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Title: It’s All Relative (Chapter 19/Continuing)
Author: hawkbehere (hawkbehere@yahoo.com)
Rated: PG—Sorry!
Summary: Hawk continues to lead readers on a seemingly endless journey. They begin to wish they’d packed heavy lunches and blunt objects with which they could bludgeon her—and/or themselves.
Disclaimer: I have no rights in the DWP universe.
A/N. This chapter is all over the place because I now officially have six zillion plot threads. The next chapter is nearly finished. This is dedicated to Rosemary, a kindred spirit across the pond.
As always, I must thank m my beta, Mercurychkita. Despite her tireless assistance, all errors are mine.
***
Even as the Priestly household adjusted to Miranda in a sweatshirt, across the city, Serena gathered the stack of newspapers she had regularly delivered and took it into the kitchen. It was twice its usual size. Emily had stayed the weekend and they’d hardly gotten out of bed, much less read, which was always a good plan in Serena’s estimation. They’d had bagels the morning before, but this morning Emily was cooking breakfast. That was one of the rare meals the English actually could cook correctly, she thought, smiling to herself.
She was looking forward to reading the Sunday Times’ Literary and she knew Emily would immediately turn to the Post’s Page Six. That they were so different was no surprise but what had surprised her was how eager Emily was to talk about anything of an intellectual bent. Emily’s heart belonged to fashion and gossip but she was quite willing to open her mind to other things. Exploring this side of Emily was incredibly sexy.
As she put the papers on the table, Emily said as she pulled some sausages out of the skillet, “While I appreciate your efforts to provide me the makings of a proper English breakfast, Serena, if you stoop to stocking the fridge with kippers or deviled kidneys as your bit of a joke about my nationality, you’ll be in trouble.”
Serena smiled, “If trouble means more of what we were doing an hour ago, kippers are on their way.”
Emily scowled as Serena kissed her nose. “Our papers are here, English. Let’s catch up.”
They served themselves and began to read. This was one of the many things Serena also loved about Emily—they were equally happy to ignore each other and read while eating.
At least Emily was until she said, “Oh. My. God.”
Because of the theatricality of the voice, Serena knew no real tragedy was at hand. She looked up and peered at Emily over what the Englishwoman called her ‘fuck me’ glasses. “What’s that, Emily? The Lindbergh baby’s been kidnapped?”
Emily flapped the paper like a sail and slapped it down so that Serena could see, “Look at this!”
Serena saw a picture of Miranda and Andy climbing the short set of stairs toward Miranda’s townhouse, Andy’s index finger wrapped in some sort of cast. She read the accompanying copy and smirked as she asked, “My God, English. I knew Miranda was demanding but what could she possibly ask of Andy as a lover to put her finger in a cast?”
Emily’s mouth dropped open before she replied, “It’s so obvious you never, ever said that.”
Off Serena’s expression, Emily flapped the paper again, “Do you not understand how many phone calls I’ll field tomorrow asking about the nature of their relationship?”
Serena took a sip of coffee, then said, “I do. But they’re in love. What else needs to be said?”
“Fine. Right. But they’re not going to admit that—I know Miranda.”
Serena conceded. “That you do. Let’s look at today’s paper.”
They looked at it and Emily groaned. Pictures of Miranda and the children and pictures of two of Andy’s friends. No Andy. Which made everything seem faintly ominous given the smart-assed commentary from the Post.
Emily violently tore into her sausage and chewed as she spoke, “When I get my hands on that girl, I swear—”
“I’m sure there’ll be a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
Emily laughed ruefully while still chewing her sausage with great vigor, much to Serena’s amusement, “That’s exactly where you’re wrong. The explanation will be ridiculous, I promise you. Remember—I know these women. Andy will have fed her hand into the garbage disposal or injured it giving Patricia a pill. It’s bound to be something unheard of—she’s a walking Keystone Cops episode around Miranda.”
“Then we’ll have something amusing to look forward to, won’t we?”
