The Guest Editor – Chapter Three
A/N: There has been an awesome response to this story so far. I hope this chapter continues this. The style is slightly different, personally I think it isn't as good, being more descriptive than dialogue based but let me know what you think.
Friday's dinner with Nigel on Madison Avenue felt like a distant memory by Monday morning. Andy had so much work to do to get her office to function correctly by the start of business. Andy talking about Afghanistan and Egypt or Nigel telling her about the goings on at Men's Runway seemed trivial compared to Andy panicking on Saturday morning that she actually had to run a premier magazine for a month and yet knew nearly nobody in the industry beyond their phone numbers.
To calm down on Saturday morning, she'd dragged a chair into Miranda's office – not yet willing to occupy the Devil's throne herself – and engrossed herself in the Saturday edition of The New York Times whilst waiting for the new assistant from HR to appear. Her coffee – Starbucks - was growing cold as she read the articles in her section, including the little editorial piece penned by her editor.
Andy Sachs is taking a break from this paper for a month whilst she pursues a new opportunity. We wish her all the best and look forward to her return. – Ed.
It was nice to know her colleagues at the Times were thinking of her.
For Andy, it was felt surreal to be sat reading in Miranda's office early on a Saturday morning. Even stranger was the fact that she was the only person on her floor in the Elias-Clarke building. There was nobody manning the reception desk, no fashionistas hurrying about with racks of clothes. No phones were ringing off the hook. Nobody was typing. There was no frantic yelling, or exhausted tears. It was eerily quiet. Only Andy and her newspaper sat in a corner of a corner office looking out down Sixth Avenue.
She had jogged to her new place of employment that morning, stuffing a towel, some jeans, T-shirt and sweater in a rucksack. She had dumped her bag in the office, freshened up, changed and then gone out to find her morning essentials – good coffee, a bagel and the day's edition of the Times.
As was a habit of hers, she took a highlighter to her section and jotted down any improvements that could have been made. She then booted up her work laptop next to the new Runway issued MacBook. On the laptop, she typed up her suggestions for her deputy at the Times before emailing them.
She was about to start on the puzzles section when there was a knock at the door.
Charlotte Kershaw was a fashion-school graduate and she was being given a job that a million girls would probably kill for. When she got a call that morning from the Human Resources department at Elias-Clarke, she was amazed that she had been considered, let alone chosen to become the new assistant to Miranda Priestley – an icon, a goddess of fashion. All the designers dressed her and she dressed the world. Decisions made in her office could make or break whole careers. She was ruthless but for good reason – ruthlessness resulted in perfection. The woman was her idol.
So she was very surprised when the elevator opened out on an empty Runway production floor. Nobody was manning the front desk. The place was empty. She first thought she'd got out on the wrong floor but the Runway branding was unmistakeable. Nobody appeared to be about and Charlotte was beginning to think that somebody was playing a bad joke on her or maybe this was a bad dream.
That was until she heard a voice call out: "You must be my new assistant. In here if you please."
After a few moments she found the office of the Editor-in-Chief. The ante-office was empty. It took her a moment and for the voice to call again before Charlotte tottered into the legendary office of Miranda Priestley.
"Yes, by all means, impersonate a snail in stilettoes," said the voice as a wingback chair near the window span around to reveal somebody with the Times in front of her face.
"Mrs Priestley, I-"
"'Shakespearian indecision,' thirteen letters," said the voice.
Catherine had nothing to say.
"Never mind, it's 'to be or not to be'," the voice sounded slightly exasperated. The newspaper dropped, revealing the face of the person in the chair.
"You're not Mrs Priestley."
"No. Your powers of observation astound me," Andy said coolly before smirking. "And don't call her 'Mrs Priestley', she hates it!"
"So who are you and what are you doing in her office."
"Andrea Sachs, pleasure to meet you," Andy introduced herself, deciding to go with the full version of her name rather than the shortened 'Andy'. "I'm filling in for Miranda whilst she is in hospital, guest editing if you will. You are?"
