Chapter 3

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Blowing hair out of her eyes, Andy stifled a sigh. Three weeks. Three weeks of hell. It wasn't that she didn't want to learn or wasn't trying. Far from it. From early in the morning until late at night, Andy listened, repeated, asked, and answered. She also weathered verbal abuse the likes of which she could never have imagined.

She arrived at Runway each morning with a smile on her face and hope in her heart. Emily, Miranda's first assistant and the devil incarnate, promptly spewed caustic remarks about her clothes, her hair, her makeup, her weight, all within the first two minutes. In fact, she had quite the gift of throwing pointed barbs at Andy's tender heart in the small amount of time allotted before Miranda arrived. But, nothing Emily said or did could rival the sheer artistry of Miranda's cutting remarks and piercing eyes. Contempt rolled off of the editor, practically drowning Andy each and every day. Except Sunday. She was given that day off to rest. To recover. To wallow in self-pity before giving herself a pep talk, finishing her errands, reviewing and expanding on her notes, and writing preliminary articles on all she had observed and learned while thoughts whirled around her head in a maelstrom of confusion and amazement.

Over the past week Nigel had become nicer. Not that he had stopped insulting Andy whenever it struck him. His snide remarks were quite accomplished. Andy was sure that many of his remarks directed elsewhere were received with clueless smiles, the mindless automatons of Runway not understanding just how he got his jollies by verbally skewering them. No doubt that amused Nigel even more.

Andy, though, easily understood the many ways that he felt she was inferior, naïve, stupid. And she swung back just as artfully. She even made it a habit to think up new insults at night, right before she fell to sleep. It was a way to unwind.

The first time she had verbally sparred with him, his mouth had fallen open in surprise. He had rallied admirably, unfortunately. Now, the slings they threw at each other were for fun, not to hurt or degrade. Andy wished Emily would get with the program. Miranda—well, that was a lost cause. She was the reigning queen, above everyone, and she had earned the right to sneer at everyone and everything, particularly a two-bit wannabe muckraker.

"I want coffee," Miranda said suddenly, breaking the blanket of silence that had settled over the room. Andy had been studying information on the top ten designers while sitting at a small table tucked into the corner of Miranda's office.

Andy looked around but did not see Emily or the junior assistant at their desks. Confused, Andy looked up into glittering eyes. "Um, were you talking to me?"

"Is there someone else here? Are my eyes failing me?" Miranda said acerbically.

"Well...it's just...I'm not your assistant. I am here to learn about fashion. I'm sure Emily or what's her name?" A loaded silence filled the air instead of an answer. "Right, well I'm sure one of them will be happy to get it for you once they are back."

Andy stared at Miranda curiously as the editor's eyes seemed to darken. Miranda's lips pursed, and Andy braced for the slashing words she was sure to receive within the next few seconds, even going so far as to close her eyes and hold on to the arms of the chair. Not hearing anything, Andy opened one eye a few moments later to find an amused smirk aimed at her.

"Six, come with me," Nigel said as he swept into Miranda's office.

Miranda looked over at him, a bored look covering her face. "I need her back here by three. That's all."

Nigel shot a victorious look Andy's way and jerked his head toward the door.

Without a word, Andy hurried out of the office, exhaling in relief. "Where are we going?"

"I thought you could use a little break from Her Majesty. It occurred to me that you might want to see what just came in. Oddly enough, we received several samples that are horrendously too large for the models. The girls would absolutely be swimming in them. But, there may be just enough material to cover you." Nigel delivered a cheeky grin to Andy as she rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Of course, you only get what you can identify."

Groaning, Andy began to mentally list all the designers she had studied over the last two weeks. So many! Dior, Valentino, Chanel, Hermes, Yves Saint Laurent, Louis Vuitton, Oscar de la Renta, Dolce & Gabbana, Balenciaga, Gucci, Coach, Michael Kors, Miu Miu, Jil Sander, Donna Karan, Jean Paul Gaultier, Roberto Cavalli, Stella McCartney, Jason Wu, Donatella Versace, Carolina Herrera, Ralph Lauren, Alexander McQueen, Alexander Wang, Vivienne Westwood...the list was endless and intimidating.

"Ah, buck up, Kid," Nigel said sympathetically. "You'll be surprised at just how much information you have retained. This way."

Following the balding man silently, Andy tried to calm down. Although he had made the bet with Miranda that she would be unable to teach someone fashion, Andy had noticed a softening of his attitude since last week. Perhaps he was recognizing how eager she was to understand the inner workings of fashion. Not because she all of a sudden loved it. Hell no! But she had quite a bit riding on the outcome of this bet.