Emily sniffed primly and Serena smiled, wondering if Emily knew how very many of her mannerisms were Miranda’s. Almost assuredly not. Emily was a walking definition of blind hero worship. She took a sip of her coffee and patted Emily’s hand.
***
Andy hadn’t gone home on Sunday, because she hadn’t really wanted to. She’d wanted to be with Miranda and the girls and, as she’d known there would be without even asking, clothes were delivered to the townhouse for her Monday return to work. Really fuck-gorgeous power clothes, she noted wryly. Of course they were. As she dressed, after Miranda had re-bandaged her hand, she asked, “Any advice, chief?”
“Yes. Keep your chin up. Don’t answer questions unless you truly want to. The answers are ours and we don’t have to share.”
She kissed Andy’s cheek. “That being said, you can say whatever you want. I’m proud of you and of us. I’m going to take my time. But you are your own woman and I respect that.”
“I’m your woman and you know it. I’d like to take my time, too.”
Thirty minutes later, just before Andy left the house, she got more advice from the Priestly girls, which they had to have learned from Miranda because it sounded just like her.
Cassidy said, as she handed Andy her coat, “Never dignify their questions with a response, Andy.”
Caroline said, “Remember, you’re not taking pictures of them. They’re taking pictures of you. You’re important. They’re not.”
They hugged her and she kissed them both on the forehead, which they didn’t seem to just tolerate. They seemed pleased. “Thanks guys. Out into the fray, as your mom would say.”
***
It was surreal, actually, to have paparazzi outside waiting—for her. Andy plowed through them and leapt into the car Roy was holding open for her, his face a blank mask. Thank God for Roy.
When he’d re-entered the car and because they were, from their old Runway days, friends beyond the need for formality or pretense, he said, “Fucking jackals.”
Andy laughed. “I know, right? How does Miranda put up with it?”
Roy looked at her through the rear-view mirror, “She ignores them. You should, too.” He hesitated for a moment, then said, “You look happy, Andy.”
Andy looked into Roy’s lovely blue eyes, reflected in the mirror, and saw he was saying what she thought he was. And she answered in kind, “I’m very, very happy, Roy. Happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”
He nodded, “Then fuck ‘em, Andy. Fuck ‘em. They’ll say what they will and you’ll still be you and Miranda will be Miranda and the girls will be the girls. Magdalena will be Maggie. And…I’ll be me. We’ll all get through it.”
Andy reached forward and put her hand on Roy’s shoulder, “Thank you. And, yes, Roy, you’re definitely part of her family. I know she never tells you that but totally thinks it and I’m squealing on her.”
Roy smiled and said, “I didn’t hear a thing.”
***
When she finally walked into her office, Andy was not one bit surprised by the ‘all eyes on her-ness’ of her coworkers. She waved her splinted finger and announced, “Yep, I’m alive. It was just a dumb accident and nope—not talking about it.”
Mike had evidently been waiting for her because he barreled out of his office and said, “Sachs? Get in here and close the door.”
She followed him with a hammering heart, closed the door and took a seat. When she faced him, she instantly saw Mike wasn’t angry. He was concerned.
He looked pointedly between her hand and at the closed door and said, “Entirely off the record. Spill it, Sachs. If something’s wrong or…if someone’s hurting you and believe me I don’t give a rat’s ass who it is, let me know and I’ll help you take care of it.”
Andy looked into her editor’s kind eyes. Just like Sam—a sweet man ready to kick ass on her behalf at the drop of a hat. She smiled and laughed, “Well, funny you should mention a rat, Mike. And seriously, off the record?”
“Completely.”
Minutes later, he was still laughing at the rat story when she said, “Still off the record?”
“Yep.”
“It’s true, just so you know. I’m romantically involved with Miranda and it’s serious. So it’s probably only likely to get worse before it gets better.”
He whistled, then said, “Jesus Christ, Sachs. That’s impressive in a way you could file a sexual harassment suit against me if I even tried to explain. What am I going to do with you?”
