Note: I do not own the Devil Wears Prada or its characters- enjoy!
An Apropos Problem
by emeraldorchids
Plop, plop…plop. "Aaaah! I can't take this anymore!" Miranda screamed as she emptied the bucket in the middle of her upstairs den for the third time that evening.
"Hello, Emily?" Miranda spoke impatiently into her phone. "Call a roofing company. I need someone at my home at daybreak. That's all."
Miranda clicked "end call" and realized she wasn't even sure she was speaking to Emily because she didn't give the girl a chance to answer.
The sound of the dripping roof was incredibly annoying to Miranda's extra-sensory hearing. She thought to herself, if the drips came at a steady rhythm, it wouldn't be so bad, but of course, she could not control the flow of water on her roof.
Leaving her house for the night was the only reasonable option. She packed the Book in her bag and headed out the door, walking in no direction in particular, but figuring she would encounter an all-night cafe at some point.
Andrea sat in her usual booth in Appropos Cafe. She loved working at this place because they were so friendly, and the location didn't attract many tourists or young lovers. The misspelling of the name, she could get past. And, they had free wireless, though they didn't advertise that to the public.
Staring at her computer screen, she could not come up with the first sentence for her new story. She had been working at the New York Mirror for the past few months, and her editor finally began to give her some freedom, offering to consider any investigative stories she might want to write. Andrea was thrilled to have the opportunity to do something other than breaking pet news, flower shows, and community events calendar. Not that she wasn't grateful for a job, but she just knew she was capable of so much more. For her first real, New York City investigative piece, she decided to research the dangers that window-washers experienced. Sure, it didn't seem like much, but it was all her own. Her editor Joseph encouraged her to pursue this story, so for the past weeks, she lived and breathed window-washing, even convincing one worker to take her up on the scaffold.
But tonight, as Andrea set to begin the story, she found herself at a loss for words. Previous writing instructors have always told her to "freewrite" for a while, to get everything that was floating around her brain out on paper, so she could clearly focus on the task at hand.
The problem was, every time Andrea tried to freewrite, the only words she seemed to write over and over were "love" and "Miranda," and it scared her so much, she often closed the computer and deleted the file without exploring her thoughts any further.
Tonight was one of those nights. Andrea was experiencing writer's block, and began typing whatever she could think of, convincing herself she needed to exercise her fingers a bit before she could get any adequate thoughts out.
Turning up the volume of her iTunes playlist, Andrea closed her eyes and began typing:
i love you, you're so beautiful and perfect, I miss you so much. You were the best thing that happened to me and i was so happy. dear lord, please look over miranda and make sure someone is always there to take care of her. i know i wasn't irreplaceable to her, but i like to think that she's not the same without me. that she needs me as much as i need her, but then again, she can have anyone in the world at her feet. i just love her. love. miranda.
Andrea stopped typing and opened her eyes to see what she wrote. In exercises like this, Andrea often thought her fingers were controlling the words she was writing, and she was always both shocked and amazed that she could come up with coherent ideas.
The music streaming through her earbuds allowed her to tune out the noises in the cafe. It was surprisingly crowded tonight—there were no empty tables, and a steady stream of patrons.
Andrea blinked several times as she read through what she just typed, sighing deeply as she hit "delete" so she could start from scratch, and hopefully write something more on-topic.
Maybe I can start with a title, Andrea thought. She typically refrained from beginning an article with a title, letting the headline develop as she wrote. Tonight, she was desperate. After several minutes, she typed out "Heights of Fear: The untold story of NYC's window washers." Smiling at her tiny, but painstaking accomplishment, she reached out to her coffee mug to take a long drink.
The other beauty of this Appropos was that they served alcohol. Draught beers or house wine for $2, and several coffee drinks made with Bailey's or Kahlua.
As Andrea took a drink of her Kahlua-and-coffee, she casually scanned the crowd, wondering if any of her friends were there tonight. Instead, she locked eyes with the one person she did not want to see.
Miranda Priestly walked up to Andrea's booth and stood before her, coffee cup in hand, the Book in her tote. She had very little makeup on and she was probably unrecognizable to most, given that her silvery hair fell straight and was held back with a wide headband. She was wearing what appeared to be yoga pants and a cashmere zip-up jacket.
Andrea pulled her earbuds out of her ear as Miranda spoke to her. She didn't hear her voice at first, but could see that she said "Hello, Andrea."
"Hello, Miranda. It's nice to see you." Andrea bit her lip, knowing she would end up saying something stupid. She tried to focus her thoughts on her computer and her article, not on the beautiful woman she'd been dreaming about for almost a year who happened to be standing twelve inches away from her.
Miranda nodded, "You as well, Andrea. I must say, I didn't expect to see you here. Do you often work here?"