Now that she knew who Miranda was, had seen her influence, her brilliance, and her detractors, Andy wanted to win the interview and show the world what she had glimpsed. Miranda was more than merely a tough businesswoman. She had made many sacrifices to sit on her throne, and those who should be her staunchest supporters looked for any means possible to remove her from her rightful place.

Andy gasped as they entered the Closet. She had seen it twice before, yet the sheer enormity of it overwhelmed her. Wherever she looked, the most expensive couture and cutting edge fashion were placed with care. Rows and rows of clothes, shoes, hats, purses, scarves, belts—the colors, fabrics, and styles seemed endless. Even Andy, who liked comfortable clothes that made her look good, could easily understand why these expensive, top-of-the-line designs and materials were so coveted.

"Right." Nigel said. He clapped his hands together and looked around. "You identify what I pass to you. Here."

Quickly extending her hands, Andy received a black, lace-back dress that made her breathless. "Dolce," Andy said excitedly.

Nodding, Nigel walked over to shelves full of shoes. He took a pair of black pointy-toes and handed them over.

"Jimmy Choos. Ooh, these are pretty," Andy said, smiling widely. Another pair was handed to her silently with a raised eyebrow. " Manolo Blahnik," Andy cooed. She just smiled at Nigel's chuckle, following him as he walked past several rows of gowns.

"Love that," Nigel said as he passed over a robin-blue leather purse. He pursed his lips while he waited for the name of the designer.

"Um, shoot! I know this. I know this!" Andy moaned, eyes closed tightly as she tried to call forth the name. "Nancy Gonzalez!" she yelled triumphantly, her hand with the purse raised above her head.

"Very good, Six. I thought I had you."

Andy grinned. Six was a nickname he started using at the end of last week. It was in reference to her having only six weeks to learn fashion sense. He liked to tease her that she hadn't a chance of succeeding, but his words lacked any of the vitriol that would normally hurt her. He pulled a few dresses out, shaking his head as he worked his way down a row. "Aha!"

Andy felt her eyes widen as Nigel passed a violet, blue, and multi-colored painterly dress to her. It was beautiful. Andy wanted to change into it immediately.

"Not so fast, Six," Nigel said as he grabbed part of the hanger. "Designer?"

"Narciso Rodriguez," Andy said immediately, her eyes still focused on the dress.

"Right. Well, I have to admit, I am impressed. Now, Chanel. You're in desperate need of Chanel. Darling, shall we? We have to get you back to our Queen soon."

"Oh, yeah. Yes. I'm right behind you," Andy said brightly. She thought about the fact that the majority of items she now held were accessories instead of clothes that would not fit the models. Nigel really could be sweet—in a snarky, indirect way, of course.

Two dresses, one skirt, three pairs of slacks, and five blouses later, Nigel stopped before a row of shelves and reverently lifted a pair of ebony leather thigh-high Chanel boots. His eyes flitted to Andy's legs, and she instinctually straightened up, standing taller as she held her breath in anticipation. When he handed them to her with a sigh, Andy whooped with joy.

"Okay, Princess, keep it down. Let's bring everything to my office, and you can get them before you leave tonight," Nigel said. They walked in companionable silence, and Andy carefully placed her treasures on a side table.

"Don't worry, it will all still be there in a few hours." He folded his arms and tapped his lips with a finger. "You know, I believe La Priestly has a dinner meeting with Irv Ravitz tonight. Have you met him, yet?"

"No. Who is he?"

"The CEO of Elias-Clarke and Miranda's boss. He's been trying to get rid of her for years. Nearly did a few months ago during Paris Fashion Week. He has no vision," Nigel said as he shook his head. "Anyway, come here once she leaves for the dinner, and I'll give you a lift home. No sense letting such treasure touch the inside of a dirty taxi."

Chuckling, Andy said, "Actually, I take the subway." She laughed at how aghast he looked, hand raised to his heart like some Victorian heroine.

"Well then, It's settled. I forbid you to go anywhere near that filthy moving sardine can with these exquisite pieces," Nigel declared. "Now, take these, and let's get to the Beauty Department. They'll need lots of time, and God help us if I return you late."

Automatically, Andy took the garments and boots as she followed Nigel. She couldn't understand why Nigel was being so nice to her, but she had no intention of looking a gift horse in the mouth. She was grateful.

An hour and a half later, Andy looked into the mirror, amazed. Her haircut, the makeup, the clothes, the Chanel boots...she felt sexy and confident. Is that what fashion could do?

