The Painter
Part 5: Terribly Beautiful
"If you hear a voice within you say you cannot paint, then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced." ― Vincent van Gogh
"Good afternoon Miranda," Andy said. She took Miranda's red and black fur coat and hung it in the closet.
Andy had always loved the feel of fur, and for the barest instant she enjoyed the feel of it in her hands.
"Hello Andrea." Miranda replied. She appeared rather stiff and far more formal than the last time they had had a sitting.
There was an awkward silence. Both women eyed each other, wondering what the other would do about last Friday.
Andy hoped Miranda would let the subject lie after she apologized for her impromptu break down. She'd been stressing for the better part of the weekend about how Miranda would react to the incident. Andy led Miranda to the studio again, wasting no time, playing the gracious host once more.
As Miranda sat down in the chair, Andy said, "I'm sorry about last Friday, it was completely unprofessional of me to break down like that, I should have held it together. I'd understand perfectly if you'd rather stop—"
"Oh don't be ridiculous Andrea." Miranda pursed her lips, "Why would we do that?"
She said it as though Andy was being completely idiotic and she felt appropriately scolded.
Miranda didn't waste time. If she decided to do something, she did it.
Andy should have realized that she was being silly. So what if Andy had an emotional breakdown? It shouldn't affect their working relationship. Andy stared, her mouth hanging open, slightly. She closed her mouth and blinked at Miranda.
"Let's begin shall we?" Miranda asked, annoyed.
"Oh sorry." Andy moved forward to pose her, but just as her hand almost touched Miranda's face, she froze for a split second, hesitating.
Miranda's hand on her arm, in that dimly lit alley way flashed in her mind. Her hand had been so cool and soft. It had been almost as if Miranda cared that she was in pain. But that couldn't possibly be true. Not Miranda. Surely not.
Would her skin be soft again?
Andy continued almost immediately but the split second pause had been obvious enough for Miranda to notice. If she had, Miranda was an expert at pretense. She didn't even bat an eye.
As Andy posed Miranda once more, she let her fingers run up Miranda jaw a little slower than necessary. Miranda flinched a bit, but continued to allow the contact.
"Sorry." Andy muttered again.
Andy tilted her head and moved a lock of her white hair from her forehead. This time Miranda did blink.
Then Andy's hands moved to Miranda shoulders and lowered them slightly. Miranda's blouse was cut to expose her shoulders. Andy's hands touched bare skin.
She felt Miranda breathe in a bit too sharply. Andy glanced at her face worriedly. Had she done something wrong?
She removed her hands from Miranda's shoulders quickly and instead posed her arms back to where they had been for the initial sketch. One hand on the arm of the chair, the other, on her lap.
When Andy looked back up to check the angle of the head again and met face to face with Miranda's piercing gaze, a question clear in them. But what question that was, Andy couldn't know.
Miranda looked away almost at once. If Andy had known to look for it, she might have seen the slight flush that had made Miranda turn her eyes away.
Andy pulled away and smiled awkwardly, before going back to her easel. And then, the tension in the room became unbearable. If only Andy had put some music on to fill the silence.
Andy decided to risk asking for it. For all she knew it might be a suicide mission and Miranda hated all kinds of music. But death would be marginally better than this suffocating silence.
"Would you mind if I put some background music on?" she asked, "I find it helps me focus."
Miranda waved her hand permissively without looking at Andy. "Fine."
"Alright, do you have a preference?"
This time Miranda looked at her without moving her head, conveying her best, 'Would you stop blabbering and just do it already' glare.
Andy gulped. Yep. She should just go put the music on. Jeez. This was going to be an interesting session.
Priestly: 1, Sachs Goldman: 0
She decided to stick to something classic and put on a Debussy album, and started with her personal favorite, 'Nocturne'.
Andy went back to her easel and began to sketch.
If Miranda hadn't been statuesque to begin with, Andy might possibly have guessed she was enjoying the music.
She didn't tell Andy to turn it off in any case.
Andy felt an unaccountably pleased at her good music choice. It was pure luck but she still felt pleased. At least she hadn't put on Radiohead. Thank God for her momentary lapse into 'Miranda awareness'.
Priestly: 1, Sachs Goldman: 1
Andy permitted herself a small smile as she glanced back and forth from Miranda to the newest sketch. This would be the final copy which she would use to begin the base of her canvas.
She could already picture what colors she would mix together for Miranda's 'stormy sky' colored eyes.
Andy chuckled quietly, at her use of mixed comparisons. Miranda arched an eyebrow. Andy simply shook her head. For a moment Andy thought Miranda might push it, but Miranda looked back towards the window apparently deciding it wasn't worth it.