"Charlotte Kershaw, HR said I was coming here for an assistant job?"
"Great, you must be the person they sent to replace the last one that gave Miranda a heart attack!"
"Oh well…"
"What sort of experience do you have?"
"I just graduated?"
"Where from?"
"NYU. I did fashion as a major."
"They couldn't give me somebody 'ordinary'," Andy said to herself.
"Well, I guess working at a fashion magazine requires a sense of fashion," Charlotte gave the jeans and sweater Andy was wearing, a pointed look.
"This is weekend casual," Andy gestured at her outfit. "I majored in journalism at Northwestern." Andy smiled. "Let me give you the tour. Dump your bag at the desk on the left over there and I'll show you Runway," she said briskly.
"Ok."
"Right so you've seen my office. You share the ante-office with the first assistant – somebody called Eleanor. I haven't met her yet."
"How come if you are editor?"
"Technically, I don't start until Monday. I sent everybody else home during the weekend though Nigel might pop by later."
"Nigel?"
"Nigel Kipling, Editor of Men's Runway. He's one of maybe two people I know from the last time I was here."
"You used to work here?"
"Oh yeah. I used to do your job about ten years ago. Now I'm an editor at the Times."
"The New York Times?"
"And I have the Peabody to prove it," Andy grinned. "I don't deny I usually have nothing to do with fashion. So this will be new for the both of us. There is no doubt you'll have to relearn absolutely everything you learn with me, when Miranda gets back. She has a completely different methodology."
"She's a legend."
"No, she's a sixty-two year old who collapsed at work with a heart attack. She just happens to be a little bit famous."
"You sound like you don't care?"
"Of course I care, but I don't see as legendary. Impressive and unforgettable once you meet her but by no means legendary."
"Why?"
"Well I had no idea who she was until I started working for her. Granted, I starting learning fairly quickly. You'll see when I'm gone. You'll look back at my time in the chair as heaven compared to working for Miranda, mark my words."
"You don't like her?"
"I just never wanted to become her," Andy shrugged. "Let me show you the most exciting thing here and then we can get to work."
"What's that?"
"Oh, you're going to be impressed," Andy chuckled as she went over to a familiar set of double doors. "Welcome…to the Closet." Throwing the doors open would have been impressive if Andy then didn't have to fumble around inside for a light switch. "Ta dah!" she laughed as miles of shelving stacked with designer garments were illuminated by the fluorescents overhead."
"Oh my God!"
"Quite something isn't it," Andy smirked in satisfaction. "The magazine gets sent sample sizes in two and four by the designers for publication. After the photo shoots, the stuff gets sent here and Runway staff can 'borrow' things at will. And I say 'borrow' in the most liberal sense."
"We can take this stuff?"
"As long as it isn't needed for a future edition, yes. You can take some of it."
"Oh my God!"
"Yep!" Andy smirked. "Your first task Charlotte is to get four days' worth of outfits for me from the shelves. I'm a size four. Eight and a half for shoes. I want elegance that isn't overstated but I want commanding."
"Any design preference?"
"Yeah, stay away from anything fluffy or poncho like."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Get some stuff for yourself if you feel like it. Come back in half an hour and show me what you've got. That's all."
Charlotte delivered. By the time Andy finished her crossword, Charlotte had procured four 'acceptable' outfits for the editor of a fashion magazine. Andy didn't reject anything. Truth be told, she had enough clothing for a weeks' worth of outfits in her apartment. By getting Charlotte to choose for her, she had an outfit ready to go each morning so she could jog in to work – she doubted she would get time at the gym in the mornings with the new job.
Whilst Charlotte was rummaging in the Closet, the florist's courier came by and Andy added her note to Miranda to the bouquet:
I was surprised you asked. Thank you for the opportunity. Wishing you a speedy recovery. – AS
Short and to the point. Not overly sentimental. Probably just what Miranda would want; not that she could ask for any more.