“I know—I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. But don’t kid yourself. It’s going to be harder for you to do your job until this blows over, you know. You’re running down stories but you’re going to be a story yourself.”
Andy winced but her voice was steady. “I know that. But it’s worth it, Mike. She’s worth it. Even if you fire me. I know it’s insane to keep me.”
“Fire you? No. That would be insanity.”
Her coworkers were surprised to see a beaming Mike lead her out of his office. He patted her shoulder and said to the newsroom, “Leave Sachs alone—she’s explained everything. She’s just a dumb-ass and has the war-wound to prove it. Everything Sachs says in this room is off the record. If I see one word about her from this newsroom on record, I will hunt that person down and fire him or her.”
As Mike retreated into his office, Reggie approached her and said, “Day-umm, Andy. You have a way with the editors, don’tcha?”
Andy knew that question was a double entendre about Miranda and could feel the newsroom listening but she didn’t care. She smirked into her monitor and said, “Sure do. Some girls got it like that, Reg.”
He snickered, they did a knuckle bump and returned to their jobs.
***
When Miranda arrived at Runway, she was slightly amused that Emily didn’t quite meet her eyes. She threw her coat and bag on Emily2’s desk and turned to Emily, “I suppose you need to know that I fired Alexis over the weekend.”
The look of just barely suppressed outrage on Emily’s face made Miranda closer to laughing out loud at Runway than she had been in years. She said, “Oh, for God’s sake, Emily, don’t look like that. I’ll get someone else and beside that, we’ve been through worse, haven’t we?”
As Miranda had intended, Emily was visibly dazzled by this expression of solidarity between them. She sat up straight and said, “Of course we have, Miranda.”
“So you know exactly what to say, do you not?” To Emily’s astonishment, she heard Miranda assume an accent uncannily like her own, “Miranda Priestly never comments upon her personal life or that of her friends.”
Emily stared but nodded, “Yes, Miranda. Irv wants to see you immediately.”
“Of course he does. I’ll go right now. Don’t tell his assistant.” Her smile was wicked as she said, “He won’t expect me until midday. I expect he’ll choke on his coffee.”
***
Irv had almost choked as Miranda strolled into his office and calmly took a seat. The bitch.
Miranda’s voice was cool, “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. What are you doing? And why is it on Page Six?”
“You’re referencing my having a family friend stay in my home after being injured?”
He stared at her perfectly composed face for several seconds. “It looks bad, Miranda.”
“And exactly when or why have we ever stooped to respond to the tabloids?”
“When it looks like you’re sleeping with a woman half your age. That’s when.”
“If I were, if I were, it would be no one’s business but mine and my family’s.”
Irv was rattled and angry, “So it’s true? You’re shtupping some girl half your age? A girl who used to be your assistant?”
“I said no such thing. And your vulgarism is not appreciated. Whatever my relationship with Andrea is or isn’t, the world will adjust.”
Irv spluttered for a moment before saying, “You’re going too far this time, Miranda. This is the sort of thing that—“
Miranda interrupted him with a laugh with no mirth in it. “That what, exactly? That will enable you to force me out of my job, as you’ve wanted to do for so many years? Fine. Why don’t you try it? I can list any number of people you could put in my place. I’m sure you’ve nearly memorized their CVs, which I’m completely confident you have on your computer right now. Would you like for me to look over your list and help you replace me?”
He looked at her face, so beautiful, so entirely serene and unworried. He hated her. And didn’t say a word.
She noticed this, naturally. “Good choice. I am Runway. And Runway is the flagship of Elias Clarke. Anyone else you choose will be far below second best. Fire me. Feel free. I’m independently wealthy at this point. But don’t think, if you force me out, that I won’t sell every bit of EC stock I own, which you know is quite considerable. And don’t think the market won’t notice that. Leaving's one thing but selling is a vote of no confidence. I know you have a much larger number of shares of EC than I do, but after I sold, I think I could cut their value in roughly half. Don’t you?”
