Miranda smoothed her hands over her dress. She was wearing the black bodycon dress again, this time with a different necklace and wrap. She hoped the woman would be waiting for her in the lobby, because after everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours, the last thing she wanted was to run into someone she knew.
Sure enough, when she exited on the first floor, Andrea was standing and waiting. Her lips were slightly pursed, and she was most definitely not smiling, though Miranda couldn't quite identify the emotion. She tilted her head towards the doorway, where she led Miranda without saying a word. The young woman opened the car door, and once Miranda was safely inside, she ran around to the other side and climbed in herself.
Miranda watched the young woman carefully. She was wearing a pair of black, high-waisted pants with an emerald silk one-shoulder blouse. She looked stunning, but Miranda resisted the urge to say so. That wouldn't be the best way to begin their friendship, if there was anything to begin at all.
They rode in silence the entire way to the restaurant. Miranda's heart was racing and she could hardly still in the car. It certainly didn't help that she had an espresso before leaving the hotel. When the car pulled up to the restaurant, she exited on her own and walked in, with Andrea trailing behind. Inside, they were led to a private corner of the dining room.
"Thank you for joining me," Andrea said, breaking the silence. "I was worried you had changed your mind."
Miranda frowned and shook her head. "It is I who was worried about you changing your mind," she said, looking around. "Actually, I would like to explain something first—if I may?" When the younger woman nodded, she took a sip of her water before continuing. "I didn't know that James had already promised the job to Nigel. Irv was planning to have Jacqueline replace me, and that's when I suggested her for the Holt role."
"Even though you had put Nigel up for it already?" Andrea asked, folding her arms across her chest.
"Well, that's true. I did. I encouraged him to meet with James and Massimo, and I put a good word in. That was almost four months ago. I talked to Massimo yesterday about Jacqueline. He went to Irv, insisted that he have Jacqueline, and, well, you know the rest."
"B-but why did Nigel think—"
"That he was getting it? James must have said something to him earlier in the week. I believe it was the plan up until the past forty-eight hours. James knew last night, but my guess is that he was just letting me take the sword on that one."
"Does Nigel know all this?"
"He does now. I spoke with him on the way back from the showing," Miranda said. "I hope you know that I do have a conscience—even I am not that cruel."
Andrea shrugged. "Like that's stopped you before."
"Listen to me," Miranda said, reaching for her hands across the table. She managed to grab the woman's wrists and hold them tightly. "You must not purport to know me, Andrea. I have many regrets in this lifetime, but the sacrifices I have made for this magazine, and for my own career—I would do again if needed. Do you understand? After my girls, it's my magazine. There isn't much I wouldn't do to protect it."
Andrea twisted her wrists free and sat back against the booth. "I don't understand why you're telling me this," she said quietly. "Why are you trying to convince me that you're so bad?"
"I can see it in your eyes. You are disappointed in me. Because you've caught me with my guard down on more than one occasion, you think I'm…I don't know, some sort of human being. I am not. Thinking that I am will only lead you to further disappointment." She sighed and took a drink of water. "I should go."
Andrea reached one hand across the table and gently squeezed Miranda's fingers, keeping her in place. "I was sad for Nigel, but not disappointed with you. You're right—I don't know you. But I want to. That is why we're here, after all…isn't it?"
Miranda was stunned. "Andrea, I will only cause you pain and bitterness."
"You can't scare me away," Andrea said, squeezing her hand once more before letting go. "I'm going to use the restroom. Order something French for me," she said, smiling before she stepped away from the table.
The editor stared off into the darkness as the woman walked away. She knew that this would be the time to slip out quietly if she wanted to, but there was something so sincere about the young woman's words. Perhaps, Miranda thought, she was telling the truth. Perhaps this would work.
Just then, Miranda's phone buzzed with a text: I'll be back to the table in five minutes. I hope you'll still be there.
The editor smiled and waived the server over, ordering them a few items off the menu and a bottle of wine.
When the young woman returned, she smiled, clearly relieved to see the editor still sitting there. Miranda pushed a glass of wine across the table to where the young woman was sitting. "What do you say we change the subject? We have a little over an hour, then I have to make a call," she said. "Ask me anything you'd like."
