The story was a one day wonder in the frenetically paced world of Manhattan media. Girl kills boyfriend in lover's quarrel. Welcome to the city, kiddo. The headlines blared while Miranda Priestly and her entourage were in Europe for the whirlwind of shows and parties that began in New York, sojourned in Milan and London with a quick dash to Berlin and concluded in Paris. It was the autumn spectacle for the coming summer season - there were trends to be identified, derivative statements to be scorned, daring breaks with expectation to be encouraged and colleagues to knife in the back. "Emily, do keep up," was Miranda's daily if not hourly injunction.
"I love my job, I love my job, I love my job," was Emily's response. Andy's former colleagues could be forgiven for missing the headlines about her arrest, the below the fold stories about the bail hearing or the "city section" paragraphs about the beginning of the trial some months later. There were important matters to attend to. Miranda, however, would never forgive herself for being so late to discover the catastrophic mess in which Andréa had found herself.
It was the twins who discovered and then broke the news to Miranda. The three were at breakfast, as they had ever day since Miranda's return to New York from the fabled Paris Fashion show where Andy had abandoned Miranda to the paparazzi and her company phone to a fountain. The experience had shaken Miranda in away that receipt of Steven's divorce papers via fax, Irv's plan to dethrone her at a lunch she herself was hosting or the necessary betrayal of Nigel that thwarting Irv required had not. Unless she wanted to end her life as she had the week, alone and unloved - she needed to attend to the parts of her life that weren't Runway.
There were some changes after Paris. Always breakfast with the girls if they were with her. Dinner home three nights a week no matter what. Attendance at weekend sporting events that Miranda felt required her to master the Byzantine rules of girls' lacrosse. She delegated decisions to Nigel, finally giving him the scope of autonomy that he deserved and had earned. She ceased to torture Emily and began to mentor her, explaining the logic of important decisions. The unfortunate second assistants were not so fortunate. She refused to learn their names and they rarely lasted more than a few months. Every morning when she hurled her bag and coat on Andréa's desk, she was startled to see a face other than Andréa's, eyes that were not gentle, chocolate pools of humor and grace, a form that while it conformed to the almost emaciated standard of the clackers, did not afford the shapely, pleasing curves that Andréa's had. "Three years, Miranda. Get a grip," she'd snarl to herself before barking out commands to the benighted, anonymous second assistant.
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"Oh my God." Caroline shrieked as she turned the page of the New York Post to Page 6.
"Jeez, Caroline, volume," Cassidy protested, looking up from her cereal bowl. Cassidy was not a morning person.
"Hmmm, yes Caroline," Miranda said absently as she turned the page of the style section of the New York Times.
"Mom," it's Andy! She's on trial?"
"Gimme that," commanded Cassidy as she grabbed the paper from Caroline's hands.
"Holy shit." she exclaimed as she read the headline.
"Cassidy, language," Miranda objected. "What are you talking about?"
"Is the Jailed Journo's Jig Up? Closing Arguments in Murder Trial of Andy Sachs Start Today." Cassidy recited. "Here, Mom. Read it," she said thrusting the paper on top of Miranda's.
Andy Sachs, former star reporter for the Daily Mirror's murder trial is coming to a a rather speedy end. Yesterday, Justice Prescott Abbot Hill declared the evidentiary record closed and informed both the prosecutor and defense attorney that today would be the only day provided for closing arguments. Latoya Vance, the deputy district attorney for Manhattan, commented on leaving the courtroom. "This isn't a complicated case. Our evidence is in. We'll simply remind the jury of the elements required to convict a person of first degree homicide and the ample evidence we have provided for each element of the charge. Andy Sachs murdered Nate Cooper in cold blood and she will soon pay the price for her crime.' Calls to the Public Defender's Office were not responded to in time for inclusion for this article's publication.
"First degree homicide? Public Defender? What is going on here? Where's her family?" Miranda was shocked. She was not a woman easily shocked. Who was this Nate Cooper?
