The Painter
Part 6: Beneath What You See
"Beneath it is all dark, it is all spreading, it is unfathomably deep; but now and again we rise to the surface and that is what you see us by." ― Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
It was a gloriously sunny morning in New York.
'Almost like a watercolour painting,' Andy mused. Everything seemed so full of promise.
Andy had spent the morning out, buying new brushes and a few fresh canvas' to do a sample of the portrait for Miranda before she came back from Paris Fashion week. She loved to go to SoHo Art Materials, on Gardner Avenue.
She loved the artistic crowd that came and went from the store as she shopped. She loved the bustle and intent in the eyes of the artists as they selected their work mediums and tools with care. But most of all she loved the smell of untouched sketch pad paper, of unopened paint tubes and the clean woody smell of the unused pencils and brushes. It was such a familiar, comforting scent.
She imagined this must be similar to what book lovers obsessed about 'old book smell'. But instead this was 'fresh art supplies smell.' She chuckled to herself. Andy knew she was a little eccentric.
Still, there was something very comforting in the knowledge that she could sit down in front of a blank canvas and pick up a clean bush and paint for hours, escaping from the fast moving world around her. Despite having gotten very little sleep last night, she felt awake, and alive as she exited her town car, thanked her driver and went into her apartment.
Andy actually found herself whistling as she opened the door to her apartment. Henry was at work so she should be home alone for the day, apart from the chef who would come to make her lunch and remind her to eat at about 2 o'clock.
Andy headed for the studio, loot in hand, and set everything down on the settee. She went to search for her sketch pad on her desk among the piles of other sketches, but couldn't find it. Then she remembered she'd brought it to bed last night so she could draw before going to sleep. She went to get it.
As she put a hand on the doorknob to her bedroom she thought she heard Henry's voice making strange noses. But that couldn't be right. Henry wasn't supposed to be home till 9 o'clock tonight. What on earth—
She turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.
"Henry are you alri—" the question lodged in her throat. The covers were moving up and down. She saw a flash of bare skin and let out a yelp.
There were two people in bed having sex. One of them was her husband.
Henry jumped apart from the other person on the bed whom she soon recognized.
"Lily?" She exclaimed. How dare she? That little bitch—
"Andy I can explain." Henry tried to say.
No. She didn't want to hear it. She didn't want his explanations.
"How could you? With the baby on the way—" she asked, utterly distraught. She stared at him her mouth slightly open. She couldn't believe he had done this to them.
"She's home today? And you didn't tell me?" Lily gasped at Henry. Henry looked between the two women, completely helpless.
Andy glared at Lily like she wanted to melt the skin off her face.
"Get out." She growled at Lily.
"What, but, I—" she spluttered.
"Get out. Get out now or so help me God I will make sure you never work in the art industry again." Andy said. Her voice was flat. She felt as though all the emotion she'd had in her had been drained, looking at her cowering husband's face.
Lily grabbed her clothes and ran out of the room.
"Andy please I—" he tried to plead. Oh no. None of that. He didn't deserve to speak, or explain, or try to justify himself. Not with this.
"Shut. Up." Andy enunciated the words clearly.
He shut his mouth. Henry gulped.
"I don't want to hear it Henry. We are through. It's over… I should have seen this coming." Andy frowned, not looking at him.
He was the father of her child. How could her do this to her? To the baby?
Andy shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She was trying not to cry. She'd be damned if she let him see her cry.
"I— I'll leave then. I'm going to pack some bags." Henry said. "I'll come back to pick the rest of my things in a few days."
Andy simply nodded. She felt like something inside of her had been scorched away by this betrayal. The last bit of naivety she'd clung on to blindly, hoping this time that her innocent belief in one single person wouldn't cause her regret…was gone.
Andy wanted to rage. She wanted to give in to the anger burning through her as she watched Henry quickly pack an overnight bag. He grabbed his wallet and keys.
He paused at the bedroom door. Andy's hands were shaking.
"Andy I'm— I'm sorry."
'No you're not.' She spat at him in her mind but she kept her mouth shut tightly instead. 'If you were sorry, if you cared even a bit about me or this baby you would never have done this.'
