's voice and the way she rolled the name over her tongue caused Andy to gulp, swallowing down a half decade worth of suppressed emotion. Masterfully controlling the opposing urges of running or engulfing Miranda in a bear hug, Andy evenly stated, "Yes, it has been. I just want to say congratulations on an amazing career. I'm eager to see what you do with the next twenty-five years."
"Still a cheeky girl, I see." Miranda smiled gently against the rush of heat that suddenly coursed through her.
"Well, I don't want to monopolize your time…" Andy took a step back, about to turn away.
Miranda stopped her from leaving by asking, "Who is your handsome escort, Andréa?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. Miranda, may I introduce Douglas Warner. Doug, Miranda Priestly."
"Douglas Warner?" Miranda's voice revealed her surprise.
"Truly an honor to meet you." Doug gushed. "I am quite the fan."
"Quite?" Andy could feel the sudden tension roll off Miranda's body. The emerging crocodile smile and the syrupy voice caused an autonomic wince from Andy.
"Ouch." Andy breathed out. Believing that Miranda's ire was directed at her personally, Andy formed her escape. "I, um, apologize for the intrusion, Miranda. I guess I was feeling nostalgic with the invitation. I thought it would be nice to see you again." She leaned in close, the venue allowing the bravery needed to steal a kiss. Lips brushing against a blushing cheek, Andy paused long enough to whisper, "I was right. It really is good to see you."
Andy glanced at Doug and moved away through the crowd. Doug offered a final handshake and a quick "Wonderful to meet you." before he trotted off after Andy, leaving Miranda to stare after them wondering exactly what had just happened.
"Hey, Andy, where are you going? You promised me an evening of high society drinking. It is an open bar, isn't it?"
"Yes, Doug. It is an open bar. You really want to stay?"
"Hell yeah. They've got the good stuff."
"Fine. Let's find the bar."
Andy was more than ready to run for the hills. Her attempt to reconnect with Miranda seemed to be failing miserably. But, Miranda never frequented the bar at these events, so Andy figured she was safe hanging out with Doug for a few drinks.
After a few hours Andy found herself sitting alone as Doug had wandered off to find a restroom. A tall glass of a clear liquid with a lemon wedge suddenly appeared before Andy. She glanced to her right to find Miranda sitting on the bar stool next to her. Reaching out, Andy carefully brought the drink to her lips, sniffing before taking a curious sip.
"Water?", she asked, surprised.
"It seemed a wise choice this late in the evening." Miranda offered unapologetically.
"Thank you. Although I am far from drunk." Andy spoke, her voice strong with self defense.
"Mmmm." Miranda sipped at her own drink. "I thought we might have a chat."
"Really? This should be interesting."
Miranda completely threw Andy off course when she began with her stated enquiry, "I thought your husband's name was Michael Duchane."
Recovering quickly Andy quipped, "That's true."
"So, Douglas Webster is…?"
"A very good friend." Andy offered lightly, watching Miranda's eyes intently as the woman tried to figure the situation out. With a shoulder shrug, Andy granted some more information, "Doug is the kind of friend that is willing to let me haul him out of the closet like an old coat, to use when I need an escort. He is more than happy to follow along on evenings like this so that he can dress up, drink excellent alcohol, eat scrumptious food, dance, mingle, and make contacts."
"And what of your husband? Doesn't he mind?"
"I don't think so." Leaning closer to Miranda, Andy added in a conspiratorial whisper, "I think your information is a bit outdated."
The scowl that clouded Miranda's face forced a smile across Andy's. She added, to relieve Miranda's frustration, "Nigel's information was good. He was right. I was married. You don't need to question his loyalty, just the frequency of his information updates."
Miranda's mind whirred as she tried to get a hold of everything. Andy knew it was Nigel who informed her of the marriage. But apparently the marriage was dissolved, or on the rocks. Before Miranda could decide where she wanted to direct their conversation, Andy was standing and reaching for her clutch. The younger woman's eyes had focused on something, or someone over Miranda's shoulder.
"Miranda, I would love to get together with you and update my dossier, but right now I need to be leaving." She smiled easily at Miranda, the same smile she had offered so long ago after obtaining the elusive Harry Potter manuscript. "Thank you for the drink. It really was lovely to see you again."
Before Miranda could respond, Andy leaned in and kissed her on both cheeks. She spared a moment to gauge the older woman's reaction then turned and walked away, falling into step alongside Doug as they headed for the door.
As Andy stepped out of sight Miranda felt a tightness in her chest, causing her to gasp and press a hand to her heart. Anger flared, only to be replaced by an unknown longing.
Miranda's personal cell phone chimed to announce an incoming call. Without looking, Miranda distractedly picked it up off her desk and answered with a tense, demanding, "Hello"
"I'm sorry I had to walk out on you the other night, but my date had to leave." Andy's voice, strong and sure drifted through the line.