Some days, Miranda's eyes were like ice. Cold enough to burn you. Other days they had the warmth of a summer rain. It was hard to keep up with the weather in Miranda-land.
If Andy followed that logic, it must be the very beginning of spring, right before the flowers come out but the earth is still brown and dead in Andy-land.
She suppressed another smile. Miranda would start to think she really was off her rocker if she started smiling at nothing.
She checked the time and sighed. Where had the time flown to? It had already been 45 minutes.
Time to take a break. "Let's take a break. Would like something to drink? Tea, water, coffee?"
"Tea." She said simply. She wasn't looking at Andy.
She stood up and Andy could tell she'd like to stretch but wouldn't do it in front of her.
"Alright. I'll make a pot of earl grey." Andy said. Miranda hummed her approval.
Andy came back with two cups of earl grey and a pot just in case either of them wanted a re-fill.
She walked back into her studio and saw Miranda sitting, one of Andy's sketch books in her lap. Miranda was going through page after page of Andy's sketches, most them of Miranda, herself.
The book was full of her face, her eyes and her smile. Andy had spent hour after hour sketching her, studying her. It had been her escape from thinking too much this past weekend. She must have left it out on her desk.
What did Miranda think of them? She would probably never find out for certain if Miranda enjoyed her art work. But she had been the one to push for the portrait in the first place, although why she had done so in the first place Andy was almost sure she'd never know.
She was the queen of whims after all. What Miranda wanted, Miranda got.
Andy went to put the tray on the coffee table and took her own cup before sitting down on the settee across from Miranda. Miranda looked up at her, then back down at the book, with a look Andy surmised, was one of confusion. A highly un-common occurrence in Miranda's spectrum of expressions.
"Andrea…" she began, not looking up from the drawings, "Why do you have so many sketches of me?"
Oh God. That was the question she always dreaded answering. Andy had always had trouble explaining why she became so fixed on the people who would sit for a portrait. But even she had to admit, she was being unusually obsessive in Miranda's case.
"Oh, w-well, um…" She stuttered.
Miranda arched a single eyebrow waiting for an answer.
"I, I fixate on certain people, not based on their looks most of the time, but on their personalities."
"Excuse me?" Miranda asked, her eyebrows furrowing.
"I – I mean, uh, Henry does a better job of explaining it than I do. He says that I find the beauty in a person's personality and try to show it in my paintings."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Didn't I?" Andy asked. She knew she was avoiding it but hell— this was Miranda Priestly she was speaking too. Could anyone blame her for not wanting to explain what made her tic?
"No, you didn't." She said, her voice flat, unimpressed. Shit.
"Well. I mean, I saw you at the Benefit and I thought you were beautiful." She said trying to sound matter-o-fact about it.
Miranda was searching her face, with something like disbelief in her eyes.
"I saw you coming down the stairs and you were just— beautiful." Andy said faintly. Oh God. Please don't let Miranda hate her. She didn't want to cause this woman any more trouble.
Miranda said nothing. She continued to look at Andy with a puzzled expression. Was she angry? Andy couldn't really tell. But she thought not.
Andy looked away nervously.
Miranda's phone rang, breaking the silence and making both women jump a bit.
Miranda pulled her phone out of her purse and glanced at the caller ID.
"I have to take this." Miranda said to Andy. She took the hint.
"Of course, I'll just go outside for a bit." Andy said, taking her tea cup with her.
She left the studio just as Miranda picked up the phone and said, "Hello? Stephen, what is it?"
Shut the door behind her. Andy sipped at her tea and waited to hear Miranda finish her call. The voices were hushed but Andy could tell Miranda sounded tense and annoyed. Oh dear. She hoped the phone call would spare her from having to elaborate further on exactly why and how she had fixated on Miranda.
It was strange for her to have to try and formulate words to explain her reasoning. Words seemed so inadequate. It was something she experienced, not something she could describe accurately. It was a feeling which was familiar to her, but not one she'd ever really dared to examine in great detail. A kind of warmth, longing and something which bored on affection. If someone had to try to find words to explain 'the feeling' those were the ones Andy would use.
Miranda's voice sounded strained although she couldn't make out many words. The voices got louder.
"Stephen I—" her voice cut off to listen to the voice on the other end of the phone.
"No!" she exclaimed, "You know I wanted to be ther—" Stephen said something to cut her off.
"Of course not, don't be ridiculous!" Andy heard Miranda say angrily.
Andy hoped everything was ok.
"Alright. Yes. Goodbye…I'll see you tonight."
There was a moment of silence. Andy thought it was probably a good time to knock.
She knocked twice.
"Miranda?" Andy called quietly.