"Um, sometimes. I'm usually more productive when I think other people are watching me." Andrea replied, silently reminding herself to keep her mouth shut and stick to the basics—health, weather, major news.
"Would you mind—" Miranda looked around the cafe at the occupied tables, "—if I joined you? I didn't quite expect there to be too many people out."
"It's usually not this crowded on a Friday night."
"So, may I?" Miranda asked again.
Andrea was stunned at how unlike her former boss she was acting. Miranda Priestly never asked permission. The stars must be aligned tonight, Andrea thought before she gestured towards the bench opposite her. "Yes, of course." She moved some of the papers and notebooks around into a neat stack on her on one side of the table and even moved her notebook to the bench next to her. "I'm sorry I won't be much company, Miranda. I'm working on a story—" she paused, reminding herself not to say too much, "—and I need to finish it."
Miranda waved her hand, "I understand. I am busy, too."
Andrea smiled and replaced her earbuds, typing intensely on her laptop, trying to convince herself she was working. She knew she wouldn't be able to get a stitch of work accomplished with Miranda Priestly seated at her table, but she also recognized that Miranda did not come out to socialize, and would also not appreciate casual conversation.
Still, she couldn't help but notice Miranda glancing up at her every now and then.
Surprisingly, Andrea was able to write the first half of her article. Perhaps it was easier for her to write when the object of all her subconscious thoughts was sitting with her. She couldn't spend time wondering what Miranda was doing, or if she was okay, or what she would say to her if she saw her—she couldn't spend time thinking about that because Miranda was there, in the flesh. Andrea thought to herself that this could be a very efficient working situation.
Miranda struggled to get comfortable, telling herself that the hard wooden bench was unacceptable and her uneasiness had nothing to do with the fact that she was seated across from Andrea Sachs.
But, she couldn't help but watch Andrea work. Her head and shoulders swayed to her music, and her typing was rhythmic, much unlike the dripping roof Miranda had just left. Miranda opened the Book and took out her post-its, but she wasn't really seeing what was on the pages—she was seeing Andrea, and for some reason, she didn't feel distracted. She was—could she admit it?—enjoying herself.
Miranda sighed and focused her attention back on the Book, thinking that if she could get through the first half, she could finish the rest over the weekend.
Suddenly, Miranda felt something brush against her leg. Startled, she jumped back in her seat and almost spilled her coffee. She looked up at Andrea, who was mouthing an inaudible "sorry" but was blushing intensely.
Miranda placed her hand on Andrea's computer screen, slowly pressing it shut. Andrea took her headphones out. "Yes?" She was actually on a roll and wanted to get as much of her article typed before she grew too tired.
"Andrea? You didn't even ask what I was doing here tonight. Didn't you find it odd?"
"Well, I presumed you have not been stalking me, and I also happen to know this is the only 24-hour cafe within a few miles of your house."
"How would you know that?"
"I used to work for you, remember? I used to drop the Book off in the late hours of evening, and walk home. It just so happens that this cafe is about halfway."
"And you don't care why I'm here."
"I didn't say that!" Andrea suddenly backtracked. Perhaps her position of silence and prescribed topics would not suffice tonight. "I just remember how you hate to repeat yourself or to be asked mindless questions, so I figured you had a good reason, and went about my business."
"Oh, I see. 'No one asks Miranda Priestly a question,' huh?"
Andrea laughed, "Of course you would know that one. Okay," she said, "humor me. What brings you out so late tonight, Miranda?"
Miranda smiled. "That's better. Actually Andrea, you would not believe the awful leak in my roof. I've been emptying buckets of water all evening, and now I cannot get any work accomplished because the dripping is so irregular. It is the least work-friendly environment I think I could find."
"So you thought a public cafe would be easier to work in?"
"Well, yes." Miranda replied. "Background noise, I can deal with. But a non-rhythmic drip, that is another story."
"So," Andrea continued, "if I may ask another question, what are you going to do about it?"
"Well, naturally I've had Emily schedule a roofer for first thing tomorrow—oh, I mean today."
Andrea looked up at the clock on the wall and saw that it was well past 2AM. "Oh, right. Well let's at least hope the roofers are nice to look at."
"What?" Miranda demanded.
"I mean, I hope for your sake that they are well-built, attractive young men, not fat, old slobs."
Miranda burst out laughing, reaching her hand up to cover her face. "I thought that's what you were implying. Andrea, I refuse to be attracted to a roofer."
"Oh, Miranda, you'd be surprised how sexy manual labor can be." she said, winking at Miranda.
"That is enough. I'm going home and I hope I don't even have to see them when they arrive!"