She just shook her head soundlessly. He could tell she was upset by her expression, she was sure.
"I'll set up a meeting with our lawyers." He said.
Yes that would be for the best. They would only talk through them from now on. Andy could tell.
"Goodbye Andy." He shut the door behind him and she heard it click with a sound of finality. She looked at the shut door furiously. And then she let a sob pass through her lips. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Damn it Henry. Damn you." Andy muttered furiously to no one.
She wanted to scream but she knew that would be pointless. And bad for the baby. She pressed her palm to her stomach. She ground her teeth together and shut her eyes against the tears she couldn't hold back.
She swiped at the few tears that had managed to escape.
'Damn it.' She swore in her mind. She had to stay calm. She took a deep breath and then another.
She stood up and went back to the studio. She sat in the arm chair opposite to the one Miranda posed in for the portrait. It had been 6 days since she'd sat there last. Miranda was coming back tomorrow. It was part of the reason Andy had been in such a good mood today. Now all the happiness she'd felt earlier had evaporated.
She should have known. It was so obvious looking back. She'd have to call her lawyer.
She decided to do it later. Right now, she needed to paint. She needed to escape.
She went to her shopping bags of new materials and carefully selected her painting tools.
She picked up a brush and began blending color after color. She knew she couldn't possibly get the eyes the right color without her model here, but she could work on other beginnings.
Andy worked tirelessly. She stained her clothes and she was sure her face had a few streaks of paint in it too.
Whatever. That didn't matter. Not right now.
All that mattered right now was the shape of Miranda's shoulder. And then the angles in her chin. And the curves in her mouth. They were all that mattered. All that kept her tethered to the here and now.
She couldn't allow herself to fall back into the depression she'd allowed to have control over her life for the past two years. She was done wallowing in self-pity. There were more important things to think about. Like how many eyelashes Miranda had.
Yes. She was focused on something that wasn't painful. That was good. She fell into her artist's world like a welcome warm bath soothing all the aches in her.
She worked for hours, not noticing till the light from the sky was no longer bright enough to allow her to continue to paint. And then she simply turned the light and continued to paint till her hand began to cramp.
She finally put down her brush. Miranda's face looked back at her from the canvas with the same look of 'almost-but-not-quite-pity' she'd given Andy at the Gallery opening night.
"Please, not that. Not from you." She murmured to the painting, just as she had thought the night she'd seen this look before. She couldn't bear to look at the painting anymore.
Andy dropped her brush on the floor not caring that it spattered paint on the floor.
She went to the master bedroom again and tore off her clothes. She dropped them on the carpet. Andy couldn't care less if the paint stained her clothes or the floor.
She headed into the en-suite bathroom and turned on the shower. She stepped in to the water flow without waiting for it to heat up. Andy hissed quietly as the cold water his her skin. She yanked the knob in the other direction to make it warmer.
It slowly warmed up. Eventually the water became so warm Andy was sure her skin would be red when she got out. But she needed to scrub everything off. The paint, her tears, her lingering pain. She couldn't have a drink. This was the next best alternative. This vague sense of pain that wasn't pain.
Andy scrubbed at her skin till it was raw and red. She finally felt clean. Then, all her energy left her and she let herself lean against the shower tiles and slid down the wall of the shower till she was sitting on the floor.
The stream of water pounded her legs and the tile behind her was cold. She let her head rest on her knees and at last she let herself cry a few tears. Not too many. Just a few. She couldn't allow any more than that.
At last when the water turned cold again she stepped out of the stream. She grabbed a towel and dried off quickly.
Then she went into the bedroom and realized she felt like burning the bed. Or throwing up. Or a combination of both. But she did neither.
She got into a pair of roomy pj's. Then Andy grabbed a spare comforter from the closet and a pillow and went back to the studio and crawled onto the settee, infinitely glad she'd gotten such a big size.
She closed her eyes, and tried to sleep. Instead she tossed and turned and fell in and out of consciousness. She woke up twice during the night.
Miranda. She was coming back tomorrow…Andy'd made sure to book an appointment with Emily for the day Miranda returned because according the redhead she took a week off from any work related situations after fashion week whenever possible.