"Charlotte?" Andy called.
"Yes, Ms Sachs." Charlotte hurried into the office, empty handed.
"Have you got a pad and pen?"
"Yes, but it's out there, can I?"
"Yes, yes." Charlotte darted out and back in a moment whilst Andy considered whether she should let Charlotte call her 'Andrea'. 'Ms Sachs' would do for now. "Have you got to grips with the computer system yet, Charlotte?"
"Yes, Ms Sachs."
"Right, your desk is full of paperwork that your predecessor failed to deal with it. I'd like you to sort it out. Divide it into two piles. One pile of things that are important. Bring that pile to me. Put the other pile on Eleanor's desk, that way she can see if you've missed anything."
"Yes, Ms Sachs."
"Then call HR, ask them to send us a list of everybody on the staff at Runway. I want to have a list of everybody, with a photograph of them if possible on my desk in an hour. I'm going to go to the Art Department and dig up some back issues of the magazine whilst you do that."
"Yes, Ms Sachs."
"Once you've done all that, come and get me and we will see what else needs to be done before we go and get lunch. You know what we are doing?"
"Yes, Ms Sachs."
"Ask me if you have any questions. I'll try my best to answer them."
"Anything else, Ms Sachs?"
"No thank you," Andy smiled. "That's all." Andy watched Charlotte leave. "No," she called out, "actually can you get me that staff list first?"
"On it."
"Thank you!"
Whilst Charlotte was busy with her list of tasks, Andy hunted down all the back copies of Runway that she could find. She sorted them chronologically, got a pad and started to make some general notes. She would occasionally buy Runway if the cover stood out on the newsstand, but that was only ever rarely. Her speed-reading of the magazine allowed her to make sense of the general direction of the publication. Each issue came to about 500 pages. Sometimes less but often much more.
She abandoned her notes once she received the staff list from Charlotte.
"You have a second copy of this?" Andy asked her assistant.
"I can print one."
"I need you to get a good idea of who is who on this list. I'll do the same. I need to draft a memo that can be emailed to everybody about Miranda and I need to email the department heads. I want a rundown of everything they've done in the past twelve months and everything they plan to do in the next six. I need you to go and get hold of some copies of Vogue."
"You realise that is–" Charlotte began.
"Hersey saying that in Miranda's office?" Andy smirked. "Its opposition research. The reason Miranda Priestley and Anna Wintour have lasted so long is because they are masters of their craft. I want to match their standard with this issue but I don't want to imitate them."
"Fair point."
"If Miranda wanted to have somebody imitate her work, she should have had someone else do this job."
"I guess."
"Go then!"
"What about the paperwork?"
"Do that when you get back. I'll see you later. If you are out past two o'clock trying to track down back issues then take some time for lunch."
"Yes, Ms Sachs."
"And have a proper lunch. I once knew somebody who tried to sustain the perfect weight by eating cheese cubes. It isn't healthy."
"Yes, Ms Sachs."
"I'm serious Charlotte. I don't want you to starve yourself." Andy said, taking in her assistant's lithe frame as she put on a jacket.
After Charlotte had taken the elevator downstairs, Andy started looking at the staff list. Charlotte had created a large bundle, catalogued by department. She had managed to get photos for most people and a copy of their resumes. She started with her own staff.
Charlotte, was as she said, recently graduated from NYU after completing a fashion degree. She had no other prior experience in the industry but had interned with an internet clothing firm called About the Fit in her second year. Andy saw her as competent, not as efficient as she might have liked but that could be worked on.
Eleanor Chambers had been Miranda's first assistant for the past six months. Unremarkable but she seemed to have lasted longer than most of Miranda's assistants.
Emily Charlton had become Nigel's deputy and later took his old position as Artistic Director when Nigel left to head up Men's Runway.
Serena was still in cosmetics though had been recently approached by Harper's Bazaar.
Everybody else was either new or unimportant.