Miranda said, "Yes, I'm finished. Let's get back to work shall we?"
"Of course." Andy murmured. Miranda's eyes were slightly red. Her voice was a bit rougher than before she'd gotten the call. She was upset and trying not to show it.
Miranda sat down in the armchair again and tried to go back to exactly where she had been before, but it wasn't quite right. Andy came forward and reached out to pose her again.
"Must you?" Miranda said, her voice showing her annoyance.
She felt vulnerable and didn't feel like letting Andy anywhere near her, Andy could tell. She'd been there herself a few times. With Henry in particular.
"For the sake of the accuracy of the portrait, yes." She wanted to tell Miranda she was sorry it made her uncomfortable but she didn't think the other woman would take too kindly to her vulnerability being pointed out by Andy. Miranda huffed in annoyance and nodded her consent.
Andy reached up and tilted her head, being extra careful to not do anything unexpected or to move her with anything other than a gentle touch. Her fingers lingered on her jawline again.
Andy suppressed a sigh. The lines of Miranda's face, her bone structure, the small lines at the corners of her eyes, the color of those eyes, the sadness and pain in them, they were all beautiful to Andy. A small part of her consciousness realized she'd never been so deeply affected by someone's beauty before. Miranda was exceptional.
Miranda shut her eyes. Andy felt her shiver. Andy's breath caught in her throat.
'So beautiful. So incredibly beautiful.' Andy thought, frowning in concentration as she inched Miranda's face back to the place where Andy always positioned her.
Then something Andy could never have anticipated happened.
A tear slipped down Miranda cheek, escaping like a traitor running from the source of the pain inside Miranda.
Andy let her thumb catch it and brush it away.
Miranda tensed and her eyes shot open to look at her. The shock in her expression was clear as day. And the pain in her eyes made stole Andy's breathe away.
That. That right there was the spark. The one thing that made her so terribly beautiful.
Her pain.
It had shaped her, created her, and defined her. It was the most deeply ingrained, secret part of her. Miranda lived on hope. That was clear to Andy now. She lived on the hope that, one day, there would be someone who wouldn't hurt her. Someone who wouldn't disappoint her. Because everyone did eventually. They all hurt her in one way or another. Either by accident or on purpose. More often than not it was on purpose.
Miranda blinked and tried to compose herself. Her eyes were wet but she wasn't crying. Not yet. She was forcing herself not to.
Her husband must have said something to upset her. Andy wished for one insane moment she could comfort her. She knew it was impossible, that Miranda would never accept it, but still she wanted to offer it to her. She wanted to hug her and make foolish promises. That she would make it all better, that she could stop the pain…But that would be a lie. Here, now, looking into her face, she felt a fierce ache in her chest.
"Oh Miranda." She breathed.
"Don't. Please…I—" Miranda pleaded, holding back more traitorous tears. She couldn't handle it if Andy offered. She couldn't accept it.
Andy knew that. But still she wished that she would let the walls fall for a short while and allow someone anyone to be there for her. But Miranda couldn't bear it.
That would require her to trust. And Miranda trusted no one.
It was simple really.
Andy wasn't allowed close and Miranda wasn't going to let her get that close in any case.
So instead, after a long moment, Andy pulled her hand away from Miranda's face.
More silence ensued, broken only by the soft music in the background, but neither woman looked away from each other. Not this time. They couldn't pretend that nothing was different this time.
"Was that Stephen? On the phone?" Andy finally asked, needing to change the subject, anything to end the tension which was quickly becoming unbearable. Saying something inane often had its uses despite how much Andy hated to admit it.
"Yes." She managed to say. Her voice still had a rough quality to it, showing that she was suppressing her emotions.
That bastard. Andy wanted to yell at him, even though she'd only met him once. He'd upset Miranda. That made him a bastard in Andy's book.
"Miranda I—" Andy began but she didn't really know what there was to say.
Miranda looked at the Swarovski watch on her right hand wrist. They still had 15 minutes left.
Andy went back to sit at her easel. Proper position be damned.
Miranda went back to sitting approximately where Andy had placed her.
Her posture was tense and she looked almost like she had that first day. Like she didn't want to be here. As if she would like nothing better than too run from the room.
"Miranda, why did you accept my offer?" Andy dared to ask. She'd wanted to know for a while and now seemed like the only opportunity she'd get.
Miranda looked at her sharply.
"Out of politeness? That doesn't seem very much like something you would do, so, out of a sense of curiosity?" She continued to push the subject.
"What does it matter 'why' I'm here? I'm paying you aren't I?" Miranda retorted.