Emily had yet to confirm the appointment with her, but Andy hoped Miranda would accept to see her for an hour before taking her time off officially. Or maybe she'd think of the painting session as non-work related enough to validate coming anyways. Andy hoped she would still get to see Miranda at least once this week.
The last thing she remembered thinking before falling asleep till morning was, 'At least Miranda will be back tomorrow.'
Andy woke up to her phone ringing on the coffee table beside her. She reached out and answered thoughtlessly.
"Hello?" she said, her voice still filled with the roughness of sleep.
"Good morning Andrea. I'll be available at 3:30pm today for an hour and a half. Will that be sufficient?" Miranda's cool voice said from the phone at her ear.
Andy gasped and all at once sat up as though Miranda were in the room with her.
"M-Miranda, you're back in town." Andy heard her huff irritably and could almost see her roll her eyes at Andy's still half asleep babble. "Yes, yes, 3:30pm sounds perfect."
"I'll see you then." Miranda hung up without waiting for her reply. Andy blinked hard, and rubbed at her eyes. She huffed and willed herself to be more awake.
She looked at her phone to check the time; high noon. Wow, she really had managed sleep for a long time. But to be fair she hadn't slept well at all. She'd have to make sure to call the maid service and get them to clean the bedroom sometime today.
She should definitely be sleeping in a bed. This settee couldn't be good for her back. Or come to think of it her neck. Or the baby for that matter. She touched her hand to the bump that had become a bit more visible lately. Andy marveled at the little being whose existence was only made known by this bump and a few tests.
She sighed and murmured, "Good morning baby." The books she'd read had said that the baby would be able to hear her now. She was at almost 17 weeks after all.
It was very strange for Andy to be going through this a second time. The first time she'd been ecstatic. This time, she felt…terrified. She pressed her hand on her baby bump again to reassure herself the baby was really there.
Then she felt a kick.
"Oh!" she gasped and her eyes widened. The baby had kicked. She looked at her stomach in awe. This might be her second time but she certainly was still in awe of that sensation. It was about time for it to happen. It was a relief. This was the first time she'd felt the baby kick.
"Oh, wow." Andy sighed. "You're awake huh? Are you hungry kiddo?" She asked. The baby kicked again and Andy gasped again. Andy wasn't sure if she could call the movement she felt a kick or not. It felt more like butterflies in her stomach. Andy wondered if the baby liked the sound of her voice.
She smiled to herself. It was a familiar motherly smile that she hadn't felt creep up on her in a very long time. Although officially only two years had passed, this was currently the third year since Ethan had died. The smile fell from her face immediately upon thinking of him. The child she had lost. A sharp ache formed in her chest and she fought back tears.
'Not this time. Not again. I won't lose this one.' She thought to herself fiercely. 'I can't.'
She checked when her next appointment with her doctor would be on her phone's calendar. This Friday. Alright. She could deal with it. She'd gone alone last time and she'd do it again.
She took a deep breathe. She needed to get ready for Miranda's session. The studio needed to be cleaned up a bit at least and she needed to get dressed and she certainly needed to eat and take her vitamins. And tea sounded like a very good idea.
She looked at the partially finished water color portrait on the canvas and at Miranda's expression in the picture. She quickly grabbed one of her spare tarps and threw it over the painting.
Miranda certainly didn't need to see that painting.
She'd cleaned up the studio, and had called the maid to pack everything in the bedroom up. Andy thought she'd best get the maid to wear plastic gloves and put the sheets in an air tight container. She knew this would be important for the divorce argument.
Andy's old instincts had kicked in and she'd become her father's daughter as she had planned her next moves out. She knew Henry would probably just cave in and allow her the divorce. But…it never hurt to be prepared.
Three fifteen eventually came around on the clock in the kitchen and Andy was just finishing her first cup of non-caffeinated buckwheat tea. She hummed in satisfaction. Then the doorbell rang and Andy got up and went to open the door.
"Hello Miranda. How was your trip?" Andy asked. Her voice was steady and she tried to sound normal. What would Miranda care whether or not she and Henry were getting a divorce? Or that the baby had kicked for the first time today? No, she probably wouldn't care at all. Andy took a deep breath, quietly and sighed imperceptibly.
