Part 2
Miranda sat listening, mesmerized, as her former assistant released impossible, wonderful words. They fell from the younger woman's mouth without pause for so long that, by tale's end, the late afternoon light filtered through the kitchen window casting shadows on Andrea's attractive face. How she had missed that small wrinkle between the girl's eyes when she concentrated. That earnest voice and bright smile. And, above all, that soothing presence. When she was in Andrea's presence, she felt carefree. She felt more powerful. She felt she was truly seen. Andrea gave her hope for the future. Andrea also stirred up insecurities and self-doubt she thought long laid to rest. She saw Andrea falter when their eyes met. Miranda panicked, afraid Andrea had guessed her thoughts. Shoring up her mask of indifference, Miranda chose to interrupt.
"So, let me see whether I understand," the editor drawled. "You noticed discrepancies in the reports regarding my contested divorce and chose to investigate. With some digging you were able to uncover proof that Stephen had indeed cheated on me during our marriage even though all those expensive attorneys I've been paying could not. Is that the gist of it, Andrea?"
"Um, pretty much. I'm willing to provide you with the proof you'll need to file the appropriate court documents. I brought everything with me," Andrea said as she leaned back in her chair.
Miranda glanced at her watch, then looked again in surprise. They had talked for hours. The girls had excused themselves after receiving the most pertinent information, which the journalist had offered at the beginning of her explanation. Amazed at how quickly the day had passed, Miranda felt a twinge of apprehension when she realized Andrea might want to leave soon. Confusion set in once more. Why should she care if the silly girl left? They hadn't interacted in over a year. Why would she even talk to the girl after today, anyway? Miranda had wanted the details, the proof, and the reason for the article; that was all.
As Andrea's words halted, Miranda rose and indicated for her former employee to follow. She led her to the sitting room and crossed to the liquor bar. Silently, Miranda chose a bottle of white wine from the cooler, opened it, and poured two glasses. Daring to glance at the quiet woman, Miranda was arrested by the doe-eyed beauty watching her every move. Without further thought, the editor walked toward the appealing reporter and sat beside her on the chaise lounge as the girl extended her hand for one of the glasses.
Without pretense, Miranda gazed into Andrea's eyes. The white-locked fashion icon was searching for some sign, some indication of how to act, of what to say. She needed to know. None of her years of patronizing, condescending, demeaning behavior toward others could help her now. She wanted to reach out to her, but it was daunting. It wasn't that her desire to connect with Andrea was new or even that she didn't know how to be pleasant. Miranda realized that she simply didn't know how to let someone in without automatically attempting to protect herself, and her inability to reach out angered her.
"Why?" Miranda found herself asking faintly. Noticing Andrea's confusion, Miranda repeated her question in a firmer voice. "Why did you help me in this way, Andrea? What do you want?"
Miranda watched with interest as Andrea drank deeply from her glass. She appeared apprehensive and a bit insulted. It didn't matter whether she hurt the girl's feelings. Miranda wanted to know, needed to know. Miranda had learned over the years that the best way to get a straight answer was to provoke. To take the person off guard. What had driven the girl to such lengths? Why had she swooped in to save the day over a year after she had abandoned the editor in Paris? What drove this girl to research cell phone records, hotel logs, restaurant deliveries, and apartment leases for her benefit?
Andrea took a deep breath reining in her righteous indignation and then began. "Your well-being is important to me. I know I had no right to insert myself back into your life, particularly after I'd behaved so poorly by leaving Runway without any type of explanation, but I never stopped caring. I may no longer be justified in taking action to make your life easier in a professional setting, but I'd be damned before I allowed anyone to hurt you personally when I could do something to prevent it." Miranda couldn't believe it. Seeing her skeptical reaction, Andrea jumped up, obviously distraught. "Perhaps I should leave."
"Don't you dare," the fashion maven hissed grabbing her wrist before she could bolt. "How like you to go above and beyond to help me and then to run away. I sense a pattern here, don't you?" Miranda spat vehemently.
Studying the agitated girl, Miranda prodded, "My well-being is important to you? Where were you for the past year? Did you think leaving me high and dry in Paris was in my best interest?" Miranda continued to study Andrea, trying to fathom the real reason she had barged back into her life and turned it upside down.
"What did you think would happen, Andrea?" Miranda rubbed the young reporter's wrist sensually as she pinned Andrea with her stare. "Did you think we would become friends? That I would tell you how much I'd missed you, how often you'd crossed my mind since the day you walked away from me?" Miranda sneered. Feeling her control slipping she descended into the persona she had cultivated over the last twenty years—the feared, stone-hearted bitch. It was much easier than allowing herself to be vulnerable.
