Day 2: Tuesday

David Bowie's "Life on Mars" started the day quite fittingly. Without slowing down, Miranda dropped her coat on Emily and her phone in Andrea's waiting hand. When a few minutes later Andrea brought back the cell, together with the coffee she was somewhat obsessively sniffing at, Stephan was already on the other side of the line. The moment he heard her voice, he started screaming quite incomprehensibly. She did manage to discern the words car and locked in since yesterday before she hung up.

She was finally settling to work, when Nigel came in looking bewildered and uncommonly messed up. He handed her the bundle of photos.

"What happened to you?" Miranda said, scandalized. The world was truly coming to an end if Nigel's tie was awry.

"Would you believe, Giselle landed one on me."

"What? A brick?"

"A kiss. Tongue included." Nigel made a face. "And the other models were acting peculiarly as well."

"Like what?" Miranda asked crinkling her nose. He smelled funny.

"Predatory." He shuddered.

"It is a dangerous world out there," Miranda said, agreeing wholeheartedly.


Much later, when Andrea came in with the lunch tray, Miranda was studiously checking Nigel's set of photos. Almost unconsciously, she compared Andrea with the images of understated, distant elegance spread all over her table.

While she had acquired a certain level of elegance during past year, there was nothing distant about Andrea. There was nothing understated about her either. She was all about a stark contrasts: thick dark mane and pale, beautiful face; that luscious, sinful bottom lip she was nibbling at endearingly, while concentrating on dispersing parsley on the steak; the midnight blue blouse, which oh, so innocently hinted at her lacy bra, when she leaned in like that.

Innocence and sin in one perfect package.

She'd use it for the Christmas issue theme, if only there were one single model that could pull it off.

Andrea's hand trembled, her breath quickened and Miranda glanced up. The young woman was throwing quick glances her way, obviously aware of Miranda's perusal. A blush was forming on her cheeks, spreading down her neck. Miranda zoomed on the elegant line of her throat. Andrea swallowed, hard. It was fascinating, how parts of Andrea responded to her look. Experimentally, Miranda slid her eyes lower, to where the black lace was peaking out, and blinked. All of a sudden, the tiny pearly buttons on Andrea's blouse were parting like the Red sea.

Hallelujah.

Then Andrea looked down, squeaked and ran.


To her utter revulsion, Miranda was turning into an eavesdropper. Well, how else was she supposed to find out what was going on in her own office. Andrea was studiously avoiding her ever since the lunch incident, Emily was emitting little terrified whines every other minute and Nigel, her calm confidante, was running around like a headless chicken, a throng of women hot on his heels.

Thus, the eavesdropping.

For example, there was the conversation that unfortunately confirmed Jen's suspicions.

"Emily, are you alright?" She heard Andrea ask worriedly after another moan from the other side of the room.

Miranda heard Emily gulp and whisper. "Andy. I see dead people."

"O-kay." Andrea said cautiously. Then, bless the levelheaded girl, she asked, "Are they dead or just really, really thin? Because there are a couple of girls around, who-"

"Oh, forget it." Emily sniffed and walked out.

Also, a moment later, the one that finally explained the mystifying comment from the previous night…

"A website on food induced psychological disorders?" Nigel was saying in the outer office. "Why are you reading that? Emily is beyond help."

"Nate is acting strangely," Andrea said, sounding perplexed.

"Nate, the naked chef?" Of course, a cook. That insignificant other in Andrea's life.

"He thinks peas are communing with him. Apparently, yesterday they spelled out 'go away' on the plate he was arranging." Miranda barely managed to choke a snort. She didn't want to encourage Jen, though. At least, she smiled evilly, not too much.

There was a silence, and then Nigel casually said, "I know a good shrink."

"Nigel! I'm supposed to be supportive." There was a thud, almost as if Andrea was hitting her head on the desk. "After the whole Paris deal, we are kind of on thin ice. You know, trying very hard to be understanding and, well, supportive."

"Is it working?"

"Honestly? I feel like we're supporting each other to the slow death by boredom." Andrea's sigh sounded frustrated. Good. The little twat should not even be in the picture.

"Imagine that. And you used to be such an intriguing couple," Nigel said in bored tone.

After a moment of silence, during which she was probably making a face at Nigel, Andrea asked, "Is that new cologne? You smell funny."

"Are you inexplicably attracted to me?"

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just women are behaving oddly lately… So, you haven't noticed anything strange around the office?"

"Um."

"Six? Are you blushing?"

Blushing herself, Miranda thought she heard Andrea mumbling something about strange dreams and loose buttons. She shook herself. This had to stop. "Andrea," she called. "Confirm my dinner with Martin Bartolow."

It was all Jen's fault, putting these ideas into her head. She was not interested in Andrea. Andrea was not interested in her. Even if Andrea's voice did sound a bit petulant, confirming her date.

Miranda was going to a perfectly acceptable, heterosexual date with a perfectly acceptable, gorgeous man. And she was going to enjoy herself. Even if it killed her.

Martin was an ex-ballet dancer turned executive. He was the perfect bland of both words – a distinguished air of power and success contained in a beautifully shaped body that held itself with an ingrained elegance. The man was a pleasure to look at, poetry in motion.

He appealed to Miranda's esthetic senses.

Therefore, it was truly painful to, all of a sudden, watch him spill his wine, drop the fork, pull the tablecloth while straightening up, and flip a plate of cream zucchini soup in his lap. When he finally cleaned himself up and ordered a supposedly safe Caesar salad, he ended up with a green leaf between his teeth and croutons tangled in his goatee.

And the only thought rushing thorough Miranda's mind was how fun it would have been to share this meal with Andrea. And remove the crumbles from Andrea's cleavage.

Damn the poltergeist.