Andrea took a drink of the wine and set the glass back on the table. "Okay. If there were no repercussions or other time constraints, what is one thing you wish you could do more of?"
"Oh, my," Miranda said, leaning back against the wall of the booth. She grinned and shook her head. "You'll never let me live this down if I tell you," she said.
Andrea smiled. "What happens at dinner stays at dinner."
"I wish I could spend more time reading," she said, reaching for her glass of wine. The smile that graced her dinner companion's lips was the most beautiful thing she'd seen in a long time.
"Do you have a favorite book?" Andrea asked.
"Frankenstein," she said without hesitation. "Yours?"
"The Sun Also Rises. Hemingway," Andrea replied. "I would have never guessed you were a closet bookworm," she added.
"I'll have to show you my library someday. It's on the top floor of the townhouse, and it's mostly storage for the girls' old toys, but I think you would appreciate it," she said, reaching for another sip of her wine. "There's this wonderful seat by the window, and in the afternoons, there is just the most perfect light coming through the windows, warming the entire room," she said. "I actually haven't been up there in years."
"I would love to see it someday—maybe even help you clear it out. I know you don't have much time to read, but perhaps you could review the book up there. Or the girls could do their homework there."
Miranda nodded and took a sip of her wine. "Andrea, what is your biggest fear?"
"Failure," she said quickly.
Miranda chuckled. "That sounds like me. Let me guess, perfectionism runs deep?"
"Yeah. I guess I just don't want to disappoint anyone…like, ever," she said. "Except that it's been happening a lot lately."
"Sweetheart, you are incredibly hard on yourself," Miranda said. "Even your worst effort is probably better than most people's best. You know that, right? You have to give yourself a break."
Andrea shook her head. "Don't—stop saying that. Please."
Miranda pursed her lips together in a frown. It wasn't the kind of frown she'd use to tell a designer she hated his collection, but rather an empathetic frown. "Do you know why I've always loved Frankenstein so much? There are two reasons, really. Have you read it?"
Andrea looked up and nodded.
"First is the obvious motto that just because you can do something doesn't mean you should. It's a cautionary tale about power and responsibility. You go on for years thinking that it's common sense and that it doesn't apply to you, until you're in a position of power where your decisions impact the lives of others," she said.
"The other reason?" Andrea asked, refilling Miranda's glass before pouring the rest of the wine into her own.
"Do you recall the beginning of the novel? The letters?"
"Yeah, R. Walton, right?" she asked.
"Exactly. Remember when he writes to his sister Margaret and describes how lonely he is? He writes, 'I have no friend, Margaret: when I am glowing with the enthusiasm of success, there will be none to participate my joy; if I am assailed by disappointment, no one will endeavour to sustain me in dejection.'" She took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair. She had read and reread that part so often, she committed it to memory, though it had been some years since she recited it aloud. "It's more than a little depressing, but those are words that I haven't had the courage to say myself. I feel such a connection to this auxiliary character in that novel. Ever since I first read it when I was a little girl, it just spoke to me."
Andrea reached out and gently squeezed Miranda's hand. "I love seeing this part of you."
Miranda thought for a moment about her husbands. James had laughed at her when she tried to tell him how she related to that novel, and Stephen, she didn't even bother telling. But Andrea was just so different… She quickly grabbed her wine glass before she said something she'd regret.
Their dinner was served, and Miranda gently bit her lip when she realized how much food she'd ordered.
"My god, we could feed an army with this!" Andrea said. "I know I like to eat more than most Runway employees, but geez, I need to fit into my wardrobe for the rest of the trip!"
"I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I ordered one of everything. I suppose that was a bit excessive, though," she said. "Here, let's just treat it like a French tapas," she said, handing the young woman an empty plate.
The conversation remained light while they ate, and once they had finished, it was clear that neither woman wanted the evening to end.
"Did you say you had a call to make?" Andrea asked, looking at the clock on her phone.
"Yes, I, uh—" she sighed. "I have to call Stephen."
"Oh."
"Yes. Oh."
"Do you want to take a little walk? There are some private gardens around back. I could stay with you if you wanted."
