CHAPTER SEVEN

It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is the most adaptable to change.

-Charles Darwin

A year after J-Day:

It seemed like days, though rationally she knew that it had only been hours since she had received the documents from a day-weary hotel messenger. Now she sat on a couch in one of Paris's most exclusive hotel rooms in only a simple grey robe knowing that monumental change was upon her once again. Bare of makeup and the accouterments that constituted the very public mask of Miranda Priestly the Editor, Miranda Priestly the woman, scrawled her signature across the required lines that would effectively dissolve yet another marriage...

Miranda winced, pained at the memory that was still so sharp even after ten years of distance from the event. It started with the divorce papers from Stephen, continued through a thwarted coup de main of her editorial position, and cumulated in her personal assistant abandoning her on the steps of Le Petit Palais in Paris. Miranda tried not to ever to think about any of the events surrounding the 'Paris Incident', as she dubbed that entire horrible week, however, eventually something would pop up to remind her of her loss.

If Miranda had to guess where the week took a turn for the worst, she would not say it was with the signing of the divorce papers. Miranda had been through marriages before. She was realistic enough to see that her marriage to Stephen would not last long. No, the moment everything went upside down was mere moments later, when Andrea had arrived delivering Miranda's dry cleaning and the next day's schedule changes, when she had been feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable. Even now, she could not think of what would possess her to speak so frankly with Andrea.

That fateful evening in Paris, sans mask and bare of most of her clothes, Miranda had opened up to Andrea. She'd acted so uncharacteristically familiar with the younger woman that Miranda couldn't see when she had lost control over the conversation. She could hardly believe, looking back, that she had told a near stranger about her fears and insecurities. Because, regardless of any possible mutual desire on either's part, the simple fact was that Miranda hadn't really known Andrea; she was an employee.

The turnover rate for Miranda's staff was such that unless they remained with her for a substantial period of time, like Emily or Nigel, Miranda didn't usually consider it worth the effort to get to know them. There was always someone new to replace them. But Andrea was different. She had expected, insisted, and then demanded that Miranda take notice of her. And so Miranda did.

There was, Miranda finally admitted to herself, a certain attraction to Andrea. An attraction that Andrea reciprocated, Miranda thought. After all, how could Miranda think otherwise? Miranda couldn't help but notice the way the younger woman stood up to her when Andrea thought the older woman was wrong about something. The way Andrea looked at her day in and day out. The way Andrea tried to please her; how she anticipated Miranda's needs and predicted her wants even before Miranda herself thought of them. All these things seemed to invoke a feeling of emotional intimacy.

And in a weaken moment, Miranda had responded to that feeling. She had been so emotionally exposed that upon realizing it, she had closed herself off; shocked that she could reveal so much of herself to someone who was in her employ and only half her age. When Miranda had opened up to her once again after the attempted coup, Andrea, obviously not liking what she'd seen, had walked away. Maybe because truthfully, Andrea hadn't really known Miranda either.

And then came J-Day…

Miranda was jolted out of her thoughts by a sharp knock at the open doorway. "Come in," she called out, loud enough for the person on the other side to hear.

The door opened and her daughter, Cassidy, poked her head into the room. "Hey Mom," the girl greeted.

"Cassidy," Miranda returned the greeting, pleased to see the red-head.

Cassidy strolled through the doorway. Making her way over to Miranda she leaned over her shoulder, giving Miranda a hug even as she snooped at what Miranda was working on. "Whatcha' looking at?"

Rolling her eyes at what she thought of as the red-head's deplorable butchering of the English language, Miranda looked down at the magazines spread out across the desk in front of her. An old copy of VOGUE was opened to a photospread of Paris Fashion Week 1996. The article tried and barely succeeded in capturing the drama and the glamour of the 1996's Spring Fashion Week. No Runway magazine would ever publish an editorial piece that was anything like the subpar work that VOGUE had produced, however, it hadn't been the writing that had caught Miranda's attention and drawn her into her memories.