Cassidy looked earnestly at her mother. "You don't think she did it, do you?" Miranda snapped to attention. "No. Of course not," she said firmly. If there were anyone in this world that Andrea would have tried to murder, it would have been Miranda. And despite great and prolonged provocation, she had not. "There must have been some terrible mistake."
"Be real, Cass," Caroline snorted. "She would never have murdered Nate. She already broke up with him before Paris. Nate Cooper, Miranda decided, must be the young man she had heard Emily refer to as 'cook boy' refer to on occasion. "Before Paris" and "After Paris" were the words that the denizens of Miranda's world used to mark historical epochs. There was no use denying it. Miranda had changed in manner if not demeanor after Paris. Cassidy meant that Nate and Andréa had ended their relationship before the disastrous Paris Fashion week, three years before. "I hadn't known." she said quietly.
"You wouldn't have, Mom." Caroline said in tone that was meant to be reassuring. "You never know anything about the lives of your assistants. " It was true, Miranda realized. She wondered if the distance allowed her to demand things of her employees that she would never have dreamed of if she'd known the mundane details of their lives.
"Can you fix this, Mom?" Cassidy asked earnestly. Andy was great. She shouldn't be doing time for someone else's crime." The kitchen was silent for a few long moments. The girls studied their mother's face, which betrayed nothing, as she sat deep in thought.
"You are absolutely right, Bobbsey." Cassidy rolled her eyes.
"Mom, please. I'm not a baby." Miranda favored her with a rueful smile.
"Darling, your impending adolescence is something about which I employ my considerable powers of denial as frequently as possible. Out of respect for your emerging personhood, I shall endeavor to remember to eschew affectionate nicknames for you if you endeavor to regard my failures with a degree of charity."
"Mom," Caroline practically shouted. "Enough with the flowery prose. Can you save Andy." Miranda turned to look at her. Caroline's face was red with anxiety and frustration. Miranda's own was serious.
"I don't know, Caroline, but I shall try. She looked around the kitchen. "Cara," she called and was soon greeted by the Priestly's housekeeper cum cook.
"Yes, Miranda?" Cara inquired.
"I don't know if or when I'll be back for dinner tonight." Miranda informed her. "I don't know if I'll return home alone or have guests. Nor do I know whether they'll want to eat. I may, indeed I hope, to be accompanied by a guest who will be staying with us indefinitely. If not today than very soon. As the details of the day grow certain I have Emily contact you with the information."
"Of course, Miranda." This burst of non-information really wasn't necessary. Cara had kept Miranda's house since the girls were infants. She had seen her through promotions, divorces, affairs and more of Irv's annoying shenanigans than anyone should be required to endure. She was prepared for any domestic complication Miranda might wish to suddenly thrust upon her.
"Girls, are you done here?" Cara asked.
"Yes." Miranda answered for them. "Off you go, we don't have time to dawdle today." The girls nodded enthusiastic agreement, ran to the dishwasher to deposit their bowls and spoons and then thundered up the stairs. Miranda contemplated reprimanding their unladylike noise and then chuckled. She too was about to thunder.
She picked up her cell phone and hit the second number in her speed dial. "Emily. Cancel my day. Be advised you may need to cancel tomorrow as well. Reschedule Donatella for next week. Call McCloud and tell him I will need to speak with him at 6:00pm this evening. Find out in what courtroom the State vs. Sachs trial is being held. Text that information to Roy. Text me the time the trial begins today and meet me there 15 minutes beforehand. Tell the relevant people that all decisions today and tomorrow will be made by Nigel. Tell what's her name to pick up the shirts I wanted from Tom Ford and some organic biscuits for Patricia at that new doggie boutique I like. And tell Nigel that some idiot has charged Andréa Sachs with murder and that we are going to do something to fix that."
"Yes, Miranda," Emily said evenly. "Anything else?"
"No," Miranda said, "that's all." She ended the call with no little admiration for Emily's self-restraint. Perhaps it was time for the chick to spread her wings.