Oh dear, she was resorting to anger to hide her vulnerability. Usually a well-placed comment like that would have shut Andy up, but not this time. She was like a dog with a bone when she got something stuck in her mind, she was determined to get an answer out of this enigmatic woman.
"Technically not yet, no." Andy said, trying to keep her voice steady, "And it matters to me. I'm not going to sit here for the next few months panting someone who doesn't want to be here."
There was a short silence.
"Fair enough, I suppose." She replied, appearing sardonically amused by Andy's gal. The tears were gone now, hidden away behind the walls of ice once more.
Andy waited for a reply to her questions. A few moments later, she got one.
"Why did you offer to paint me?" she asked instead of answering.
Andy gaped at her. "I—well, isn't obvious?" she asked. "You, you're like no one else I've ever seen before." Miranda raised her eyebrows. Andy felt like she'd just taken her foot and shoved it in her mouth. No, actually that would have been better than what she'd just done.
"'Like no one you've ever seen before' what are you—?" Miranda began to ask, her tone bordering dangerously on irate.
"I'm sorry," Andy backtracked, "It's just— well it's true. There's just something about you that draws the eye. A natural form of beauty, that can't be cultivated or recreated, it just is." Andy wondered if she shouldn't just shut up now, as she watched the look of surprise spread across Miranda's face. She really was horrible at explaining her fixation. "And your eyes…they're-I don't know, they- they're captivating. It's what made me want to paint you in the first place." Andy wished she'd remained silent instead of having elaborated exactly what she should have kept to herself.
Moments of sharp silence slipped by them, like a knife cutting through butter.
"Oh. Well— I, um…" Miranda paused and touched her nape nervously looking anywhere but Andy's face. For once it seemed that she was at a loss for words.
"You're welcome." Andy said, trying not to let her relief show on her face too much.
Miranda opened her mouth as if to say something, and then closed it and simply nodded.
Andy heard the front door open and close loudly. Henry was home a bit early. Damn. Andy couldn't suppress a wince. Miranda looked at her knowingly. In this they were alike. Their husbands were far from being what either of them truly needed.
"Honey? Andy? Are you home?" Andy shot an apologetic look at Miranda.
She quickly stepped out into the hall and called, "Yes, Henry I'm in the studio with Miranda. We'll be done in a few minutes."
"Oh, ok. Say hello to Miranda for me." Andy smiled at him, placating him, before turning around and heading right back into the studio before he got any ideas of kiss her or hugging her or god forbid touching her barely existent baby bump.
She rolled her eyes and muttered. "God. Ugh." Under her breathe. Right, as if Miranda couldn't hear his loud voice from the studio.
She shut the door again behind her. She was tempted to lock it in case he decided to say hi personally. She didn't, but only because Miranda was watching her like a hawk.
"Sorry about that. Shall we continue?" "No. It's time I head home."
Andy looked at her watch. Damn. She was right. Their time was up. She'd barely drawn anything.
"I'll set up an appointment for next week then." Andy said.
"That won't be possible." Miranda said as she stood up.
"I'm sorry, what?" Had Andy scared her off? Was she deciding she didn't want to go through with the portrait after all? Oh please no. Not that.
"Miranda I—" she tried to say. She had to convince her, to change her mind. She had to.
"It's Paris fashion week. I'll be out of town. The week after that will be fine."
"Oh." 'Oh thank god.' She thought.
"The next week then." Andy let out the breathe she hadn't realized she'd been holding out, relieved.
"Mmm. Yes." Miranda replied. She seemed absent minded. Andy knew she must be lost in thought. Today had given both of them a lot to think about.
"I'll walk you out then." Andy let Miranda out to the door and turned to hand her, her coat. Instead of taking it from her Miranda simply slipped one arm into the sleeve and Andy was obliged to help her put on her coat. Andy's fingers accidentally brushed her nape and Andy felt her tense slightly.
Andy gritted her teeth, but was unable to stop her own sharp intake of breath. Miranda paused for the barest instant before continuing. She turned around to face Andy once.
"Till the week after next, Andrea." Miranda managed before turning around and rushing down the hallway without even waiting for Andy's reply. She shut the door after having heard the last audible click of Miranda's heels echo down the hallway.
"See you in two weeks." Andy murmured to the shut door in front of her.
'She never did ask about the opening night,' Andy mused. But then again, Andy could tell that Miranda really wasn't the kind of woman to ever intrude on another person's personal life. She stood there frowning at the door for a moment longer, wondering what the hell had just happened between them.
She tried to formulate it clearly in her mind. She had been, attracted, to Miranda.
That thought alone was shocking to Andy. As far as she knew, she'd never been attracted to a woman before.