"Andrea, I can't ask you to sit with me while I discuss my divorce," Miranda said.
"What if I sit next to you with headphones in?"
Miranda thought about it for a minute before agreeing. "But I don't want to sit outside—just in case someone else is walking around. I'd rather sit in the car if you don't mind," she added.
Naturally, the young woman agreed and led them to the car. Miranda was surprised at the calming effect of the young woman's presence. As she expected, Stephen would be out of the townhouse by the time she returned. He didn't want any visitation with Caroline and Cassidy, and by and large, he made everything quite simple.
When she was finished with the call, she gently tugged on the young woman's earbud cord.
"So, how did it go?" she asked, tucking her phone and earbuds back into her bag.
"It was fine. Just fine," she said. She could feel herself begin to tremble, so she quickly changed the subject. "I had a lovely time at dinner tonight, Andrea. I think we could do this again sometime," she added.
The car pulled up to their hotel, and Andrea opened the door to step out.
"Andrea," Miranda called. "I-I think I'm going to ride around for a bit."
"Of course," the young woman said. "I'll be in my room if you need anything."
Once Miranda was alone, she dialed James, hoping to speak to the girls once again.
"Hello?"
"Hi, James? It's me. How are they?"
"Jesus, Miranda. You called at a really bad time. Can I call you back?"
"What?! No, wait, tell me what happened first."
"Caroline punched someone at the basketball game. I gotta go. I'll call you back tonight."
"Okay—please, don't worry about the time. I need to know what's happening," Miranda said.
"Yeah. Bye," he said, hanging up.
Miranda clutched her phone to her chest. Her heart was racing, and she wished she hadn't finished that last glass of wine. Something had happened with her daughters, and she needed a clear head. Thankfully, the driver had a few chilled bottles of water, and offered one to her. Drinking the water, she tried to think of what could possibly have caused Caroline's sudden violence.
Her phone rang again, and she instantly picked up. "James? What happened?"
"Hi Mom, it's me."
"Cassidy? Sweetheart, are you okay?"
"Yeah. I'm fine. Caroline is okay, too. I mean, she has a cut on her hand and will probably have to miss a week of school, but she's okay."
"Oh honey, I am so glad to hear you are both okay. Will you tell me what happened?"
"Yeah. Dad is talking to the principal now in the living room. He doesn't know I'm calling you."
"It's okay, sweetheart. You can call me whenever you like. So what happened tonight?"
"Please don't get mad at me."
"Honey, I won't. I love you. Tell me what happened."
The young girl sniffled. "Okay, so Dad dropped us off at school for the basketball game. A bunch of our friends were going and it was like the last home game of the season, so a lot of people and teachers were there. It was kind of boring, but when we were leaving, there were flyers posted all over the gym and the hallways."
"What kind of flyers?"
"Of you, well, photoshopped. At least Care and I think it's photoshopped. In this leather bikini thing with long blonde hair. The flyers said stuff like to call you for a good time, and that you liked some nasty things. Josh was walking out with us and he started laughing and asking Caroline if she was such a prude because her mom is such a…a slut. Caroline and I both shouted back that you're not, that those photos weren't you, then he showed us this website on his phone where you were, like, naked with some guys. The next thing I knew, Caroline had pushed Josh up against a locker and was punching him in the face."
"Oh my god. Bobbsey, I am so sorry this is happening. Is Josh okay?"
"Seriously? You care about him?"
"Honey, you've already assured me you and your sister are not injured. I just want to know how violent things got—I need to know if his family is going to sue us."
"He was bleeding pretty bad. They called and ambulance and rushed him to the hospital, but everyone says he just has a broken nose and a black eye."
"Where is your sister now?"
"She's in the shower. The police officer said—"
"What!? The police were involved?!"
"Yeah. Mom, you promised not to get mad!"
"I'm not mad. I'm not mad, sweetheart. I am worried. Can I talk to Caroline?"
"Sure," she said. "Oh, wait, gotta go, love you," she whispered, quickly ending the call.
"Cassidy? Cass? Ugh," she grunted as she tossed the phone into her lap.
She quickly got out of the car and ran inside the hotel, rushing up the elevator and to Andrea's room. She knocked on Andrea's door, and after a few seconds, a very sleepy-looking brunette opened the door.
