Third.
Sean must have known some right people to be able to get two invitations to this photo exhibition - the sheer number of Hermes purses and Jimmy Choo pumps per squire foot of the small gallery was dazzling. Thankfully, Andy's tenure at Runway left her with some fashion sense and a decent wardrobe, so she didn't feel completely out of place there. Then again, if not for Runway, she wouldn't even notice anything like that. As, for instance, Sean, who happily walked around in his well-worn Gap jeans and an unknown name shirt and felt just fine about it.
"So, what do you think, Andy?" he asked, looking at a huge photograph in front of them.
There were several pictures in the exhibition that puzzled her, but this one made no sense at all. "I don't know." She shook her head. "No clue."
"Oh, come on," Sean urged. "You should have at least an idea."
"I should?" she snorted.
"Sure."
Smiling, she looked at the photograph in question, then at him. "You do realize this picture is one big blur."
With exaggerated huff Sean grabbed her hand and pulled her several steps back. "Now, what do you see?"
"Oh. Wow."
He then pulled her to the side. "How about here?"
"Oh. This is cool."
"I told you this guy's work is freaking incredible." Sean was beaming, as if it was his own exhibition they were talking about. "Plus, he's got an unbelievable agent."
"He has?"
"Look at it," Sean bent lower to whisper. "Look at these people." He pointedly whirled his eyes around the room. "They can make you famous over a Cosmopolitan. Or whatever they drink at their soirées."
"Hmm," said Andy.
"Have you ever heard them, you know, discussing someone? Like, you know, if he was talented or not?"
"Where would I hear that?"
Sean glanced at her. "Weren't you a part of those circles once?"
"Me?"
"Yea, one of the secretaries, I think Gina, told me that you used to work for this woman…what's her name…you know, the fashion queen…"
Andy had to cut him off, because for some reason the mere allusion to Miranda Priestly sent her pulse racing. "Sean, I fetched coffee and delivered laundry," she said nonchalant and took a calming breath.
"That's it?"
"Pretty much."
"Oh." He thought for a moment before continuing, "And here I hoped you could give me heads up. You know, some pointers on how to deal with these people." His tone was serious, but Andy could tell the guy was teasing her. She decided to play along.
She gave him a calculated look and then motioned him to come closer. "Alright, I'll give you a hint." Then in a grave tone she continued quietly, "The coffee has to be burning hot."
"Really?" Sean feigned a surprise.
Andy nodded with all the seriousness she could muster. Then after pretending that she checked if anyone listened in, she added in almost a whisper, "And one more thing – you have to shoot a couple of these." She pointed at the photograph in front of them.
Sean looked at the photograph, then at Andy and said, "I have to shoot a couple of these? That is just not fair!"
By the end of his sentence they were both snickering. A couple of women, who stood close by, moved away hastily, giving them scornful looks. Andy and Sean ignored them, as well as other people in the room, who no doubt were displeased about such a blatant breach of decorum. Not that they wanted to attract negative attention, but neither Andy nor Sean could do much about it – once one of them would calm down, the other's laughter would pull him or her into a new spin of merriment.
Finally, when their laughing fits began to subside, Andy realized that she'd being feeling somewhat uncomfortable for a while now. As if the temperature in the room dropped a good ten degrees. She shivered and began buttoning her jacket. But then, her fingers still on the second button, she slowly, so very slowly turned around.
Miranda Priestly stood not far away from her. She wasn't exactly looking at Andy, rather at that blur of a photograph, but no doubt the woman saw her, and only moments ago her icy glare was drilling holes in the back of Andy's scalp.
Her pulse suddenly frantic, Andy let go of the button. Somewhere on the back of her mind, she knew there was something she needed to do, to say, but it all was escaping her. So instead she stood there, watching with odd fascination her former boss studying a photograph.
But then Miranda turned her head to say something to a girl that hovered behind her shoulder and looked remarkably like a "new Emily." The girl nodded several times and quickly clacked away, pulling out a cell phone as she went. As Miranda's head began to turn back, Andy murmured, "I'll be right back," to Sean and fled.
"Shit, shit, shit," she thought hysterically as the restroom door closed behind her and she found herself in one stall, tiny room, half of which was occupied by a sink. Andy leaned on the wall and closed her eyes. Shit.
What was happening? Why did she keep acting like a lunatic around Miranda Priestly? The woman was just her former boss. A former boss from hell, and that's all. That's all--. Oh, god, did she just think 'that's all'? Andy half-snorted half-whimpered. Shit--.
She opened her eyes and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Could she be this pathetic? Andy took a shaky breath and closed her eyes again. Shit.
What was she going to do? She couldn't hide in the restroom forever. Sooner or later she'd have to come out. What if Miranda hadn't left by then? The thought alone made Andy's eyes fly open, and she quickly glanced around - the tiny room was still empty. Andy sighed with relieve. Theoretically, she understood that her former boss couldn't just magically appear in this restroom, but lately every time she thought about Miranda, the woman would just show up and--.