Andrea probably hadn't been the subject of the photograph. One of the VOGUE editors had obviously mistaken her ex-assistant for a model. Staring back up from the magazine was an unguarded shot of Andrea Sachs; her face was nearly the center stage in the article. Another, smaller photo had been shot from the other side of the runway platform and showed Miranda looking over the parade of models as they walked past. Miranda was sitting right in front of and to the left of her former assistant, and Andrea, despite the beauty of the fabrics, clothing, and models walking by... Andrea was looking at her.

"Hey, is that Andy?" Cassidy asked. She pointed out the woman in the picture. "She looks so sad in that picture."

Miranda agreed with a slight nod of her head. "Did you know Andrea?"

"Oh yeah. She got us the Harry Potter book we wanted last year..." she paused to think a moment, "It was great! We knew what was going on before anyone else in our classes. Everyone was so jealous."

"I'm sure," Miranda replied hearing the smile in her daughter's voice and remembering the incident. That had been the first time that Andrea had surprised her; it hadn't been the last. She had never ceased surprising Miranda. Even in the end... in Paris.

"Out of all of your assistants," Cassidy continued, unaware of Miranda's thoughts, "she was perhaps our favorite, other than Em of course."

"Because of Harry Potter?"

"No," Cassidy replied. "That did help but, it was the little things."

Miranda's eyes were drawn back to Andrea's expression in the photo. "Tell me," she requested softly.

"Well, we used to speak with her after that, you know, when she delivered The Book? We talked to her about how your day was, and if everything was going well. We even talked about school and the projects we were working on." She trailed off, shrugging her shoulders, "Sometimes it got lonely... I was really sad when she quit working for you."

Miranda waited for her daughter to continue, guessing that Cassidy had more to say. It hurt to hear that her daughters had felt so lonely as to make friends with one of Miranda's employees just to get information on how their mother was doing. She had no idea that Andrea had, even developed a relationship with the twins behind her back. Still, it seemed like something the younger woman would do; befriend a pair of lonely children.

Cassidy cleared her throat, "She was real, you know, genuine. Some of your other assistant's would act all nice but, you just knew that it was an act. Andy never play-acted with us."

"No." Miranda murmured, more to herself than anyone else, "You always knew where you stood with Andrea."

"I miss her." They were silent for a moment following Cassidy's statement. Then, Miranda waved the mood away and turned to look at Cassidy.

"So," Miranda asked when nothing was forthcoming, "to what do I owe this pleasure? Usually you're with your sister or Aida." She gestured towards her bed and turned sideways in her chair, placing an arm along its back.

There were small piles of magazines nearly covering the full-size bed leaving only a small section of space available for Cassidy to sit. Cassidy walked the short distance over and gave a slight hop, more reminiscent of the happy child that Miranda knew rather than the sullen one that she had become shortly after J-Day. The early days had been hard on all of them; especially Cassidy, it seemed, who felt things so strongly.

"Comfy?" Miranda asked, amused with her youngest antics as she grinned and made a display of getting into a comfortable position

"Yes," Cassidy replied, "Very." Miranda watched as Cassidy picked up one of the magazines that had slipped from the neat pile when she sat down so abruptly. "Caroline's in the middle of a game with Kieran and you wanted to know when the everyone got back."

"Did they find anything?" Miranda asked, curiously.

"I don't know," she answered with a shrug, flipping uninterestedly through the magazine on her lap. "They radioed in that they were ten minutes until ETA. And you know Emily never says anything until she has a chance to see Serena first. So, I came to find you and let you know."

Miranda watched as Cassidy seemed to give up on looking at the magazine pictures and toss the book aside. She looked expectantly at Miranda. "Aren't you going to talk to them?"

"I'll give them a moment to get in and settle," Miranda responded. "Then I'll check in with them."

She turned back to the magazine on her desk and to the woman who, captured in a moment of candidness, would forever look towards her with sad yearning on her face. It was so long ago. A whole other lifetime. If Miranda had just turned to look at her in that moment. How much could have been different.

Sighing, Miranda flipped the magazine closed and stood up. Regrets were one thing, wallowing in them still, two years later, quite another. It was unfortunate that she hadn't had more time to get to know Andrea and it was doubtful that the younger woman had even survived the bombings. But Miranda once had told Andrea that she lived on hope. If Andrea survived J-Day and Miranda ever met her again, she would not waste the opportunity.