"Tiring." Miranda replied without a moment's pause. She turned around and Andy obediently helped her out of her coat, careful this time not to touch her neck or any part of her.
It wouldn't do. Not now. Andy needed to be focused. Miranda's presence alone was certainly unsettling enough without remembering how much Andy enjoyed the softness of Miranda's skin. Or that she was questioning her sexuality because of the woman standing in front of her.
"Oh really?" Andy said trying not to blush just thinking about this woman's skin against the fur of the coat she was hanging up. "Was it terribly busy?" Andy asked as she placed one shoulder of Miranda's grey fur coat on the hanger. She thought it might be rabbit fur or maybe some kind of small furry rodent type animal. The fur was luxuriously soft. It was an Alexander Wang creation, Andy noted.
"I'm not surprised you don't know. Fashion doesn't really interest you after all." Andy opened her mouth to protest that the company invested in many industries including Fashion, but Miranda continued, "Fall fashion week is the busiest time of the year for the fashion industry." Miranda replied.
"Oh, well. You must be tired." Andy nearly bit her tongue at her own inability to keep such personal comments out of their conversation.
Miranda looked her up and down and nodded once, before continuing. She liked Andy's outfit. A simple Zac Posen black suit pan and a DKNY cerulean wrap around cowl neck sweater. The sweater stretched and was very comfortable. Andy supposed she'd have to get Lily to—no. Not Lily. Never again would Lily work for her. She'd have to hire a personal shopper to buy bigger maternity clothes soon.
"When did you get back?" she asked to cover up her slip.
"At some obscenely late hour last night." Miranda said, looking anywhere but her face. So they were back to this were they? Not looking at each other. Right. Nothing had 'happened' last time. Nothing would 'happen' this time.
"Mmm." She almost added, 'That's never fun,' but thought better of it. Miranda would most certainly not appreciate the sentiment.
Andy said, "Would you like a cup of tea before we begin?"
"What kind are you making?" Miranda asked. She followed Andy down the entrance corridor.
"Buckwheat." Andy replied as she walked towards the kitchen.
"Yes, I'll have a cup. The girls enjoy it. No caffeine in it I suppose?"
"No, no caffeine. Decaf is always best for—"
"For pregnant women." Miranda interrupted her. "Yes I know. I do have twin girls in case you'd forgotten."
"Of course not." Andy said, "Although I've never met them."
Miranda hmph'd. "No you haven't. You've never had the occasion too."
"How old are they now?" Andy dared to ask. Miranda was notoriously private and even more so when it came to her children. Andy wondered if she hadn't crossed some invisible line when Miranda looked at her oddly. As though she were evaluating Andy's level of sincerity in asking after her children.
"Cassidy and Caroline are turning ten in December." She replied after a moment's pause. Apparently she judged that Andy was sincere enough to warrant an answer
Andy handed Miranda a mug of the tea. Miranda sniffed it inconspicuously. Andy suppressed a smirk. Her girls liked it, but Andy would bet her favorite louboutin's that she'd never actually tried it. She pressed her lips together trying not to smile at her.
Miranda took a sip. Then she sighed almost imperceptibly. She liked it. Good. This time Andy couldn't hold back a smile. She turned quickly and took her cup and led Miranda to the studio. She doubted Miranda had noticed her smiling.
But maybe she had because Miranda seemed to be holding back a smirk of her own, when Andy saw her take a seat in her usual chair.
She noticed Miranda was once again wearing a different outfit today. Five inch white Manolo Blahnik stilettos. No surprise there. A pink, intricate, lace covered v neck sheath that cut just above the knee, paired with a light cashmere cardigan in taupe. The cardigan tied in an intricate knot at her hip.
It was quite flashy and bold with different shades of pink one on top of the other, the lace giving it a particular flair. The pink tones brought a good deal of color to her face, making her appear very lively today. Once again Miranda was hiding all, but at the same time not hiding at all.
That reminded her— "Miranda have you considered which outfit you'd prefer to be in permanently for the portrait?" Andy asked.
