The Painter

Part 9: Ashes Ashes We All Fall Down

"Betrayals during war are childlike compared with our betrayals during peace. New lovers are nervous and tender, but smash everything. For the heart is an organ of fire." – Michael Ondaatje

What had begun as a smattering of the rain on the window pane was now a real down pour. Outside, thunder ground against the clouds like a mortar and pestle, trying to crack the sky open even wider to allow more rain to fall.

'She's late…' Andy thought dejectedly, 'She's never late.'

Andy had been on edge all day, waiting for a call from Emily to tell her that Miranda was occupied with something far more important and not to expect her till another day….but that call had never come.

She'd spent the greater part of the day replaying the events of last Thursday in her mind, over and over again like a broken record.

'Will she come?' That maddening question had plagued Andy since their last session and the waiting to find out had become nearly unbearable. It spawned multiple scenarios in Andy's over active imagination, in which Miranda came, or did not, nearly all of which ended badly and those that did not, seemed unrealistic at best.

It was now 20 minutes later than their agreed upon 5:30pm. Damn it. Andy stared at the phone on the counter, almost willing it to ring, to give her any sign or explanation for Miranda's lack of appearance.

'Miranda, where are you?'

Andy sighed and placed her head in her hands. The baby kicked then, remind her mother that being sad was not a good thing.

'I'm sorry baby. I'm trying not to be sad, I promise.' Andy thought to her daughter. The baby continued to move about for a solid five minutes, as though she were as restless as her mother felt.

Andy stood up and rubbed the palm of her hand under her eyes, pushing away the beginning of tears that had no right to exist. What right did Andy have to ask Miranda to risk everything for something that was as substantial as smoke?

She made herself a cup of buckwheat tea only realizing after taking the first sip that it hadn't been such a good idea.

It reminded her of Miranda.

She put the cup down a bit too roughly on the counter with shaky hands. The tea spattered over the edge of the cup and onto the counter. It touched her fingers and she hissed at the burning sensation spreading on her skin.

She grabbed a towel and cleaned the mess, before pouring the remnants of the tea into the sink.

She leaned against the counter, and shut her eyes. She took a shuddering breath.

"God…" Andy murmured.

She bit her bottom lip and looked out the window at the already dark sky with its inky grey clouds spreading over the city like a blanket. Winter would arrive in a few weeks and the biting cold along with it.

She sat down on the stool and closed her eyes again.

Miranda's parting words were stuck in her mind. 'I don't know…' echoed behind Andy's shut eyes, ricocheting off the walls of her mind like a bullet in a metal box. The noise seemed deafening to her, even though she knew her flat was silent. 'Goodbye Andrea.'

Why had she said 'goodbye' and not something else, something less permanent sounding? Had she meant it? Andy checked the time again. It was nearing 6:15pm. She was either very, very late or… she wasn't coming.

Andy stood up again and wandered into her studio. She pulled off the tarp covering the portrait of Miranda's 'empathetic' expression and then sat in the armchair opposite to it.

"You're not coming are you?" She murmured to the painting. Of course, she received no reply.

Suddenly she felt like burning the damn thing. It wasn't right. It wasn't good enough. It wasn't Miranda. It was just a paltry imitation trying to be something it could never be.

She wanted to destroy it. To make it burn for its endless list of inadequacies.

'No…Don't. That would be pointless so just...I—' Miranda's protest at her initial suggestion that she get rid of it, rang in her memory and she groaned.

'Damn it.' She thought.

Miranda'd asked her not to. And because of that simple plea, maybe one Miranda didn't entirely mean, Andy would exercise self-control and deny herself the satisfaction of the painting's removal from existence.

Andy checked the time again and sighed.

What she wouldn't give for a damned good glass of bourbon in that instant. But of course, she couldn't. She pressed a hand to her now obvious baby bump.

"She's not coming."

This time, it wasn't a rhetorical question but instead, an affirmation of a painful truth. Miranda had decided that whatever they were becoming was not worth the risk. She'd decided that Andy wasn't worth the risk.

Andy was a practical woman. In fact she prided herself on her pragmatism in most matters. She understood what she supposed Miranda's reasoning must be. She understood it…but it still hurt like hell to think of Miranda never kissing her again.

Andy felt her nose burn and the tears pooled. She drew a shaky breath and bit back a whimper.