"What's wrong?"
"I need your help. I need to go home as quickly as possible," Miranda said.
"What?"
"I'll explain later. Get me a flight. I'll pack a quick bag," she said as she headed across the hall to her own room.
"Miranda, do you need me to come with you?"
"No," she said. "And I don't have time for your disappointment. I need you, as my assistant, to get me home. And then I need you to stay here for the rest of the events. Be my eyes and ears. Put your journalistic skills to use," she said. "But first—the flight!"
Miranda rushed inside her room and quickly changed out of the dress and into a pair of loose black linen pants and a tank and cardigan. She tossed some of her makeup and face cream into her Louis Vuitton duffle, then made sure she had her passport and house keys, cell phone, charger… She looked around the room, quickly trying to figure out if she missed anything. She grabbed the divorce papers and her journal off the desk and tucked those into her bag as well. Slipping on her Gucci loafers, she stepped out of the room, practically running into Andrea in the hallway.
The young woman was on the phone, but led Miranda towards the elevators. She pressed the down button, then ended her call. "Your flight leaves in 45 minutes, just after 1:00 AM. There is a brief stop in Amsterdam, but you don't have to get off the plane. I know it's not a nonstop, but you'll be in New York sooner than any of the nonstop flights that leave in the morning," Andrea explained. "You should be at James' door by 8 or 8:30 AM, eastern time."
The elevator opened and the young woman followed Miranda inside. "Andrea, I—"
She gently squeezed Miranda's arm, then pulled away. "The driver is out front, and Roy will meet you in New York in the morning. I will take care of everything here. Your bags will be packed and shipped home with the rest of our things. I'll connect with Nigel and I will take notes from all the remaining shows. If you need anything at all, you call me, okay?"
Miranda nodded. "Thank you," she said, stepping out of the elevator.
Andrea walked with her out to the car. "Are—are the girls okay?" she asked quietly.
"Yes and no. They are not injured, but I just need to be with them."
"Understood," Andrea said. "Take care. Call if you need anything."
Miranda nodded and closed the door as the car pulled out into traffic, heading for the airport.
Before the plane took off, Miranda had sent a message to James that she would be on a flight home and asked him to email her any pertinent information. When she landed in Amsterdam, she was able to download her messages, and although it was too late to talk to the girls, she sent James a text asking if he was awake.
He replied with a phone call.
"I only have a few minutes until we leave again," she said, answering the call. "What's the worst of it?"
"They won't press charges against Caroline if you agree not to press charges against Josh. My lawyer called Leslee and she's actually negotiated a settlement, but they need your okay once you're in the city," he said.
"Wait. I don't follow. Why would I press charge—or, wait, was he the one who posted those?"
"No, worse. He created them. He didn't do the website though, and he's agreed to comply with the police if you don't press charges against him."
"How are the girls?"
"Honestly? I can't tell. It either hasn't hit them or they're holding back. I know they were pretty good friends with Josh, so I think they haven't fully processed what he did just yet. I talked to the principal and Caroline's going to have to sit home from school for the week because of Dalton's zero-tolerance policy for violence, but so will Josh. The principal assured me there won't be anything on her academic or disciplinary record, and the police were more concerned with the flyers than Caroline's behavior."
"I will have to send lunch over to the precinct this week. Do they know I'm on my way?"
James laughed. "Don't take this the wrong way, but the one thing I've learned over the years is never to get the girls' hopes up."
"James, please."
"Fine. I will encourage them to sleep in, and hopefully you'll be here to surprise them in the morning."
"I will. I have to go. I'll see you in a few hours," she said, ending the call. The flight was ready to depart again, so she closed her eyes and curled up against the window.
Hours later, when she arrived in New York, she hurried through customs and to her waiting car, grateful she didn't have any checked luggage. Roy drove her straight to her ex-husband's house, where some reporters were camped out in the street, careful to stay off private property.
Naturally, when she stepped out of the car, they all sprung to life. She tried to keep her head down, ignoring them, but one of them asked why she wasn't in Paris for fashion week.
"Who said that?" Miranda asked, turning around.
"That's me. Jay Coleman with the Post."