"Liar," Andy's mind declared. "If the woman showed up every time you think about her, you'd see her several times a day. May be more."
Andy almost groaned. What was happening?
As if to confirm her newly discovered theory, the restroom door opened and in walked Miranda Priestly herself. She closed the door carefully behind her and then looked straight at Andy, her gaze artic cold.
Instinctively, Andy backed away, although there wasn't much room for that.
"What are you doing here?" in a quiet, dangerous voice demanded Miranda.
"I--." Andy gulped, looking helplessly between the door to the toilet stall and the woman.
"Don't give me that, Andrea." Miranda made such an emphasis on her name that the chills ran up and down Andy's spine. "Don't play games with me. You perfectly understand what I mean."
"Um--." Andy gulped again. Frankly, she had no idea how to answer Miranda's question. For some reason, she knew that the story about her work colleague inviting her to this exhibition was not what her former boss was interested to hear. "Um."
"While you imitation of a fish is not without merits, I don't care for this particular entertainment." Hissing, Miranda made a step forward. "You better start telling me why you've been following me."
"I wasn't--." Andy tried to step back, but hit the wall.
"Andrea." If it was possible, Miranda's voice got even quieter, but the level of menace in it rose. "My daughters' concert? I am sure that even in that rag of yours they could've found someone else to cover the event."
"But--." All Andy could say before Miranda pressed on.
"Here? Where the invitations are so hard to come by?"
"No, I--." Andy shook her head, trying to interject.
"And you don't really think that I didn't see you in the Guggenheim, do you, Andrea?"
Andy gasped, and Miranda, eyes crackling with rage on a completely blank, expressionless face, made another step forward. Without any room to back away, Andy began to panic. Her breath rapid and shallow, she wondered if she every saw Miranda that angry before, and if she did, how the hell she managed to survive.
Meanwhile, the woman, her stare pinning Andy like a dead bug to the wall, continued. "So, what is it exactly you are trying to dig up? And why? Are you planning to write tell-all something or other? Go on one of those trashy television shows?"
"No, Miranda, no!" Somehow Andy found her voice. "I would never--."
"Of course not," interrupted Miranda. "You are a serious journalist after all, are you not?" The sarcasm in her voice was so cutting that Andy, her face suddenly burning, completely forgot what she was going to say.
"Well?" Miranda asked with a sneer. Sarcasm seemed to compose her. She didn't look as angry any more. Instead, she was watching Andy with a barely hidden disgust. And there was also a hint of disappointment.
Andy swallowed hard.
"Nothing to say? Very well then. Let me tell you something, Andrea Sachs." Miranda lost her sneer and her tone turned grave. "You can play Watergate, or whatever it is you are playing, as much as you want, but not with me. If you think that since I didn't hunt you down for abandoning your responsibilities at Runway, you have a leave to do whatever you're pleased, think again. I can promise you--."
Somewhere, in the middle of Miranda's rant, Andy began to calm down. After all, she knew something Miranda didn't – she really wasn't doing any spying, and she definitely wasn't going to make public anything concerning her former boss. Not that she would be able to tell it to Miranda just then.
As Andy regained her composure, she became aware how close Miranda stood. So close she could smell the woman's perfume - light, spine-tingling smell, which some famous designer created especially for her. So close she could see a little vein quivering on Miranda's left temple. So close she could tell the true color of the woman's eyes – deep blue. Strikingly blue. Beautiful--.
Oh shit, she wasn't staring into Miranda's eyes, was she? Shit! The next moment, Andy's gaze raced all over the woman's face before settling on the mouth. Andy slowly inhaled and exhaled. It wasn't out of the ordinary to look at the mouth of a person who was speaking to you, was it?
Up close Miranda's lips didn't seem as thin as Andy always thought they were. Not fashionably oversized, but nice. Skillfully traced by a lip pencil and covered by no doubt unique shade of lipstick, they were pleasant to watch. Which Andy did for a short while, until she realized that they'd stopped moving. It took her several long moments to understand what it meant – Miranda wasn't speaking any longer. Another several moments later, when the lips clamped together into a thin red line, she realized she was still staring at them. Shit--.
If there were any magic in the world, at that moment Andy would have given anything for the ability to disappear. But without that, all Andy was left to do was to squeeze her eyes shut. Then she braced herself and opened them. Miranda, her eyes widened, was staring at her.
"Oh shit," Andy thought in desperation.
Just then there was a knock at the door. "Miranda?"
The next moment Andy was shoved into the toilet stall, and the door slammed shut behind her.
"Miranda?" She heard the outside door opened.
"What is it?" Miranda's irritated voice asked.
"Roy is waiting." It was probably the "new Emily."
"Is there some kind of emergency that you feel justified bothering me in the restroom?"
"No--. But--. You said--."
Andy heard the outside door opened and closed again, and then it was quiet.
Her legs suddenly weak, she dropped the toilet cover down and sat heavily.
Oh. Shit.