"No." Miranda said. "I haven't." Her lips pressed together in a thin line.
"If you could decide on one permanent outfit to wear at the sessions coming up that would be much appreciated. Today I'll start work on a first attempt on a canvas with paint. This is just a sample but for future reference it would be best if you had Emily messenger over an outfit so that you can change back when we are done with the session instead of having to wear the same outfit once a week."
"Yes, I'll let Emily know when I've chosen one."
"And," she continued, "A specific hour and place should also be decided on. For the light in the painting you understand. Morning, noon and evening all have different levels of light."
"I see." And paused to consider this, "I'll tell Emily to inform you once I've compiled a list of suitable options." Miranda said at last. She might be famous for her snap decisions but this time she'd make sure to think on it.
"Alright." Andy reach out to pose her then paused, "May I?" she lifted her palms open in a motion that could have been almost pleading. Maybe too close to pleading for Andy's liking.
Andy didn't appreciate having to admit that she wanted to feel Miranda's face against her palm again despite all her misgivings. She was still evaluating her sexuality after all. The more she questioned the more questions she came up with.
"If I said no would that stop you?" 'Miranda asked eyeing her.
"Yes." Andy replied immediately. She'd never touch Miranda without her permission. What an odd thing to ask. Why would she..? Unless someone had? That just couldn't be true…could it? Andy didn't have time to ponder this more before Miranda spoke again.
"Continue." Miranda said and lifted her head to give Andy better access.
Andy gently guided Miranda into the position for the portrait, this time refusing to linger on her face any more than absolutely necessary. She focused on keeping her touch purely professional.
It was probably one of the most difficult things she'd ever done. She wanted…what did she want? She wasn't entirely sure she knew. She wanted to touch Miranda's jaw. To rub her thumb against her lips, to watch her eyes shut in a soft gasp as she did so.
Yes, that was what she wanted.
But more than that, she wanted to press those lips against her own. Andy removed her hand too quickly as she thought that traitorous thought consciously.
She'd never wanted to kiss another woman before. Miranda was, as Andy was beginning to discover, the exception to many of her own rules.
Miranda arched a sculpted eyebrow questioning the swift motion.
Andy shook her head and finished posing her.
"There." Andy murmured. That was the place that she'd been posed at all these past sessions. Andy had once again found the exact position that would make Miranda appear to be caught in a moment of time. She moved that one rebellious lock of hair to where it had been the first time they'd done a sitting. Miranda flinched slightly but again said nothing.
She pulled back immediately. But no matter what Andy did she couldn't seem to stop thinking about kissing Miranda or the look she'd had in her eyes the last time Andy had posed her.
She went back to her easel where she place a large blank canvas. She began to blend the colors for Miranda's skin tone.
Slowly, the minutes passed and turned into half an hour before Andy finally paused in her work. She'd gotten the base of Miranda's shape etched out, but it still needed a lot more work.
Andy stretched her shoulder a bit and asked. "Time for a break?"
Miranda nodded and stood up.
"Water?" Andy proposed. She noticed Miranda hadn't finished her tea, but it was cold now.
Miranda nodded once more, still not looking directly at Andy for more than a few seconds at a time. This was getting to be slightly obnoxious. They hadn't done anything wrong the last session. So why couldn't Miranda look at her properly?
As was becoming their habit now Andy left the room to fetch Miranda some water.
She returned to the studio, glass of water in hand. She almost dropped it when she caught sight of what Miranda was looking at. To her dismay Miranda had lifted the tarp and was looking at the partial portrait she'd done last night. The tarp had been dropped to the ground carelessly. Miranda stood staring at the portrait of herself with furrowed brows. Andy wondered if she recognized the expression. Or when Andy had actually see it.
"Miranda—"
"What is this Andrea?" Miranda murmured. She was holding back her emotions, or probably more accurately suffocating them with her tight hold on them. Fuck. Andy's thought's scrambled. How would she explain this?
"An attempt a creating a sample before you returned from Paris." Andy said after recovering slightly from the shock. Andy set the glass of water down on the coffee table, fearing that she might actually drop it. Her hands were shaking. Why did she have to see this painting? The one she'd hoped Miranda would never see.