"You look lovely. Now, shoo. I have work to do," Nigel said as he leaned against the doorjamb. They grinned at each other before Nigel extended his arm and swept it outward gallantly. As Andy passed him, she murmured, "Thank you," turning her head back to deliver a parting smile before scampering back to Miranda.

As soon as she entered the inner office, Miranda looked up curiously. Andy smiled brightly in response, ignoring the raised eyebrows. She felt her body heat up as that signature focused look slowly ran over her body. She held her breath. This wasn't the automatic once-over she received each morning when she first arrived at Runway. No, Miranda's stare was much more intimate, as if she was only just recognizing that Andy was a living, breathing woman. A faint smile flittered over Miranda's beautiful face briefly before their eyes reconnected.

"Are those the—"Andy heard from the doorway. She turned and saw Emily standing as if frozen.

"Chanel boots?" Andy finished. "Yes." She smiled. A small clearing of the throat redirected their attention to Miranda.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, Miranda. Here's your coffee," Emily said as she rushed forward to place it on the desk.

"Where is Andrea's coffee?" Miranda asked, frost dripping off the words.

Eyebrows flying up, Andy stuttered, "Oh, no. When Emily asked, I told her I only wanted water. No caffeine needed here," Andy tittered nervously. Of course, she hadn't said any such thing, but then Miranda had never actually voiced the offer for her to have coffee, either.

"I'll go get the water," Emily said and left the office. Andy's eyes skittered against Miranda's penetrating stare, pausing as heat crawled up her neck and suffused her face. She blinked several times in surprise as she watched a smirk lift Miranda's lips. Emily hurried in and placed a glass filled with cold water on the desk. Then she stood at attention, her gaze focused on the ground.

"That's all," Miranda sniffed. She reached out and lifted her coffee cup to her lips, eyelids fluttering closed as she enjoyed the first sip.

Feeling the urge to lift the glass of water to her forehead, Andy shifted uneasily on her feet. Her eyes remained riveted to the provocative picture of Miranda drinking her coffee in such a sensual manner that Andy felt the need to light up a cigarette. And she didn't smoke.

Andy felt her eyes widen as eyelids lifted slowly and blue eyes immobilized her as surely as if two brawny arms had just clamped down on her shoulders.

"I have a dinner to attend tonight. Before then, however, I thought we might look at the Book, and I can explain to you the vision, the layouts, the colors, all the details that make a successful issue. Pull that chair over."

Doing as instructed, Andy repositioned one of the visitor's chairs next to Miranda and sat to her right, trying not to hyperventilate as the editor's distinctive scent flirted with her senses. She could do this. She just needed to concentrate.

Remembering her water, Andy jumped up, retrieved it, and sat down. Looking around, she realized she didn't have any place to set it. She did not want it too close to the Book or her elbow. She drank half of it, hopped up, and set it back in its original place before sitting down again. Realizing her hand was wet from the sweating glass, she blinked at it while trying to figure out what to do. Her natural response was to wipe it against her skirt. A soft clearing of the throat stopped her, though. Andy looked up to see Miranda with her head cocked and an eyebrow raised, staring at her.

"Are you quite done, Andrea?"

"Oh! Yes. Yes. Sorry."

"Hmm."

Andy tried not to squirm while Miranda continued to stare at her, her eyes sparkling and lips slightly pursed. "Don't even think about wiping your hand on that skirt," she said in a low voice.

"I, I wasn't!" Andy denied strongly, trying hard to push away feelings of embarrassment and guilt. She felt like she had been caught trying to steal the last cookie from the cookie jar. Or the latest pair of Fendi sunglasses from Miranda's desk. She bit down on her lower lip and looked up through her eyelashes at the formidable woman, lifting up her chin defiantly when she saw that signature smirk return to Miranda's face. She nearly slumped in relief when Miranda turned her attention to the Book. Instead, she sat stiffly, spine straight and hands to her sides as she soaked up every word the editor uttered.

Completely enthralled by the cadence of the alluring woman's voice, Andy felt her body relax little by little. Leaning closer to see what Miranda was pointing to while she voiced her despair over how it clashed with the accessories being showcased on the page, Andy crossed her legs, attempting to ignore how the boot leather creaked. She felt herself blush when Miranda stopped mid-sentence and turned her head toward her. After a pregnant pause, Miranda began speaking again, but Andy was too distracted by the view of the older woman's cleavage and how it formed an enticing V that Andy's eyes wanted to follow to process the words.

"Andrea!"

Jolting out of her trance, Andy sat back as she wrung her hands together, hoping that Miranda had not seen where her eyes had wandered. "Yes?"