'Pathetic, Sachs. Pull yourself together.' She growled at herself internally.

Her phone rang and caller ID informed her that it was Kate Franklin, her lawyer, calling. She let it go to voice mail.

"Andy, the media has caught wind of the divorce. If you're there, pick up. Please. It's important that we think of a plan to stave off the paparazzi shit-storm that's coming…Andy…" Kate sighed heavily. "Call me back as soon as you get this."

Andy rolled her eyes. Of course the paparazzi would enjoy her divorce. She and her husband were rich and influential figures in the public eye. It would be like handing a thick steak to a starving pack of dogs.

She'd have to call Kate back…just not right now. Not tonight. There wasn't much to do except possibly release an official statement and try to keep the child out of it.

And she would. Just, not tonight.

Andy went to pick up her sketch pad. She quickly flipped to a blank page. Her hand began to draw as if of its own accord a face which was altogether too familiar. After about an hour, her hand began to ache and she looked at exactly who it was she'd been drawing.

On the page, there was a portrait of Miranda looking away from the viewer, on the ground, head turned to the left, eyes cast down, and an annoyed set to the shape of her mouth. But her eyes spoke of silent pain. Her hair was tousled, splayed on the ground behind her, and her neck was exposed.

This was what Miranda had looked like under Andy when they had fallen to the ground last Thursday.

And saw the tear hit the page before she really realized she'd started crying. She tossed the sketch pad aside and huffed angrily at her own inability to control her emotions better. Whether or not she was pregnant, this was getting to be ridiculous.

Andy went to her bedroom, picked up her copy of the Peaches for Monsieur le Curé and forcefully immersed herself into the story, desperate to feel the oblivion of distraction even for a few fleeting hours.

Andy had tried to call Miranda so many times that she'd lost count. She'd even gone to the Runway offices and requested a meeting only to be denied completely. Even Emily had made a remark on how strange it was for Miranda to cut off all forms of contact so suddenly. Andy was no longer sad. She was livid.

Not a word. Not one, in almost a month now.

No explanation whatsoever, no excuses, no nothing.

As if Andy didn't deserve the simple curtesy of those feeble means of being put off. Like she wasn't even worth that effort. It made Andy's hackles rise just thinking about it.

It was as though Miranda Priestly had never even met A.S Goldman and sat in her studio for hour after hour for a portrait she didn't really care about.

'Damn that infuriating woman.' Andy thought as she sketched said woman's face for the 'n'th time. A different expression, a different angle of the face, a new aspect of her facial structure to be discovered and explored.

Andy imagined this must be what map makers felt like in the centuries past, recreating from memory inaccurate reproductions of places they had seen. And no matter how much they tried, nothing could compare to the real thing.

But…her sketches, no matter how inaccurate, were the only thing that sustained her beyond the memories of Miranda's presence.

In the last month, Andy had secured Henry's departure from the company with a dignified resignation, and his severance from her father's will. Now all that was left was the issue of the daughter they would have in a few months.

Andy feared that at the next meeting, things would get messy. She still had a few aces to play. But they weren't ones she wanted to use unless absolutely necessary.

The paparazzi had become a nuisance in the last few weeks. Sometimes following Andy to and from the gallery, sometimes staking out her apartment or Henry's. Some tiny part of Andy's brain was glad that Miranda wasn't coming over once a week anymore or the tabloids might have enjoyed a juicy lie about them far too much for Andy to countenance.

The baby turned inside of her and she gasped slightly at the movement. She pressed a hand to her stomach which was becoming more pronounced by the day, or so it seemed to Andy.

She'd been meeting with her personal trainer twice a week to keep the weight she was gaining to a reasonable amount. Andy could never have been called 'model-thin' but she was very health conscious and made sure she ate everything that was necessary for the baby's nutritional needs.

Finally, she'd gotten around to hiring a new assistant and an art gallery administrator at the beginning of the month. Although this time, she'd hired two separate people instead of one. Olivia Blau was a young German woman, with ash blonde hair, a slight accent and a sharp wit.

She was now A.S Goldman's personal assistant.

Andy thought the girl took a little too much pride in that fact, but she wouldn't begrudge her that small happiness in her job situation.

Catherine Hall was a mother of two, and a seasoned gallery manager. She came highly recommended and so far she had lived up to her acclaimed dependability. Everything was running smoothly at the gallery.