"That's not what I meant." Miranda snapped.
She gapped at her, at a loss. "I'm sorry I don't—"
"I asked you what this is. It would be self-evident to an infant that this is an attempt at portraying me." Miranda said, her voice turning sharp, annoyed at Andy's lack of immediate compliance. "Now explain to me what this really is."
'Oh. That's what she meant…' Andy thought. She bit the inside of her cheek.
"I was upset last night." She muttered.
"Elaborate." Miranda said when it was clear Andy wouldn't speak without being prodded.
She wondered how much she should tell Miranda. How much would she want to hear? How much would she be willing to hear before getting sick of her and deem her a pathetic little person, full of self-pity and egotism? Andy swallowed hard.
"I found out that my husband was cheating on me… I found him in bed with another woman." Andy continued. She couldn't look Miranda in the eye. So she looked anywhere but her eyes. The arch of her neck. The crook of her arm. Her waist and the cardigan's knot tied there. Her eyes stung but she refused to give sway to the tears that threatened.
Miranda's sharp intake of breath was enough to know she hadn't wanted that many details. Too bad. The flood gates had opened. Miranda had wanted to know? Andy would tell her.
"It was my assistant, Lily. I yelled at her to get out of the apartment and she did. He—" She stopped and took a deep shuddering breath. Why was she explaining all this? Why wasn't Miranda stopping her? She couldn't possibly care…could she? Andy didn't dare to hope.
"He left with an overnight bag. I told him we were over…I'm getting a divorce."
Miranda's eyes shut and she sighed.
Andy continued undeterred, "I should have seen this coming. How stupid could I be? I mean it certainly wouldn't take a genius to notice all the late nights at work and the way Lily stared at him—"
"Andrea. Stop." Miranda ordered. Andy shut her mouth immediately. There was something so comforting in having someone strong tell her what to do. 'Stop'. She could do that. So she did.
"Alright. Good. Now. What does this painting have to do with any of that?" Miranda asked.
She'd come to stand in front of Andy, looking her in the eyes. Searching for the answers in her face again. When would Miranda learn that Andy's face was anything but an open book? Her father had taught her never to show her emotions to anyone she thought might use them against her.
'Good'. Miranda had said. Finally she'd done something right.
"I was upset." Andy murmured, "I paint when I'm upset. Your face was the only one that came to mind. I kept seeing your face the night of the gallery opening. That expression in particular. It baffled me. It still does. Why did you look at me like that?" Andy asked rhetorically, still not looking at Miranda. She in turn said nothing.
"Was it pity? Please don't say it was pity. But what else could it have been?" Andy asked more to herself than to Miranda. "That question kept bothering me while I painted last night. This is what came out of it. I'm sorry you had to see it. I should have thrown it out."
"No!" Miranda said forcefully. She paused. "No," she said again more calmly, "Don't. That would be pointless so just...I— "
Andy was willing to bet that very few people ever saw Miranda Priestly at a loss for words, much less actually flustered. After a few moments of looking away from Andy she eventually managed to compose herself.
"Andrea, your husband is a fool if he doesn't see just how lucky, he is to have you for a wife." Miranda said. Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Andy couldn't cover the scoffing sound she made. Lucky. Ha. No one would consider themselves lucky to have her. She was a mess. Unstable. Wasn't that what everyone thought of her anyways?
The look she saw Miranda give then her was not one filled with a sharp annoyance, as Andy had expected. It was worryingly close to the expression on the canvas behind them. Andy looked away at once. She just couldn't bear it, to see that look directed at her.
"Please don't. Don't look at me like that. I don't need your pity—"
"I don't pity you Andrea."
"Then why?" Andy murmured, finally looking Miranda in the eye.
"I— I suppose I feel a kind of empathy." Miranda said. Andy could have sworn she saw Miranda's face flush with just the barest hint of pink.
"Oh." Andy let out a rush of air. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath.
"Yes, 'oh'." Miranda replied. She looked away and this time Andy was sure she was blushing. She was embarrassed. Miranda wasn't usually one to make personal comments. So why had she? Andy really couldn't understand her sometimes.