"Well, Mr. Coleman, you see, I have priorities in my life. While some may say that Runway always comes first, I can assure you that it does not; my daughters always have and always will. I left fashion week without a second thought the minute I learned my girls needed me."
"Understood," Jay said. "Do you have a comment on the website and photos?"
Miranda took a deep breath. "No. I haven't seen them. I am only grateful that I'm providing enough of a distraction to keep my girls out of the papers. I do hope you'll respect that in the future," she said, turning and running up the steps to the house.
"Are they still asleep?" she asked as James shut the door behind her.
"Yeah, in my room. Go on, I'll make some fresh coffee," he said.
Miranda hurried up the stairs and slipped into the bedroom, stepping out of her shoes and setting her bags on the chest at the foot of the bed. Caroline and Cassidy were huddled together in the center of the bed, so she crawled under the covers and draped her arms around Caroline.
"Mom?" Cassidy said. "Mom! You're here!" She practically jumped over her sister and landed in Miranda's arms.
"Oh my darlings, I am so sorry about all of this," she said, hugging and kissing both girls.
"Mom, I thought you were in Paris working," Caroline whispered. "D-did you come home be-because of what I did?"
Miranda could feel her daughter's tears on her shoulder. "Oh, baby, you two are more important than any fashion show. Don't tell your father, but I don't care about what you did," Miranda said with a chuckle. "What I do care about is what provoked it. And for that, I am so sorry, my darlings."
"Mom, it was awful!" Caroline cried, wrapping her arms tightly around Miranda's neck.
"Are you mad at us about the other night on the phone? When you told us about the divorce?" Cassidy asked.
"Sweetheart, no. I am never mad at you. I was upset, and it was really hard being away from the two people I love in this world," she said, kissing Cassidy's forehead.
The three Priestly women lay there, curled up in Miranda's ex-husband's bed for nearly an hour. The girls took turns telling Miranda the whole story, and she reiterated to them over and over how much she loved them and how sorry she was.
There was a soft knock on the door and James appeared, carrying a tray with two mugs of coffee, two glasses of chocolate milk, and a bowl of donut holes. "Ladies, I thought you might like some sustenance," he said, walking over to the bed.
Miranda sat up and leaned against the headboard, while Caroline and Cassidy both went for the donuts. James handed her a mug of coffee, then stopped, staring down at the bed. "Come here," she said, patting the space next to her and rolling her eyes.
He took a seat, his back against the headboard, careful not to sit too close to Miranda. "Thanks for coming so quickly," he said quietly. "They were really upset last night. I didn't want to tell you because you were so far away, but that's why we all slept in here," he said. "I slept on that chair," he quickly clarified.
"You're a good father—the best I could hope for, really," she said. "A terrible husband, but an excellent father," she added with a chuckle.
"Hey, I heard that," he said, frowning. "Look at them."
Cassidy and Caroline both had powdered sugar on their cheeks from the donuts, and somehow in a few short hours, their worries were gone.
"Where do you think she learned to punch with such precision?" Miranda asked, taking a generous gulp from her steaming hot coffee.
"I assumed you," he said.
Miranda almost spit out her coffee. "Of course I didn't teach her that! Caroline, sweetheart, where did you learn to punch someone like that?"
She frowned and shook her head.
"What's wrong? Did someone hurt you?" Miranda asked, handing her coffee to James and crawling over to her daughter. She cupped the young girl's cheek and gently kissed her forehead. "You can tell me—I promise it's okay."
"Andy taught us," Cassidy said.
"Andrea? My assistant?"
Caroline nodded. "She took a self-defense class at the Y because of her boyfriend, and she was telling us how cool the class was. She showed us a few of the moves and made us swear never to tell you," she said.
Miranda's heart was racing. How was it that her assistant was spending so much time with her girls and she didn't know about it…honey, when was this?"
"A few months back. She also made us promise we'd only use it in self-defense."
Miranda looked at her daughter with a raised eyebrow.
"I was totally defending you, Mom!" Caroline said.
"Honey, I love that you defended me, but it didn't need to happen. Self-defense techniques are usually for when you are in danger, not for you to go around defending everyone else," Miranda said.