This was absolutely essential seeing that as of two weeks ago, Andy had been re-instated as temporary CEO of Goldman Sachs & Co.

She was muddling along through the mountains of paper work and it certainly kept her busy. Andy had already scouted a promising possible replacement for Henry as acting CEO in her stead, although this time, she had absolutely no intention of marrying the man.

Her longtime friend and colleague Douglas Cooper was up for consideration by the board this coming week. Andy had been assured she'd know their decision by Friday at the latest.

Andy was pushing for him quite hard with her influence within the company. He was very capable and charming…the only hiccup was the fact that he was most definitely gay. And that being the case it certainly made the older members of the board hesitant to allow him to take the helm of the company.

Andy scoffed at them as she thought of their initial outraged response at her proposing 'such a man'. She'd nearly fired the man who'd said that simply for speaking the words pejoratively.

Andy's hand continued to fly over the page that had once been blank, and was now filling with it with the image of a certain fashion magazine editor. In this portrait she was smirking. At what, not even Andy could really say.

Andy had never really managed to decipher the mystery that was Miranda Priestly when they'd met in the flesh.

Why then, should a portrait be any different?

Andy rubbed the pads of her fingers against the bridge of her nose, pinching slightly. She wished this insistent headache would just leave her alone but alas, no such luck.

She sighed heavily, looking around the room and suddenly it struck her that every single person in this room might possibly be just as bored as she was. She watched an elderly gentlemen yawn from across the round table as they listened to the man at the podium drone on with an almost pathetically false enthusiasm. Maybe it was because he knew that this was an endless circle of asking again and again for help. It was depressing but necessary.

The charity function involved a great cause, which was why Andy had decided it would be best to attend despite the fact that many a whisper or a glance would be directed at her with disapproval.

It was widely known that she'd been the one to instigate the divorce after all. That had stamped her as on the same level as the wicked witch of the west. Sadly enough for her, there were no red slippers that could save her.

No, if there were any red slippers to be found today, it would be for the Help Our Youths charity organisation which in this instance was asking for donations of the more concrete form.

Clothes, help promoting their cause, food donations, money in some cases but not as often as one might have thought. This charity organisation was taking the approach Andy imagined an emergency supply team might, when heading into an area that had suffered a disaster. A tornado, an earthquake or a tsunami perhaps.

Regardless, they had an almost infectious pragmatic approach, with much less guilt tripping involved than the average run of the mille genre. It wasn't that they were all that different from other organisations, but for some reason Andy enjoyed the speech of the representative more than she'd expected to and had signed all the necessary paper work to offer whatever help the company could offer within a reasonable limit of course.

That still didn't prevent her from the usual curse of boredom brought on by the standard endless thanks and speeches and plastered on smiles.

She stifled a yawn. If only Douglas hadn't been forced to cancel at the last minute on her. He had been supposed to attend this function as a sort of united front demonstration.

Andy knew all too well that if the sharks thought her company was week they'd go for the underbelly and rip her father's company apart. Douglas, bless him had been wonderfully supportive of every suggestion Andy had made, now that the board had finally given in to Andy's will and made him acting CEO.

Andy still had her Veto power but Douglas was the one to sign the papers. Douglas kept her in the loop with frequent reports that Andy read and approved of but she made sure to stay out of anything too in depth.

The gallery kept her busy. She'd begun doing long distance portraits again. Small portraits of people who would send her their picture in a portrait like format and she would paint them and they would pay her for the painting. The paintings came with a stipulation that Andy would be allowed to take her time painting them, and that once they were finished they would hang in the gallery for a month long exposition.

The painting themselves were of next to no importance to Andy other than that they allowed her to turn her brain off for a few hours. They allowed her to loose herself in her artist's maze, following the lines of people's faces to find herself there and back again. Thank God or she'd have gone mad for sure.

It had been two months since she'd last had a session with… her.

Andy had given up.

She'd stopped calling. She'd stopped trying to see her… she even stopped drawing her.

That last had taken ages to achieve…mostly.

Sometimes she'd still find herself doodling and end up drawing those eyes of hers. It really was unfair. Miranda could leave her behind like nothing but Andy was stuck trying to escape the grips of her own memory. Again.

She placed her palm on her baby bump and let her mind drift back to the man at the podium once the applause started sounding around them.

