Andrea was three minutes late.

Miranda frowned and looked at the Cartier watch on her wrist as the girl bounced through the door of the trendy bistro. She was greeted with a knowing laugh and a kiss on the cheek by the be-pierced gothic horror acting as the place's hostess. They exchanged pleasantries while Miranda tapped her foot. Andrea knew very well that Miranda hated to be kept waiting.

"Sorry about that" the girl slid into the booth opposite Miranda. "Hannah hasn't been working this week and I wanted to say hi."

"Somone you know from 'work'?" the editor asked in her driest tone.

"Yup. Owns this place, partly owns Satin, and still dances on occasion. We're good friends." Andrea smiled but her eyes dared Miranda to make any comment.

Well, it's not like there's no money to be had in the sex trade, Miranda thought as she arranged her napkin on her lap. The bistro was being touted in the Times as a hot, hip new place for the young arts crowd. Paintings in the various stages of awful adorned the walls, but the food was supposed to be top notch.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Andrea asked as she picked up the menu. "If you're thinking that I'm gonna go running to the tabloids with the news that the famous Miranda Priestly is a strip club patron, you can quit worrying. Your life has nothing to do with mine."

"That's not true, Andrea."

The brunette shrugged. "Sure it is. 'As far as anyone in the publishing world is concerned, there IS no Andrea Sachs'. That's a quote Miranda, straight from the hallowed mouth of New York magazine. One of their editors was nice enough to explain the kibosh. The rest just sent me the usual 'does not meet our current needs'. Not

that I wasn't expecting it. After all, I ran off in the middle of Fashion Week, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did."

A waitress with purplish-black hair and black lipstick approached for their orders. Without missing a beat, Andrea said "Chicken caesar and a diet coke with garlic bread. Separate checks, please."

Miranda ordered the same, minus the garlic bread and soda. When the waitress had gone Andrea shook her head. "I know it sucked when I did that. I'm sorry."

"Then why did you do it? Was it Nigel?"

"Because of what you did to Nigel, you mean? Partly. But the other part was that I didn't want to end up like you, having to betray a friend to keep my career. I got to know you pretty well while I worked for you, Miranda. I knew that you cared about him, but you cared about Runway even more. That's sad. I never wanted to be that sad. So I threw my phone into the fountain and walked away."

"Once I got home, I had to figure out what to do with my life." Andrea continued. "Nate and had broken up before I even went to Paris, the rent was due and there was no way I could cover it by myself without money. Waiting tables didn't cut it. My best option was to enroll at NYU, but that takes money too. So, the Satin Lounge."

"Could you not have moved into a less expensive place?"

"I could. But I didn't fancy living in a loft with five other girls. Believe it or not, a little nudity at work is worth being able to have my privacy at home."

Miranda shook her head slowly. "Andrea, I find it hard to believe a girl of your talents and gifts wouldn't be able to find something a little more respectable."

"Miranda, you once lectured me for ten minutes on how the fashion industry was repsonsible for every stitch of clothing I put on my back. While I can hardly make such a claim for the stripping industry, I CAN tell you that the only difference between what I do and what a supermodel does is money."

"I think there are a few differences. Most supermodels aren't hookers."

"Most strippers aren't, either!" Andrea rolled her eyes. "Come to Satin and I'll take you backstage. Ecstasy is getting her Master's in English Lit. at Columbia. Crimson is a mom with three kids and she sells Avon. Mystic's a real dancer; she's trying to break into Broadway. There's only a couple of girls that turn tricks on the side, and they can't do it at the club. Strictly verboten. It's how they keep the vice squad away."

Miranda found this hard to believe and it must have showed in her face because Andrea snorted. "You know Miranda, one thing I never thought you were was a hypocrite."

"I'm not."

"The hell! You look like you opened your handbag and found three-day-old dogshit. I'm just gonna say one thing: Dorian Steele."

Miranda winced, taking the point. Dorian Steele was a new designer who specialized in leather. Over Irv's objections, Nigel and Miranda had chosen to feature his designs in a layout that smacked heavily of S and M. It was the most provocative set of photos that had ever appeared in Runway. The fashion press had gone crazy with adulation over models dressed in barely more than Andrea had worn onstage.

"Fashion makes more money from sex than a strip club ever will. Makes you wonder who the real whores are." Andrea murmured.

"Are you still writing at all?"

"Yup" Andrea took a bite of bread and closed her eyes. There was nothing like good garlic bread. "You have plenty of enemies. I figure one of them will crack sooner or later."

Miranda Priestly was famous for being unpredictable. Everyone knew that. The look of shock on her ex-assistant's lovely face made her feel infinitely better as she played her ace: "Write for me, Andrea. Write for Runway and I'll lift the ban."