Andrea chuckled, "Whatever suits you, Miranda. But if they're thirsty or need to use the restroom, be prepared—they will come talk to you. Maybe you should do your June Cleaver impression and serve them lemonade and sandwiches."
Miranda was packing her bag, but stopped to look Andrea in the eye. "I resent that. I do not have a 'June Cleaver' impression."
"Oooh, Miranda, don't be so defensive. I was only kidding."
Miranda relaxed a bit before shaking her head, "Andrea, it's been lovely to see you. I've really— I mean, we should try to keep in touch. This was nice."
Andrea was stunned at the words that came out of Miranda's mouth. It sounded like she almost missed Andrea's company. "Yes, of course. It's been nice to see you again, too." Andrea dug in her bag and handed one of her business cards to Miranda. "I have a new cell phone—my contact info is there if you should need it."
Miranda accepted the card and stood to leave the cafe. She wanted to stay, to spend more time with Andrea, but wasn't sure what to say next.
"Do you plan on leaving soon?" Miranda asked before stepping away.
"Actually, I should probably pack up now, too. A few hours of sleep can only help this article."
"Would you like me to wait for you?"
Again, Andrea was shocked that Miranda was so kind and genuine. Despite the fact that Miranda lived in the opposite direction from Andrea, she, too, did not want to see their encounter cut short.
"Sure, if you don't mind. I'll just be a minute." she said as she quickly but neatly packed her computer, notebook, and papers away in her bag.
She stood up to join Miranda, "Ready!"
Miranda nodded and headed out the door.
They began walking down the street side by side, and before Andrea knew it, they were at Miranda's porch. "I'm sorry," Miranda said. "I know you live the other direction—can I drive you home?"
Andrea yawned. Her late nights were catching up to her. "No, it's okay, I can walk," she said, yawning again.
"Sweetheart, you look absolutely exhausted. And I dragged you all the way across Manhattan to walk me home." Miranda hesitantly reached out to place her hand on Andrea's arm. "Please come in, get some rest, take a nap. I would feel awful if something happened to you tonight as you walk home alone, sleep deprivation hindering your reflexes."
"Really, Miranda, it's okay." Andrea explained.
"You can nap on the couch or chaise in the den, or you can use the bed in the guestroom. I promise I don't turn into a vampire or anything."
Andrea smiled. Miranda wanted her to stay the night, and was going out of her way to persuade her. Not really wanting to walk home by herself at this hour, she nodded and followed Miranda into the townhouse.
"Thank you, Miranda, for your hospitality. Really, you didn't need to, but I do appreciate it." Andrea said as she walked into the den and set her things down next to the couch.
"Of course," she replied, smiling a natural, beautiful, no-makeup-and-hair-is-a-mess smile. "Please help yourself to anything you might need. I will be right back with a pillow and comforter for you."
"No, Miranda, really, I don't need that." Andrea said as she removed her jacket and boots, laying them carefully on the floor next to her bag.
"I will bring it anyway, just in case." Miranda said as she watched Andrea curl on the uncomfortable-looking couch.
When Miranda returned downstairs to the den, she was not surprised to find Andrea already asleep. She opened the down comforter and draped it over the young woman's body, reaching to lift her head up so she could slip the pillow underneath.
Andrea whimpered when Miranda touched her, and Miranda swore she saw a smile flicker across Andrea's lips. I must be hallucinating, she thought, returning quickly to the foyer to turn the lights off and lock the door.
Miranda tried to fall asleep, but her mind was racing. Why was she so affected by Andrea? She had never felt this way about an assistant. All she could think of was her father, who had an affair with his secretary when she was six years old. Her father disapproved of Miranda for as long as she could remember, but somehow, she was changed after his death. Everything became urgent and life was suddenly fleeting.
After an hour of tossing and turning and dreaming of her father's harsh words, she reached over and turned on the radio next to her bed. She could still hear the uneven dripping from her roof and needed something to tune that out.
Andrea woke in the middle of the night and looked around before she remembered that she was on the couch in Miranda Priestly's den. Andrea heard voices somewhere else in the house, and went in search of the source. Perhaps the darkness gave her courage, she thought, but then remembered that Miranda did say to make herself comfortable.
Once she reached the top of the stairs, the sound increased, and she turned to stand outside the first room on the right. It was probably Miranda's bedroom, she thought, but she couldn't make out what the voices were saying. And, to her surprise, she did not hear Miranda's voice.
The door was slightly cracked open, so she pressed it further, stepping into Miranda's room. It was dark, but moonlight shone in through the curtainless windows. Andrea took a few more steps into the room, but still could not make out the voices. She saw Miranda's shadow moving on the bed, and decided to speak up, lest she scare her generous former boss.
"Miranda? Are you okay?"