Rising, Miranda pulled Andrea toward her as she stepped into the girl's personal space. Only inches separating them, Miranda whispered, "I find it unbelievable that you would selflessly spend months building a case against Stephen for my benefit and then walk away again so easily. No one is that selfless, Andrea. So. What. Do. You. Want?" The editor allowed only anger, fed through fear and confusion, to guide her actions as she forced Andrea to answer truthfully.
"You, I just want to spend some time with you," the words were ripped from the distraught girl's throat as she looked around wildly. Miranda knew she was unable to hide her incredulous stare as the resulting loud silence spurred Andrea's eyes to swing back to her face.
"You can't be serious. You want to be my friend, my confidante, my—what—what is it exactly that you want? No, no. Do not bore me with your pitiful explanations." Miranda leaned in so closely she could feel her breath mingling with Andrea's rapid exhalations. Andrea's obvious fear fed the editor's ire to new levels. "You silly little girl. You may mislead others into believing how altruistic and innocent you are, but you cannot trick me. Do you take me for a fool?"
Miranda couldn't understand why she was reacting so forcefully. She was driving the girl away with baseless accusations when that was the last thing she wanted. The truth was Andrea had stunned the editor. The white-haired woman had trouble processing what she had just heard. This stupid girl had stepped in to protect her. Miranda prided herself on being nearly invincible. Yet, she never quite pulled it off in her personal life. Whenever she opened herself to another person it came back to haunt her. At some point the person always capitalized on such vulnerabilities and left her heart bleeding and bruised. Each time she swore to herself that she would not allow anyone close to her again. If she kept people at a distance, she could not be harmed. Even Andrea had touched her heart and then left her. Was it any wonder Miranda imagined Andrea harbored some secret agenda?
It galled her that no one except Andrea had ever acted selflessly on her behalf before. Andrea had a way of piercing through her defenses with ease. She didn't feel confident she could withstand being hurt by Andrea again. Best to drive her away. Realizing that her punishing grip and harsh words had practically reduced Andrea to tears, Miranda smiled grimly and dropped the girl's hand. "Get out," Miranda growled. The editor spun away, striding to the window and staring out resolutely. She could not bear to look at Andrea a moment longer.
She heard the back door close quietly. Miranda contemplated recalling her, but what could she say? Hadn't she said enough already? Hadn't she hurt Andrea enough? Did Andrea really believe this could turn out well? Instead, Miranda sat down heavily in a chair not allowing her gaze to wander around the room. Studying her hands, Miranda thought about how Andrea made her feel.
She had wanted to kiss the foolish girl. She had wanted to hold her tightly and breathe in her innocence.
How dare she waltz back into my life. Miranda wanted to break her, to make her understand that nothing was simple. It had taken months for Miranda to stop looking for the girl outside her office. Months to stop looking for her everywhere. Miranda could have sworn she had seen the girl's shadow around the corner, across the street, behind the car, but each time she had lifted her head and searched, she could not find the elusive girl. She had even imagined seeing Andrea in the courtroom gallery a month back. A trick of the eyes, of course. For months Miranda had suffered through whiffs of Andrea's unique scent which tickled her senses at the most inopportune times. Months of harboring feelings of loss while hiding her sadness.
Finally Miranda had succeeded in tamping down her feelings, forcing her attention to be consumed by the magazine, her children, and her divorce. Until now. The editor felt herself slipping back into the melancholy she'd felt not so long ago. Andrea had thrown her into a tail spin once more. Miranda crossed to her home office, first detouring to retrieve the file Andrea had left her, and removed the now well-read article from her top desk drawer.
Over the last several months the media has reported every single speck of news, real and fabricated, regarding Miranda Priestly's divorce. Yes, THAT Miranda Priestly, the Editor-in-Chief of Runway. Not a day has passed without comment in the news since the initial paperwork was filed with the New York County Family Court. Although great drama unfolded, the facts revealed have remained rather unsubstantiated and sensationalistic. Thoroughly discouraged with my colleagues' articles, I proposed to find the truth.
After an intense investigation, this reporter has uncovered it—the unvarnished, ugly truth. Although Stephen Tomlinson, Priestly's soon to be ex-husband, has attempted to circumvent the prenuptial agreement they signed before they wed by attacking his former love with baseless accusations, the Queen of Fashion has taken the high road by refusing to counterattack without irrefutable proof that he, in fact, invalidated said contract. In the spirit of helping a former employer who always demanded the truth, I have taken it upon myself to provide the Fashion Maven the proof she needs.