"Why would you think that I'd care?"
"I don't think, I hope."
"I am extremely busy…"
"Always. Will you have lunch with me?"
Miranda pulled her phone away and stared at it, wondering at the daring confidence of this woman. Returning the phone to her ear she surprised herself with the words that left her own mouth. "I am free on Thursday, if that would be agreeable."
"That would be wonderful. 12:30 ok?"
"Yes, Where shall I meet you?"
"Artisanal Bistro?"
"Very well. 'til Thursday"
A slow smile spread across Miranda's lips as she pondered the call. What was she thinking? This game could easily lead do disaster, but she could not make herself care about consequences.
The Artisanal Bistro was full of business suits when Miranda arrived. She, however, was directly shown to her table without pause. A flash of appreciation lit her eyes when the host stepped aside to reveal Andy Sachs seated and waiting. Andy answered the questioning eyebrow with a smile, "I've been here since noon."
They began their meeting with the usual chatter about the restaurant and menu. Once selections were made and they were afforded a modicum of privacy, Miranda grabbed the bull by the horns. "So, about your marriage…"
"It's nonexistent."
"And why is that?"
Andy could not fathom why Miranda would possible be interested, but since she was the one who offered the invitation, she figured she ought to be forthcoming.
"Do you want the novel or the Reader's Digest condensed version?"
"I don't appreciate heavy editing."
Andy had to grin at that comment. Taking a moment to appraise Miranda's mood, she nodded and jumped in.
"I married Michael almost a year after leaving you. Going into it, we both seemed to be on the same page. However, after only three or four months he started talking children. I'm not against having kids. I may still decide I want to be a mom. But, right now, I'm focusing on my career. I thought Michael understood that. Apparently, I was wrong. It got to the point that it became a daily argument. And god forbid he find my birth control pills. I realized when I put in for an extension for the Eastern Europe posting that the married life probably wasn't for me. At least not the life with Michael. We divorced and within six months he was remarried. And, yes, she's pregnant with their first, of probably many."
Miranda's eyes never wavered from Andy. Through the tale, she read what was not being said. After taking a thoughtful sip from her wine she commented, "You are not a failure, Andréa."
Watery eyes glanced up, connecting with Miranda's steel blue gaze. "That's not the general consensus."
"Whoever believes the dissolution of your marriage was all on you is a fool. Two to tango, and all of that. It was obviously not a union based on honesty. Live and learn, then move on."
"That can not be your true philosophy."
"Of course it is. I've already tried multiple times. And, although I do accept my share of the responsibility, it was not only me. My marriages broke up due to mutual fault. My husbands gave up as I did. But I can tell you, I always entered a relationship with complete honesty. I never tried to hide who I was, who I am. I've learned more about myself, and I move on. Haven't made the same mistake twice. It just so happens, there are infinite mistakes to be made."
"And now? I've noticed the press has been pairing you frequently with Gregory Pryne. Is he your next Mr. Right?" Noticing a slight wince Andy amended, "or is he Mr Right Now?"
"Don't be so cheeky." Miranda warned. After a fortifying swallow she admitted, "Since the debacle of Stephen, I just did not see the need to seek out a mate. After spending my entire adult life attached to a man, I finally understood I did not need a man to make me whole. I was fine on my own, I have my girls and my work to keep me more than busy. I don't have need or time for a man. That being said, Gregory is a good friend."
An evil grin appeared on Andy's face as she realized what Miranda was not saying. Through barely controlled laughter she accused, "Oh my god. He's a booty call."
"I beg your pardon?" Miranda's ire was turned on fully.
"You two are friends with benefits. I never would have believed it, Miranda, but I am impressed."
"Oh shut up, Andréa." Miranda spluttered.
"I'm sorry, Miranda. Really I am." Andy's hand shot across the table to grab Miranda's wrist, stopping her from grabbing her bag and running away. Bravely locking eyes with the angry editor, Andy continued, "I'm not laughing at you. Honestly, I'm not. I was just surprised. There's no reason to be embarrassed. You're both consenting adults."
"Oh, and you suppose no one would pass judgment on me? You think page six would just overlook this little morsel?"
"Miranda, I would never tell anyone, ever. You know me. You know I would never hang you out to those bastards."
"Do I, Andréa? Do I really?"
"Yes, you do."
The power behind Andy's words at that moment spoke volumes to anyone really listening. Miranda seemed to relax back into her seat. Reaching for her glass, she conceded, "I suppose no one ever could accuse you of lacking integrity. Your past actions have always stood on that very foundation."
Andy cringed at the implication in those words. She knew, despite five years and an initial awesome reference, Miranda Priestly was still mad at her for walking away.
"Integrity alone can make a person do some pretty stupid things. I'm sorry, Miranda. I'm sorry I didn't have the maturity back then."
"Yes, well, admitting one's sins goes a long way towards absolution."