"Andrea?" Miranda asked, sitting up in bed. "What are you doing up here? Is everything alright?"
"Yes, I'm fine, but I heard voices, and…" her voice trailed off.
"It's the radio. I'm so sorry," Miranda said, reaching over to turn it off. f
"Oh, it's okay, you could have left it on. I just thought there were burglars in the house or something, you know, I'm like a watchdog down there."
Miranda tried to laugh, but ended up sniffling and wiping her nose in the back of her hand. Andrea knew that Miranda did not have seasonal allergies like the rest of the world, so she could only conclude that Miranda had been crying. "Do you often sleep with the radio on?" Andrea asked, not wanting to repeat her original question, knowing Miranda would not give her a straight answer.
"No, actually. I haven't in years. I just—nevermind, I'm sorry I woke you, Andrea."
"No, I'm a light sleeper—please tell me," Andrea beckoned, moving closer and standing along the edge of Miranda's bed.
"This is going to sound silly," Miranda said, "but I was having a bad dream. Talk radio, especially NPR, can be kind of calming."
"That's not silly, Miranda. Do you want to talk about your dream?"
Andrea moved closer and sat herself down on the edge of Miranda's bed.
"It was nothing, really, I don't know why I get so worked up about my father. He has always disapproved of me, I was never good enough, my choices were never good, my half-brother David was always the best." Miranda quickly said, as if saying it quicker made it less painful. "I dreamt he was stoning me." she said, almost under her breath.
"Oh my, Miranda, I'm sorry," Andrea said, reaching to hold Miranda's hand that was laying on top of her comforter. "I can't even imagine—is there anything I can do?"
Miranda held Andrea's hand and debated her next move. She squeezed her hand and said, "Actually, would you mind staying up here with me?"
Andrea quickly tried to analyze Miranda's words—did she mean 'up here' as in the upstairs, or 'with me' as in here in this room? Opting for the less-awkward situation, she replied, "Sure, Miranda. Which room was the guestroom? I've never been upstairs before."
"No, could you stay here, with me?" Miranda asked again, squeezing Andrea's hand one more time.
"Oh, um, I see." Andrea said, unsure of whether she should accept. She'd been dreaming about Miranda for months, imagining crawling into her bed and having her way with her, but Andrea forced those images out of her mind. She needed to be professional and kind, helping out a former colleague. "Of course I will," she said, realizing she never did answer Miranda's question.
"Thank you." Miranda whispered as she pulled back the covers on the right side of the bed. Andrea walked around and crawled in, grateful she was wearing comfortable, clean clothes.
Under the covers, Miranda reached over and found Andrea's hand, holding it and turning over to face away from the young woman, though drawing their bodies next to each other.
Andrea wasn't sure what to do with her hand, but it was clear that Miranda wanted her arm wrapped around her tonight. She told herself to relax, but was soon inhaling Miranda's scent as she buried her face in Miranda's hair before falling into a sound sleep.
Miranda woke around 6am and was pleased to see a roofing truck outside her home, workers presumably on the roof already. She brewed a pot of coffee and fixed a plate of toast and fruit for her guest, carrying it up to her bedroom and setting the tray down before softly waking Andrea up.
As Miranda brushed Andrea's arm, she saw that smile creep across her face again. "Andrea, sweetheart. It's 7am." She smiled as Andrea slowly blinked her eyes open. "I wasn't sure if you needed to be up to finish your story or not. You're more than welcome to stay and sleep, though."
Andrea technically had nowhere to be, and her deadline for the story was not for another three days. However, she couldn't justify staying in Miranda's bed any longer.
Once Miranda left to return downstairs, Andrea quickly used the bathroom, tied her hair up in a ponytail, and finished the breakfast Miranda prepared, bringing the tray downstairs with her.
"Thank you, Miranda, for your hospitality." Andrea said as she returned the tray to the kitchen counter. Miranda was sitting at the table, reading through a stack of Saturday newspapers.
"Andrea, it is I who should be thanking you, really."
She smiled and turned to pick up her bag and put her boots on. "Um, bye? Maybe I'll see you sometime soon." Andrea said awkwardly.
"Yes, goodbye Andrea." Miranda said, standing up to walk her to the front door. "I would like to…to see you again, if that is okay with you." Miranda said as she held the door open.
Andrea smiled. She wasn't dreaming. "Are you asking me on a date, Miranda?"
Miranda blushed. "Well, I wasn't—hmm. Yes, I suppose I am."
"Well then, I accept." she replied. "I just hope we are more awake and less busy next time."
"Oh, I have a feeling we will be busy, just not with work." Miranda said with a wink as she shut the door behind Andrea. It turns out the leak in her roof was a very, very good thing.