Chapter 3
What Andrea had missed, however, was a little tiny piece of paper, a left over receipt, that had dropped right next to the twenty. It looked like trash, something that happened to fall out of Miranda's purse. But for some reason Andrea felt compelled to reach out and grab it. Perhaps it was a million dollar receipt for some piece of fashion, such as a necklace or scarf from some designer in a foreign country. What she was not expecting as she unfolded it, however, was to see Miranda's very familiar handwriting.
What shocked her even more was when the note in question stated;
Call me no later than 11pm. You know my number, Andrea.
She couldn't even begin to understand what it meant or why it had been left, or if it was even intended for her. Well of course it had to be, it had her name on it.
It dawned on her then that while she had slipped away to the bathroom to collect herself, Miranda had done her own collecting. Or considering.
But what did it mean? Why would she want her to call her? Especially after what she had just said.
They had nothing to say to one another; nothing that Andrea could possibly fathom at the moment anyway.
So why then this strange note? And on a receipt for Starbucks no less. Had Miranda been insinuating that she also bring her her piping hot latte later that evening?
This was madness. She was not about to call her former boss. Absolutely not. No way.
But as she got up and began to exit, leaving the piece of paper on the table to be tossed out with the uneaten food, she for some reason couldn't get any further than the door. With a disgusted grunt, she turned back to the table, snatched up the receipt and placed it deep inside her purse.
Miranda still had her ball-and-chained.
Miranda wasn't good at asking for what she wanted. At least not directly. She had a way of getting things done that did not require her to actually say what she wanted. And it was this indirect approach that had gotten her nowhere in her past relationships.
Though she had been fond of her most recent husband, even loved him through his flaws and the way he would yell at her at night for being late, she had locked him out by barring direct conversation. She partially blamed herself for the dissolved marriage. She hadn't been a very good wife; not that she, Miranda Priestly, would stoop so low as to actually fulfill all of the normal wifely duties.
But she hadn't let him in.
Though thoughts of Stephen were few and far between, and had been hitting her sporadically ever since the divorce had been finalized, she couldn't help but wonder if in her current relationship endeavors she would be able to let her guard down enough to let the other person in.
But by no means did she want to have to beg for forgiveness for being late for dinner, as she had with Stephen, or make up for missing breakfast by performing strange sexual acts as she had done for her second husband, Henry. It was humiliating what she had gone through behind closed doors.
She decided that she deserved better. She was a strong business woman, who knew what she wanted. She didn't need a man to fulfill her, and as that had been her motto ever since her first divorce, she wondered if recently she'd only been getting involved because of her daughters, who needed a father figure. Lord only knew that their real father could hardly be considered a father.
He was so busy with his own corporation and assortment of young women, that there was little time for his girls. Miranda had begun making up excuses for his absence on weekends he was supposed to take the twins. She hated lying to them about why their father wasn't coming to get them, but she didn't know what else to do. If they knew the truth, that he just didn't have the time or the want to see them, would they ever forgive her? She hoped that their lack of relationship with their father would not come back to haunt them in the future. She just wished she could find someone who would care for them as much as she did, so that they had a second parent figure.
Stephen, surprisingly, had been good with the girls. He would take them places on his off weekends, giving them the much needed father to daughter attention. But, now that he was gone, Miranda didn't know what to do for her two girls. And without realizing it, ever since the divorce, Miranda had been happy to spend her free time during weekends with her daughters. She felt like holding them closer when she tucked them in at night, perhaps doubling her love for them so that they wouldn't feel that heartache of losing so many father figures.
However, weekends, when there wasn't work, she wasn't sure how to handle herself. She, deep down, felt more alone now than she had ever felt before in her life. Whoever said it was lonely at the top must have really known what they were talking about.
And perhaps it was this momentary weakness – for that's what she saw it as, a weakness- that she had stooped so low as to leave that crumpled receipt on the table. Left it for Andrea to discover and muse over. She almost hoped the young woman would miss it, not notice the crumpled receipt that probably looked like trash. And just maybe she wouldn't call, as she had instructed her to do, and then Miranda wouldn't do what she was about to do.