"Are you deaf as well as dull-witted, now? Or have you not been paying attention?" Miranda said harshly. She sighed in exasperation as she pointed to the page. "Let's see whether you have learned anything or if you have wasted my time completely. Tell me what is wrong with this page."

Fear of failure clawing at her throat, Andy leaned in and stared at the pages in question. She noticed it looked similar to some of the earlier pages, but Miranda had not yet made any changes to this one. The colors were bold—reds and greens splashed in the background while models wore black formalwear. The designer's name was on the bottom in gold.

"Something with the font. It's not, it looks, um..." Andy wanted to say that it looked juvenile, two-dimensional. "The designer's name doesn't pop."

"Hmm. And?"

Andy's triumph was short-lived. And? She had no idea. If she guessed wrong, Miranda would become angry at her.

"Um, the...the..." she shook her head in bewilderment.

"Do you mean to sit there, stuttering like a little girl while proving to me that you haven't heard a word I've said? Weren't you the editor-in-chief at Northwestern? How can you know nothing about product positioning or the juxtaposition between the people and the landscape?"

"Well, yes I was the editor, but it was not in color, and most advertising was without pictures. When there was a picture, it was just of a person or two. No backgrounds, no products, nothing like that."

Shaking her head in despair, Miranda said, "I don't know why I bother. We have less than three weeks, and you have learned virtually nothing. Your work ethic is simply deplorable. Haven't I devoted countless hours to teaching you how to walk, talk, and dress? Haven't I introduced you to some of the most impressive designers and their creations? Haven't I opened up my world to you with the hope that you would be willing to learn? Hope. I live on it. But you, you don't care. You aren't even trying, Andrea. I am extremely disappointed." Miranda rose and slammed the Book closed.

"But, Miranda! I am trying! You have been part of this industry for what, twenty, twenty-five years? I have been in it for three weeks! How can you expect me to remember everything? The sheer enormity of the material and the people involved—I'm not just learning the names of a dozen designers and their clothes. I'm doing the best I can," Andy responded, wanting Miranda to acknowledge how much she had been doing, how hard she had been trying, but that it was so, so much.

"Your best falls far short. No wonder you work for that shoddy rag as a cub reporter. Look at you," Miranda raged in a low voice, "all dressed up in expensive couture, yet you probably have no idea why those clothes and accessories were paired together. You may make a pretty doll, Andrea, fat as you are, but you are as brainless as a scarecrow and just as hopeless to teach."

"Hey! You don't get the right to talk to me like that!" Andy said as she jumped up from her chair. She glared at Miranda. "You are the one who made that bet, not me. I never pretended to know anything about fashion, and you have made it abundantly clear of your disdain for such ignorance. But that doesn't mean I am stupid. And, even with your deplorable way of treating me," Andy mimicked the way Miranda had massaged the word moments ago, "I have sucked it up, taken your abuse, and kept trying, although I am beginning to fear I might be brainless for putting up with your crap!"

Andy noticed how Miranda was flushed, her hands balled into fists, and her body slightly bent as if she were contemplating throwing a punch, but Andy was so worked up by all that she had experienced over the last three weeks that she held nothing back. "As for me being fat—I am no bigger than you, and I've never had anyone complain about my body, so you'd better watch your mouth!"

Suddenly, Andy was done with her tirade, and she glowered defiantly at Miranda, waiting to be verbally eviscerated and thrown out.

"Coat. Bag." Miranda demanded, her voice so filled with venom that Andy felt her heart shake. Without another word, Miranda stormed out. "With me," Andy heard her say to Emily. The other assistant had already left for the day.

Andy watched her leave, astounded. Did I just chase her out of her own office? Anger pulsed through her body. It was so unfair! Remembering some of Miranda's insults, Andy began to tremble. Raising her fist, Andy shouted to the empty office, "Just you wait, Miranda Priestly! Just you wait! You'll be sorry, but your tears will be too late! People hate you; they'll love me. Will I care? Don't be funny! Just you wait, Miranda Priestly! Just you wait!"

Stomping to the windows, Andy looked down, watching as Miranda regally walked out the door, Emily's simpering form three paces behind the editor with head bowed obsequiously as they made their way to the town car. Gritting her teeth, Andy muttered, "Just you wait, Miranda Priestly, I'll show you! Just you wait, you think you're so smart, but you're a fool. I'll be famous for my writing, you're just famous for your whining. Just you wait, Miranda Priestly! Just you wait!" Nodding so hard she nearly lost her balance, Andy uncrossed her arms and left the office, eager to find Nigel and get away from all the reminders of Miranda's might.