Tomlinson was not very good at covering his tracks. He has left a trail that leads straight back to his mistress, Sheila Apperton. Does the name sound familiar? It should. She is the wife of well-known financial guru, Stanley Apperton. However, that expose must be introduced on another day. Tomlinson's bread crumbs were not eaten by birds, and his trail blazed brightly for those who knew where to look.
A review of Tomlinson's cell phone records reveals one number in particular that has been called repeatedly over the last two years (see copy below). The number belongs to Apperton. Calls occurred at all times of the day and night with clusters of calls occurring before and after Priestly's trips out of town for photo shoots and fashion weeks. A coincidence? When asked, Apperton claimed no comment. When we called the number again, we found it to be disconnected. (continued on Page 3)
Using the dates reflected through the cell phone records, a picture of when the adulterous activities occurred began to take shape. Spreading the search to Tomlinson's and Apperton's credit card statements, the dates of their extramarital meetings became glaringly obvious (see copies below). They clearly did not care whether they were seen, as exemplified by the charges to numerous high profile restaurants. Or, perhaps, they were overconfident. Interestingly, they have not frequented any of these places over the last six months. Is the honeymoon over?
On these charge cards are records of several hotel room rentals, most located close to Tomlinson's work. Other hotel charges outside of Manhattan often coincided with Priestly's work trips. Even during last year's infamous Paris Fashion Week when Tomlinson filed for divorce and informed Priestly by phone, he charged several days at the Desert Springs JW Marriott Resort & Spa, a five-star hotel in Palm Springs. Coincidentally, Apperton charged several items at a lingerie store close to that hotel during the same time period, as well as spa services at the hotel (see hotel printout below). When questioned in person, several hotel employees confirmed the couple's attendance and intimate association.
As if these documents aren't damning enough, Tomlinson's bank statements clearly reflect the leasing of an apartment in Battery Park four months before the divorce paperwork was filed (see leasing agreement below). Although not on the lease paperwork, Apperton has her name on the mailbox and has often called the management company to complain about other tenants. (continued on Page 4).
No longer interested in reading the rest of the expose, Miranda placed the paper carefully on her desk. Andrea had been very thorough, including in-depth interviews and eye-witness accounts of the couple seen around town and across the nation during their trysts. The girl had left copies of all the damning evidence, along with names of people willing to submit affidavits and to appear in court, if it came to that. Miranda couldn't help but believe Stephen would want to settle now. Although it was tempting to turn the tables on him and take revenge, the fashion icon just wanted this part of her life to end. She wanted to move on with her life.
Miranda realized she had some soul-searching to do and some important decisions to make. She needed to take stock of what she wanted. The words Andrea had uttered had impacted her as powerfully as the asteroid that created the Moon's Sea of Tranquility. Miranda felt fundamentally changed. Her entire reality seemed altered. How could she continue to live as she had before this day? These feelings were bittersweet. For once in her life, Miranda did not know how to proceed. And she had reacted horribly. It may be that she had ruined any chance of keeping Andrea in her life with that little stunt. Perhaps Andrea would understand, would not give up. Miranda moaned like a wounded animal, holding her head in her hands as she rocked slowly.
The most prudent course of action would be to do nothing, at least until she could figure out what the hell she wanted. However, Miranda had no intention of acting prudently or allowing Andrea to slip through her fingers again. She had admitted to herself long ago that it had been a mistake to not convince Andrea to come back to Runway. Miranda had let the girl go because she could not fathom asking an employee who had left her, Miranda Priestly, to return. Her pride would not allow her to implore anyone to reconsider, not even the one assistant who had taken care of her, who had anticipated all of her professional needs, who had made her life easier, and who had made her smile of all things—no. Miranda simply could not bend herself to such an extent. But, oh, how she had wanted to lay aside her well-honed pretense of disinterest and persuade the girl to stay. Miranda was no fool, though. Andrea had presented her with an opportunity to interact. Miranda would not throw this gift away. She would not throw Andrea's affections away. She would find a way to repair the breach.
That settled, Miranda quickly devised a plan to entice Andrea to give Miranda a chance to—what? What did Miranda actually want from the girl? Her presence, for a start.
Her first action must include some understated groveling. Very well. She had a gala to attend in two weeks. Miranda would have an invitation sent to Andrea. Mind made up, Miranda joined her children in Caroline's room where they were listening to music and working on their math homework.