She felt the baby kick again. Andy gasped and Miranda looked at her alarmed. "It's nothing. The baby started kicking today. That's all."
"Congratulations Andrea." Miranda said. The look in her eyes was something bordering on gentle. Andy had never seen that look before. It, in contrast, was nothing like the one she'd painted on the canvas. It was much softer. Almost strangely so.
'Such beautiful eyes. So much emotion. They change constantly.' Andy thought.
Andy took a deep breath, as she felt the baby squirm around some more. It was a distracting but comforting sensations as well. Her baby was fine. So was she. For now.
Miranda looked at her watch.
"We should continue don't you think?" Miranda said glancing at the partial canvas they had only just begun. It had been about 30 minutes since they'd agreed to take a break. Shit. They really had to stop doing this, Andy mused. Letting things 'happen' even though nothing really 'happened'…so to speak.
Andy stood and went back to her canvas. She picked up her brush in time to see Miranda sit in the armchair. Miranda looked at her expectantly. Right. Time to pose Miranda again.
'Focus Andy.' She thought.
Andy went towards Miranda and reached out to pose her, only noticing to late the paint brush still in her hand. Before she could pull her hand back, the paint brush smudged up against Miranda's cardigan and her dress. A large dollop of paint spread across the fabric of the sheath and the cardigan. Andy gasped, and pulled away immediately. "Shit" she swore under her breath.
Miranda gasped too and jerked back from Andy's brush. But it was too late. The damage had been done. A brownish beige splotch of undiluted paint stained Miranda's cardigan.
Andy immediately began to apologize profusely. "Oh my God, Miranda I am so sorry, of course I'll—" Andy could hardly breathe.
"Andrea. Calm down. Sit." Andy obeyed Miranda without question once again. "Don't have a panic attack for God's sake." Miranda gestured at her splotch and at her dress. "This is nothing. Nothing that can't be easily replaced. In fact…" she opened her cellphone and called Emily.
"Emily, get me another sample of the Notte pink Marchesa sheath I was wearing today and the Thakoon carding in taupe as well. Have them messengered over to Andrea's before the end of our session. That's all. " She didn't wait to the red head's reply.
Andy blinked at Miranda abrupt method of giving orders to her assistant. She liked it. Logical, impersonal and practical. Andy could definitely take a page out of her book. Huh. Who would have thought?
That reminded her, she'd have to hire a new assistant. What a tedious business. But it wasn't as though she could to forgive Lily for what she'd done. Therefore a new assistant was necessary.
She looked at the stained material of Miranda's beautiful dress and grimaced apologetically. She'd really ruined it, accidentally or not, it was no longer wearable.
"I really am sor—" Andy tried to say.
"Oh for Pete's sake don't apologize again." Miranda interrupted her.
Andy had expected Miranda to be absolutely livid with her. But there was no anger in her eyes. Just a vague sense of annoyance. Andy went to put the brush down at her easel before another accident happened. She passed a hand over her face in exasperation at herself. Today was not her day.
'Dear God the effect this woman has on me. It's unprecedented.' Andy thought. When she looked up at Miranda she noticed the paint had managed to spread to the edge of Miranda's neckline. The paint was on her skin. Shit.
Andy stifled a groan seeing it there, marring her pale skin. Damn. She'd have to tell her it was there, she couldn't just let it dry. It would be a real pain to get it off at that point.
"Miranda—" Andy hesitated. How on earth would a person put such a thing politely?
"Yes?" she asked impatiently.
"There is paint on your neck." She said in a rush. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.
"What?" She touched her neck and her fingers came away with the paint on them. "Oh." She sounded less than impressed.
"I'll get you a wet cloth. The paint should come off easily since it hasn't dried yet." Before Miranda could protest, Andy went to the bathroom. She grabbed a small towel, wet it a bit and came back. Andy held out the towel.
Instead of taking it, Miranda tilted her head, expecting Andy to wipe it off for her.
Oh God. Andy's breath caught in her throat.