"And Caroline, we talked about this last night. I never want to hear that either of you started a fight ever again. Self-defense is okay. Responding to anger with your fist is not," James added.
Miranda hugged Caroline and whispered in her ear, "I'm so proud of you, Bobbsey."
"Mom, did Andy come back with you?" Cassidy asked.
"No, sweetie. She's in Paris with the rest of the Runway team," Miranda said. "Why do you ask?"
"You're not going to fire her because of this, are you? Because she taught us some self-defense?!" Caroline asked.
"Well, I haven't thought about it yet. That you two are okay and are safe is the only thing on my mind right now," she said, brushing the powdered sugar off Caroline's cheek and glancing over at James.
"I hope you don't," she said, glancing over at her sister. "We actually like Andy."
"Yeah, she's cool. Please don't get mad at her about this."
Miranda smiled. "I will certainly take your thoughts into consideration when making a decision. I will have you know that when we were in Paris, Andrea and I discussed her moving to the editorial department, since she wants to be a writer anyway," Miranda said, tucking Cassidy's hair behind her ear. "So, if she chooses to pursue editorial, you will need to respect her decision."
"That's awesome!" Caroline said. "She's always telling us about how much she loves writing. Maybe she could come over for dinner to see us, since she won't be your assistant?"
"Darlings," Miranda said, "you are getting ahead of yourself. What do you say we go downstairs and have breakfast?"
"Can we go to Norma's for waffles, Mom?"
Miranda frowned. "I'm sorry, but I didn't bring any clean clothes—I just hopped on the plane, then came here straight from the airport," she said.
"Actually, Miranda, a bag was delivered this morning before you got here—I forgot about it. It's in the foyer. I didn't open it or anything, but I can only presume it's clothes."
Miranda smiled. Of course Andrea would have clothes and makeup messengered over. "Alright, girls. Norma's it is!" she said with a grin.
"Awesome!" Caroline said. "Dad, are you coming?"
"No, honey. I've got some things to do. You two go with your Mom. I'm sure she's starving," he said.
"I actually had a huge dinner last night in Paris, but that was over twelve hours ago. Give me 30 minutes to get ready—you two, please wash your faces and brush your teeth, and pack up your things to take home, too."
The girls ran out of the room and Miranda climbed off the bed, heading downstairs to retrieve her bag. She paused at the doorway and looked back. "Do you think they can handle it?"
"The press?"
"Yeah. I don't want to hide—but I don't want them to suffer," Miranda said.
"They'll be fine. Remember, Caroline just threw a right hook at her classmate yesterday."
"True," Miranda said.
Downstairs, she grabbed the bag from the foyer and headed into the first-floor bathroom.
She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Andrea: thank you for sending a bag for me.
Andrea replied immediately: No problem. Is everything okay?
Miranda sighed and replied: Can you talk?
Seconds later, the phone rang.
"Hi," Miranda said.
"Hi. So I saw stuff about the website in the Post."
"Did it mention the girls?"
"No. Are they involved? I can only presume that's why you rushed home."
"Yes, well, one of their classmates took an image off that website and made a bunch of flyers and put them all over the school. The girls were at a basketball game, and they got defensive when they saw them—a little too defensive," she said.
"Oh no."
"Yes. Caroline punched someone, and she claimed that you taught her."
"Uhh, it wasn't like that. I mean, I showed them the moves I learned, but I told them it was specifically for self-defense!" she said. "Ugh, I'm so sorry, Miranda."
The editor sighed. "I know. And honestly, I should probably thank you for teaching them that. It's unfortunate that she injured someone and that it happened at school, but she was defending me and I can't fault her there. Anyway, we are going out for breakfast, and I'm a little worried it will be a zoo."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"No. Focus on the last few days in Paris. We'll talk when you're back. Caroline has to stay home from school next week, and I think I'm going to stay home with her, possibly Cassidy, too."
"Okay, um, let me know if there's anything I can do."
"I will," Miranda said, ending the call.
She took a deep breath. Between everything with Andrea and the divorce from Stephen, and now this website and Caroline's behavior, she definitely needed a few days to sort her thoughts out.
.
.
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TBC. Reviews are always appreciated!