As Miranda sat in her study in her New York townhouse, looking over "the book" that had just been delivered to her, she realized she'd been focused on one page for the last thirty minutes. She had been reading the page over and over without really reading the words.
She was losing her focus. What in the world was she doing? She was the editor-in-chief. She didn't have time to dawdle.
She let her eyes glance over at the clock that sat on her desk. It was almost 11:00 pm. She had specifically instructed Andrea to call her before 11:00. What was the girl thinking? Why wasn't she calling?
No, no…why did Miranda care if she called or not? Didn't she want Andrea to miss the piece of paper so that she wouldn't call?
"Fuck," Miranda exhaled; completely annoyed that she was letting her mind wonder so far away from what she needed to focus on…
Andrea was wrought with nerves, completely anxious. She had no idea what to do. If she called she knew she would get roped back in to the tornado that was Miranda. She would rip through her life; use her like a pawn in a chess game. Or perhaps this was something entirely different. Andrea couldn't quite decide.
She sat on her worn couch; phone in hand, Miranda's number already dialed.
She just couldn't bring herself to press send.
Her finger hovered over the button, her eyes focused on the clock.
It was five minutes past 11:00. She was late, which made actually calling Miranda even more frightening. She knew she would get yelled at for calling too late.
But at the same time she was curious. Curious as to why Miranda had left the note so unsophisticatedly on a receipt. It had to mean more than what Miranda was letting on. That was just how Miranda was. If it meant something to her, she wouldn't make a big deal out of it.
Andrea sighed; she didn't know what to do.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. She thought as she brought the phone up to hit her forehead lightly. She should have just left the receipt on the table where she'd found it.
But suddenly she heard the phone ringing. It was ringing. She had hit send. "Shit." She gasped, not sure what to do with the phone. She held it away from her face, just staring at it, but when the line suddenly sounded as if someone had picked up, she frantically placed the phone to her ear, feeling like she had forgotten how to use said phone.
"You're ten minutes late," Miranda's voice hissed.
"I know…I uh..sorr…"
"I expected more from you Andrea." Miranda cut her off before she could apologize.
"What do you want from me, Miranda?" Andrea sighed, unable to stop her leg from bouncing up and down. She half expected Miranda to reprimand her for her behavior that day in the restaurant. She had been far from civil.
The other end of the line went silent for a moment. Andrea began to wonder if they had been disconnected after the silence extended on for a longer period of time than it should have.
"I know what you were trying to do today." Miranda's voice finally was heard on the other end. "Hundreds of girls would love to do the same, I'm quite sure. But I've never had someone actually succeed in doing it."
"Miranda, I didn't mean…"
"And furthermore, your writing is weak."
"What?" Andrea had no idea Miranda had even been following the mindless articles she'd been producing daily for The Mirror.
"It's trite in comparison to those articles you brought me to read on your first day." Miranda went on, ignoring her question.
"I didn't even know you read th…"
"I did, Andrea."
"Well what are you saying? I shouldn't write?"
Andrea could hear Miranda clicking her tongue. "You're not listening."
"What am I not hearing, Miranda?"
"There's a conference in Chicago next weekend. You're going."
"What? What about my…"
"You don't work weekends, remember?"
"But I have deadlines…"
"Your boss doesn't stick to deadlines, now does he?"
Andrea was speechless. She had no idea why Miranda was doing this for her and she was afraid to ask.
"Are you…?"
"Yes." Miranda quickly answered. "A car will arrive to pick you up at seven on Friday."
"But I…"
"No, no excuses." Miranda breezily exhaled. "That's all."
And with that the phone on the other end went dead. Miranda had hung up.
Andrea couldn't believe it. She was still in shock. The phone slipped out of her hand and dropped to the ground. She could not believe what had just happened.
And suddenly she was glad she had called. A conference, compliments of Miranda Priestly herself. Wow. Just wow. What had she done right?
TBC...