She did commit to memory the names and identities of her department heads and Googled the reputation of her features editor. Whilst doing so, she also noted that Irving Ravitz was still in charge of the board of Elias Clarke, where Miranda now held a non-executive seat. Presumably, Miranda also held stock options, in addition to the list of designers who would follow her if she ever chose to leave Runway permanently.
Jacqueline Follet beat a speedy retreat to French Runway when the James Holt venture collapsed in less than 18 months according to Wikipedia. 'Nigel dodged a bullet there', thought Andy, glad that her old friend was eventually recompensed by Miranda.
As for the magazine, circulation was up…as were costs. Thankfully, the magazine was still making a profit once you took into account digital content. The advertising revenue in the print edition made the magazine break even. Still, it would probably be better for all concerned if hundreds of thousands of dollars were not wasted each time somebody needed to retake a set of photographs.
By the time Andy looked at the clock, she realised that lunch was in order. She left a short note explaining this to Charlotte as well as a short list of tasks that she could get on with before hopping in the elevator in search of a sandwich.
The sandwich was bought and consumed from a little shop around the block. Andy didn't know the name of the place, but the sandwich itself was heavenly. Whilst she was out, she took the liberty of purchasing several dozen identical writing pads from Staples, clearing out their mediocre stock. Then Andy found herself in a bit of a pickle. There were just too many pads to carry back to the office and she had forgotten her phone to call for her car or for her assistant. She was stuck in Staples having bought the paper equivalent of a small tree.
It took Andy several moments before she felt like an idiot. No doubt Miranda would ask if she had "smacked her little head on the pavement" if she ever found out that Andy had forgotten that New York was the land of the yellow cab…
The cab was duly hailed and with the assistance of the doorman in the lobby of the Elias-Clarke building, Andy was soon back in her office with more writing pads than she could ever possibly use. Charlotte gave her a look as if she was mad. Andy shrugged.
"You'll see," was all she said as she lugged the lot into her office on a trolley.
"Can I help? Ms Sachs?"
"I've got it. Did you get those copies of Vogue I asked for?"
"Yes, Ms Sachs."
"Did HR give you a phone this morning?"
"No, Ms Sachs."
"Right, I'll make sure you get one on Monday. I want you in the office at seven fifteen on Monday morning. I'm meeting with Nigel and Emily at seven thirty for breakfast and meeting with the other department heads at eight thirty. I need multiple copies of The Book – you know, the draft edition of the magazine – produced by lunchtime on Monday, I'll give you the original on Monday morning. Keep an eye on your emails, I might send you a few things you need to do for me before Monday. Unlike Miranda, I don't need a special coffee order in the mornings but I will be in before everybody else so it doesn't matter. I'll see you in," Andy looked at her watch, "about 40 hours. Enjoy your Sunday, we'll be hitting the ground running on Monday morning. Any questions?"
"Will you need me tomorrow?"
"God no! I'll work from home. Anything else you need to ask me before then?"
"No, Ms Sachs."
"I'll you on Monday then. That's all."
After texting Nigel to tell Emily to be in the office at seven thirty on Monday along with his good self, Andy gathered a few editions of Runway and Vogue, shut down her laptop, left her MacBook on Miranda's desk, packed away her pad and pens into her rucksack and headed for the door.
She was tempted to text Nigel again to ask for an update on Miranda's condition when the phone began to ring at her old desk. Without hesitation, she picked up on the second ring.
"Miranda Priestley's office, how can I help you?"
"Andy? It's really you?"
A/N: Who is calling? The Monday scene people are looking for will be coming if not next chapter, in Chapter Five. I'm British so please excuse anything that sounds totally out of place in America. I did do my research and there is a Staples store two blocks from the fictional location of the Elias Clarke building in Manhattan – I do try. Advice on the spelling of 'Priestley' would be helpful. Some people drop the second 'e'. Next chapter coming soon.
An awful lot of you feel that MirAndy should be a thing. If it is a thing, it will be subtle…
Do tell me what you think in the box below!