The event had been planned in such a way that the customary speeches would begin the evening and that the guests would be able to mingle in the main hall afterwards, where champagne and small pretentious appetizers would be served on expensive china plates. And then, once the guests had had a chance to mingle, supper would be served.

The food would be made by Alain Ducasse and for once, the left overs of whatever was not eaten would be given to a youth shelter sponsored by the charity.

After an evening of feeble attempts at relieving the rich of their supposed debt to society everyone would head home tired and slightly drunk to shed their ridiculously expensive clothes and fall into bed till whenever the world would demand their attentions once again.

But first, the mandatory mingling of overpriced cologne and of borderline style faux-pas' lay ahead of Andy for the next hour or so.

Andy shut her eyes for a brief moment before standing up along with the other sponsors at the event.

The heard moved slowly into the main hall to chat and network for a while. Andy stifled a groan. Her heels were becoming ever more unforgiving with every day. She felt her baby shift around a bit and she smiled to herself. Sore feet be damned. She'd do it a thousand times over for this little one.

Then there was a bit of a shuffling of feet and the rustle of fabric of the heavy dresses worn at the event. The sounds of movement and murmurs signaled the arrival of someone who was no doubt important but also, fashionably late.

A few quiet gasps and unsubtle coughs were heard in the crowd. Andy had her back to the hall's entrance.

The whispers were all saying one name. They moved through the crowd like a wave.

Miranda Priestly was late. She was never late. Something must have detained her.

She shut her eyes and held her breathe. Oh God. She should have realised, should have known… but she'd been so distracted by work and the baby lately…Goddamnit.

Andy did not turn around. She didn't know that she would be able to think rationally if she did.

She heard a few people go up to greet Miranda rather more loudly than necessary but they were like a cast acting in a play, covering up one of the actors mistakes, showing the crowd that everything was fine.

Andy walked slowly, carefully through the crowd. At nearly 8 months pregnant, she was ungainly at the best of times. And paranoid. She was terrified of slipping or falling. Two inch heels or no, she still walked cautiously. Especially now that her legs were shaking.

She managed to get to find someone she knew from their connection to the company. Jonathan Scarsbourg smiled and greeted her warmly. Too warmly. She smiled back coldly.

Andy knew what she had to do. She knew that deviating from the script for the evening would not be a welcome occurrence in the small world of the rich and safe people surrounding her.

She had to pretend that everything was absolutely fine.

She smiled at a bland joke the gentlemen she was speaking to made.

They chatted for a while longer, until Tilda McNairy walked over to have a word with her manager about some idea the people she'd been speaking to had come up with.

She heard the unmistakable sound of Miranda's voice somewhere behind her. Had she noticed her? Andy hoped she hadn't. That wouldn't make things any easier for either of them.

Miranda was in the same room as her.

If there was a God, he was a cruel bastard for doing this to her.

"Andrea Sachs Goldman!" An enthusiastic voice called behind. She flinched a bit but quickly spun around with a too wide smile on her lips. Nigel Kipling came through the crowd towards her and she held onto the smile but none the less quirked an eyebrow. What the hell did want to speak to her for? He was part of Miranda's inner circle if Andy remembered correctly.

"We haven't seen you at one of these shindigs in a dog's age! How have you been? And how's the bun in the oven doing?"

"I've been…well enough Nigel, thank you. And yourself how are you? I hear there are big plans for a Men's Runway." She murmured the last part in a false confidant whisper. She'd heard it from Douglas when he'd been talking to her about the last event he'd attended in place as acting CEO.

"Oh really? Well. Word does get around fast then doesn't it." He smirked completely self-satisfied with himself. "I heard, through the grapevine that you are not going to be Mrs. Sachs-Goldman for much longer? Is that true?"

Andy smiled at him letting her annoyance show in her smile. He had no right to ask such things. But, people were no doubt listening. An answer was therefore expected. He knew that, she knew that. Damn him.

This evening was turning into enough of a cluster-fuck without his help.

"Yes, Henry and I are divorcing." she said.

"With a baby on the way, that must be very stressful."

How dare he? How dare he bring her child into this? Oh the sheer insolence of this man. But she had to stay cool under fire. That was of the utmost importance.

She smiled again and hummed non-committal.

"Can I ask? Do you know if it's a boy or a girl yet?"