But what was more shocking still, was that, although Andy could never have imagined it, Miranda seemed to be…for lack of a better word, reacting…to her as well.
Dear God. If this was true, and Andy wasn't entirely sure yet that she was right, what did it mean for both of them?
She had no idea.
"Andy? Honey?" Henry called from the living room. "Are you finished yet?"
Andy realized she needed to go and see Henry, to smile as though nothing was different and act as though her understanding of herself hadn't just done a spin on its axis. It was unfathomable to her that it should be necessary to behave normally after such a day.
"Y-yes, Miranda just left." She called back.
Henry's heavy footsteps came down the hall towards her. He turned around the corner and she saw he had a glass of whiskey in his hand. They hadn't even had supper yet and he was in the drink.
He came forward and kissed her cheek. His breath smelled of whiskey and the cigarettes he refused to give up no matter how much Andy pleaded with him. His hand touched the barely there bump in her stomach. Andy's lips where pressed into a thin line. He was trying be supportive and affectionate but to Andy it just came off as clingy.
How long had she been repulsed by her husband's touch? Hadn't it taken her a long while to become interested in men as a teenager? Hadn't she pushed her boyfriends away when they'd asked for sex? Hadn't she been….indifferent to their attentions? She'd always rationalized that she'd just never had the courage to tell them what she wanted but…now she was unsure. What if it had been more? She was 28 years old for Christ sake! How had she not noticed anything?
"Earth to Andy?" Henry asked. Oups. She'd been lost in thought. She couldn't allow herself that luxury at the moment.
"Yes. I'm fine. Let's go see what Marina has made for super." She said. She couldn't look him in the eye. She disentangled herself from him, heading towards the kitchen. He was close on her heels.
She had to be more careful not to slip up. She had to be Andy Sachs Goldman, wife of the current chairman of the American multinational investment banking firm Sachs Goldman and Co, eccentric painter and daughter of the late CEO. The tragedy stricken wife and husband with no children, but it wasn't Henry's fault, it was hers, the wife's. Of course.
'The one who'd fallen apart two years ago after the loss of their son due to SIDS. Such a tragedy. Poor thing.' That was what Andy knew people thought of her.
That was who she was. The one who had lost it. But what 'it' was, very people could ever understand. When people said she'd 'lost it' they meant in the sense that she'd gone a bit off her rocker. And it was true she had…but it hadn't been her mind that she'd lost.
'Ethan.' She thought the name she always avoided thinking. So much pain was attached to it. A wave of sadness over took her for an instant.
One thing had been taken away. Just one thing. And her world had come apart like a house of card falling down around her.
She shut her eyes briefly as their chef, Marina, set out plates of some kind of high folic acid and walnut salad for her and a fish steak for Henry. With another glass of whiskey. Of course.
"Honey are you alright?" Henry asked, looking at her worriedly. Andy tried to smile but she was sure it looked stiff.
"I'm fine. How was your day? Did that meeting with John work out as you'd hoped?"
"Even better," He said. And with that meager amount of coaxing, Henry launched into a description of the events at the office.
Andy knew she should probably feel at least a bit guilty for diverting him so easily but she really couldn't quite bring herself to care so long as he didn't bother her with questions she couldn't answer yet. As he spoke, she 'hmm'd' and 'ah'd' at the right places and smiled and nodded barely listening as she ate.
"So, how was your day, 'at the office' so to speak?" he asked with a smug smile. He was on his third glass of whiskey.
"It was fine." She couldn't look him in the eye.
"That bad huh?" Henry said. He smirked. What the hell did that mean? He barely knew Miranda but he was assuming she'd been unpleasant and that was why Andy was quiet?
"It was good actually." Andy replied, trying not to get angry at him for such an assumption.
Henry looked at her skeptically.
"I've got to keep working on the sketch, actually."
"Andy I-" he tried to say.
She didn't wait t hear what he had to say.
She stood, put her plate in the sink and headed down the hall to her studio.
Henry wouldn't follow her. She knew. He didn't really care enough to come see if she really was alright. She shut the door behind her, and leaned against it. She tried to breathe slowly.
She took one deep breath after the other. Her hand wound unconsciously to her middle. She had to stay calm. For the baby's sake.
She went to sit in the armchair where Miranda had sat earlier. Andy remembered the feel of her soft skin, the emotions flashing in her eyes, her pain. Her spark.
Andy went and picked up a sketch pad and began to draw immediately. She drew for a good two hours straight.
When she was done, she looked at her work. It was a portrait of Miranda, looking at her from under her lashes with unmistakable lust in her eyes.
'Oh God.' Andy thought. 'Miranda Priestly, what have you done to me?'
-TBC-