"Mom, are you and Andy friends?" Cassidy asked. Caroline looked at her mother while she waited for an answer.
"Not quite. But I think it could become a friendship," Miranda answered slowly.
"But she left you. You said she was ungrateful." Caroline sounded confused. Miranda grinned humorlessly. Join the party.
Cassidy elbowed her sister. "But Mom was also sad," she added giving Caroline a pointed look.
"I know this is unusual, but she is different." Not much of an explanation, but it was all she could provide. Her children looked at her, unconvinced. "I like her. Once you spend more time with her, I believe you will understand." And then perhaps you can explain it to me.
Kissing both girls on the forehead, Miranda indulged in hugging them both tightly. They were precious to her. Growing up so fast, having to accept all of Miranda's missteps within her pitiful excuse for a personal life, they deserved so much more. They were still young enough not to be jaded, yet clearly their naivety had faded. Miranda took full responsibility for such changes in their personalities. They had been paying for her mistakes all their lives. Miranda was determined to do something right for once. To listen to her heart instead of her head. To step through her fear. What Andrea had done was mind-boggling. How Miranda had responded was unacceptable. It was time to change.
Miranda swept into Runway full of purpose. She spouted off the usual work demands to Emily as she strode toward her office. Reaching out for her piping hot coffee, Miranda paused in her list of requirements, waiting for Emily to look at her. "Get Lagerfeld on the line. That's all." Miranda flicker her wrist for effect and sat down primly. Picking up the phone at Emily's voice, Miranda told the designer what she required. By the time she hung up, Miranda felt a delicious smile cross her face. With a few more phone calls, things were falling into place.
In ten days a courier would deliver to a very unsuspecting reporter's workplace a little black Chanel evening dress, matching Louis Vuitton black high-heeled pumps with red soles, a shimmering Jimmy Choo clutch, and Tiffany jewelry, along with an invitation to attend the event. Operation Groveling for Forgiveness Without Discussing Anything was well on its way. Miranda just hoped she could persuade Andrea to forego trying to discuss Miranda's olive branch. Miranda shuddered delicately at the thought.
Now that the arrangements were made, the editor was able to concentrate on the thousands of details that had to be attended to in order to produce the next magazine issue. Reviewing the latest fashion shoot results, Miranda felt her attention breaking when she heard Andrea's name mentioned. Glancing through the front window, Miranda could see Emily and Nigel conversing in low tones as they shot looks her way. Miranda made sure to seem properly engrossed in what she was doing as she tried to hear what they were saying. Snatches of "8 p.m. tonight at Divine Bar," "I can't wait to get the scoop," and "can you believe that article?" filtered through to Miranda's office. Who are they talking about? Miranda listened for more information. "Yes, our Six is all grown up now," from Nigel and "she wore hideous skirts…writes acceptably," from Emily gave her a good indication they were discussing her Andrea. As tempting as the idea was to crash their little party tonight, Miranda couldn't see a way of pulling it off without causing a spectacle. She'd embarrassed herself enough yesterday with her deplorable behavior. She would not compound it any further.
For the rest of the day, Miranda's mood deteriorated rapidly. She began to fret over whether Andrea would tell Emily and Nigel about yesterday's debacle. Miranda contemplated keeping them both at work using some trumped up excuse. She became more worried and angry as the day progressed. Finally, in a flash of insight, Miranda realized just how unreasonable she was behaving and left the office in a huff. She could have sworn she heard the entire floor heave a collective sigh of relief as the elevator doors closed, carrying her to the ground floor and away from her harried employees. Miranda resolutely decided she would not allow her insecurities to control her actions today. The three of them would drink and laugh; whatever Andrea told them was up to her. Perhaps they would console her or laugh derisively at her naïve belief that she could be a part of the Snow Queen's life.
Miranda sighed. She wanted to prove Andrea's affections were well placed, that she was worthy. But Miranda hadn't quite convinced herself. Regardless, she would allow Andrea to get closer, even knowing that when the rose-colored glasses were removed, the journalist would realize just how unlovable Miranda was. Andrea was so callow, so optimistic. She thought she knew what she wanted, but she had no idea. Miranda leaned against the car window, listlessly noting the unending flow of people traveling on the sidewalks. Andrea would see her for the fraud she was. The girl would quickly discover just how ill-equipped Miranda was to form even one lasting, meaningful relationship. And then she would leave again. This time, for good.