Andy sighed. This man just didn't know when to throw in the towel did he? Didn't he realise she wanted nothing more than to get away from him?

"A girl." She smiled, this time the motion felt a smidge more sincere.

"A girl!" he gushed, "Oh how lovely! Have you thought of any names yet?"

"No, not yet." She didn't dare. That would imply that it was something decidedly permanent when in truth it was just the shadow of a dangerous hope.

"How far along are you now?"

"About 8 months."

"Wonderful. Just wonderful." He enthused. He turned to his left and without warning placed his hand in the crook of her elbow and tugged her along with him through the crowd as though they were the best of friends.

'What the in God's name is this man playing at?' Andy wondered, grinding her teeth together.

"You should mingle some more my dear. You're bound to need friends in the coming months, I'm sure."

What the hell did that mean? Was he trying to warn her? About what? The backlash from the divorce? Something else entirely? These little games of his were getting on Andy's last nerve.

Suddenly Andy saw towards which group of people he was leading them too. Oh God. Oh Dear God no.

But it was too late. He had signaled their approach. Andy saw Miranda's head turn, watched the recognition flicker in her eyes, say the corners of her lips tighten to hold her fake smile.

"Miranda, you know Andrea of course." Nigel said, "Everybody else, this is Andrea Sachs-Goldman. By the way how is that portrait of yours coming along Miranda?"

If Andy didn't know any better, she'd be wondering if Miranda wasn't about to kill Nigel where he stood. Andy was inclined to want to help her in that course of action. But a question had been asked and Miranda was hesitant to answer it.

Andy found her voice then, "I asked Miranda if we could put it on hiatus until the divorce proceedings are over. I've been incredibly busy, you see."

"Oh yes of course." Nigel smiled with that wonderfully unpleasant smirk of his. He turned to his right and said, "Oh Neil! Where have you been hiding? I was hoping to catch you today."

With a few words and smiles of goodbye he was gone, off to another circle of people. Leaving Andy and Miranda alone, except for her assistants.

Andy gathered all her courage and finally looked Miranda in the face. She knew what had to be done. There had to be some kind of closure. Some kind of denouement to this… thing between them. One way or another. Andy deserved explanations.

"We need to talk." Andy murmured. Her voice was trembling. She couldn't help it. She was practically shaking with the emotions boiling inside of her.

"Isn't that what we are doing?" Miranda asked.

"Don't play coy, you know exactly what I mean. Meet me in the south corridor in 5 minutes, or I will come back out here and we will talk out here. I don't think either of us wants that." Andy practically hissed. Suddenly, all the anger, all the betrayal, all the indignation she'd felt at Miranda's rejection came to the forefront of her mind.

"Are you threatening me Andrea?" Miranda asked, saying her name aloud for the first time in months. Andy shivered but didn't pause, "Only if you don't come. If you do, then there is no need for ugly threats is there?"

Miranda didn't reply. Andy could tell Miranda was bordering on absolutely livid. Good. Maybe she could get an inkling of what Andy had been feeling for the last two months.

Andy spun around and headed for the corridor she'd spoken about. Andy could feel the breath in her chest coming raggedly but still quietly enough to not be noticed. The adrenaline rush was getting to her.

Someone tried to talk to her on the way but she used the pregnancy as an excuse to escape to the loo.

Thank God the woman didn't know that the loo was in the opposite direction to where Andy was headed. The venue itself was one that was frequently used for just such Charity functions. Andy had been here many times before but in the past it had been as Henry's date.

Andy sighed and sat down on a bench in the deserted hallway. The noise from the main hall could still be heard. It was the chatter of people far too satisfied with their lot in life to find it in themselves to do much more than donate to charities like this once in a while, and even at that, it was more to keep their good name than out of any real sense of obligation.

And then there was Miranda. The woman who'd haunted Andy's every waking moment for the last interminable 8 weeks.

And took a deep shaky breathe. Dear God. She'd bullied Miranda into finally talking to her. Probably. Unless Miranda chose not to come and called Andy's bluff. If there was one thing Andy would never do to Miranda, it was humiliate her publicly like her husband had the first night they'd met.

She cared too much about Miranda to do any such thing. In fact, she cared too much about Miranda period. Andy took another deep breathe.

She shut her eyes, leaned her head in her hands, and waited.

-TBC-