Despite her shock, she didn't miss a beat. Andy pressed the cool wet cloth to Miranda's neck line and deftly began swiping away the paint. It had already started to dry, slightly. This would take a few minutes. Miranda flinched a bit at the wet cold towel touching her skin but she let Andy continue.
Andy couldn't help but notice how close they were. She could almost feel the heat radiating off her. Miranda's breath hitched when Andy continued down closer to the top of her cleavage where the paint had leaked down in streaks.
Andy on the other hand continued cleaning Miranda's skin off, almost reverently.
Andy bit her lip, concentrating on the task at hand so to speak.
The baby kicked, this time hard and Andy gasped. Miranda turned to look at her sharply and ended up not an inch away from Andy's face. They were so close Andy could feel her breathe.
'Oh God…' Andy thought. Miranda's eyes were so grey and cool today.
The baby kicked again and Andy gasped and let a hand fall to her middle.
"The baby is again kicking. Sorry." Andy almost whispered.
"It's fine." Miranda replied softly. Neither of them had pulled away. They were so close. So close to touching.
A moment passed between them where neither of them spoke but the tension between them was so thick it could have been cut with a knife.
Finally Andy turned her face away, unable to bear being so close to Miranda and not being allowed more.
Miranda watched Andy, observing her with an uncanny scrutiny. Andy glanced up from under lashes periodically at Miranda as she continued to clean off the remnants of the paint.
"I think I got most of it."
"Yes." Miranda murmured. She checked her Swarovski watch again.
There was a ringing sound from the door monitor at the front door.
Andy quickly went to get it calling behind her, "It's probably for your outfit."
Andy opened the door to see a messenger holding a plastic covered hanger and a signature pad. Miranda had followed behind Andy.
"Miss Priestly?" the messenger man asked.
"Yes that's me." Miranda replied.
"Sign here please." He said.
Miranda signed quickly and Andy stepped forward to take the hanger from the man.
The man left and they both went back down the hall. "You can change in the bathroom." Andy pointed out the correct door. She handed Miranda the clothes. Miranda took them from her and her fingers brushed against Andy's as she did. Andy shivered.
Miranda headed in to the bathroom. Andy waited outside, patiently.
A few minutes passed and Miranda reemerged from the bathroom dressed in the new outfit. But she hadn't put on the cardigan.
She turned her back to Andy and looked over her should and said, "Would you zip me up?"
Andy's eyes widened but she still managed to say, "Y-yes. Of course." Andy gulped.
She gripped the zipper and slid it up slowly. Her knuckles brushed the skin of Miranda's bare back and she felt Miranda shudder.
Andy clenched her teeth together to prevent herself from gasping.
She finished zipping her up and took a step back to allow Miranda to turn around.
Miranda turned around. Andy didn't think it was a good idea to look Miranda in the eye right now. She might see something in Andy's eyes that she really hadn't bargained for.
'Damn. This woman is just trying to give me a heart attack isn't she?' Andy thought.
Miranda checked her watch again. Andy saw the time. Shit. Almost 4:30pm. And they had hardly progressed with the painting at all.
"I suggest we meet twice more this week. To compensate for the lost time because of fashion week and this incident today. The painting really should be advancing at a smoother pace than this." Miranda said lightly.
"Oh, um yes." Andy was flabbergasted by her proposal and trying her best not to show it. She'd get to see Miranda twice more this week? God only knew what would 'happen' then. This could either be a genius idea, or a very, very bad idea.
But despite her misgivings she still said, "Alright. Tell your assistant to call me and let me know what times would be best for you this week."
Miranda just nodded. "I should go. Stephen will be home soon." And just like that Andy felt as though Miranda had thrown a wet blanket on her.
Andy sighed. "Of course. I'll walk you out."
At the door Miranda waited for Andy to get her coat. Andy almost handed it directly to her but thought better of it.
She held it and just like the last time, Miranda slipped into it. Andy's finger touched her neck again.
"Alright. Well, have a good evening." Andy said. Miranda turned to look at her.
"Yes," Miranda said, her voice clipped. "Same to you." And then she was out the door and gone in the blink of an eye.
Andy went back to the kitchen and sat at the stool at the serving island. "Christ. That woman."
-TBC-