He glared at her. “Goddamn you, Miranda.”
She smiled at him. “Yes. God is curious. He damned me with you and blessed me with others.”
She stared at him for a few moments and continued. “Never forget, I do this job because I love it, Irving, not because I have to. Not anymore. And always remember, although I work for you? I work harder in one week than you do in one year. We both know this.”
She stood and said, “I think we’re done here, don’t you?”
He swallowed, hard, and said, “Yes.”
But before she could leave the office, he said, “Miranda?”
She turned. His voice had softened.
“Yes, Irving?”
“Please minimize the damage, if you can. Please. In some quarters lately, we’ve been on a razor’s edge and you know it.”
She looked at him and felt, from what seemed like out of nowhere, a flash of respect. It couldn’t be easy for a man like him to talk to her as an equal.
She nodded and said, “Irving? My private life is mine. But I believe I can spin it to the benefit of Elias Clarke. I spin for a living, do I not? I create opinion; opinion does not create me.”
And then she smiled at him, and he suddenly realized, after all of the hundreds of times she’d smiled at him, that this was the first genuine and almost friendly smile he’d ever gotten from her. It literally took his breath away.
“Trust me, Irv.”
He nodded and said very quietly, for him, “I guess I have to. You’re the only person who tells the truth around here.”
“And that’s why they call me the Dragon Lady.”
As she left, and as he thought about that smile, Irv wondered why he’d never understood that Miranda Priestly was actually a human being.
***
Two of Miranda’s blessings, Cassidy and Caroline, were incredibly bored by the hullabaloo even before lunchtime. Bored by the whispering and the staring. They’d gone through this so many times. Mom in the tabloids. They took a seat, by themselves, at an empty table at the end of their lunchroom. As always, at least they had each other and they could just ignore the snotty kids until the tide turned and someone else’s parents were the subject of scrutiny. Juan Carlo joined them, which was actually nice because everyone else was avoiding them.
“Hey, J.C.”
He nodded at Cassidy’s greeting, at the nickname only the twins used for him, and took a bite of his sandwich, “You have nothing but bandoleros at this school. They say terrible things.”
Cassidy nodded, “Yeah, they do. Sorry you had to hear it.”
“No. I am sorry you have to hear it.” His brown eyes actually began to tear and he was so discomforted and concerned that Caroline hastened to assure him, “It’s okay. J.C. We’ve heard worse, tons of times. A few days and it dies down. Always does. No problem.”
He stared at his sandwich as he said, very quickly, “My mami says that all of these papers are so stupid. That she knows Andy and she is very good and that love is love and I should grow up to be a man who knows love when I see it.”
He felt himself suddenly tremendously out of his depth and deeply embarrassed, “We...I…your mami has been so good to me. I want her to be very happy,” he said, still speaking to his sandwich.
Although both she and Caroline were a bit stunned by his being so blunt, Cassidy thought she should answer in kind.
“Thanks, J.C.,” she said, opening her sandwich and picking out a tomato. “You’re right. Our mom and Andy are happy and that’s all we care about. These other kids are losers.”
He grinned. He’d done something right. “My mami says she is going to invite you and your mami and Andy to a barbecue at our house after all of this, when the weather is warmer. Do you think they will come?
Caroline hesitated but Cassidy said, “Absolutely.”
****
Over the next few months, Miranda and Andy continued to live their lives and the tabloids’ interest in them waxed and waned, depending upon which starlet or power-couple was available or acting up and needed more attention. It hadn’t been easy. Miranda was Teflon, and effortlessly, because she’d been ignoring press about her personal life for decades. Andy’d had some tough times but she was learning to hold her chin up and to have a healthy disdain for the people who were chasing them.
She’d also gained a new respect for Miranda and a different understanding of what had happened in Paris. Knowing what she now knew from first-hand experience—that people could judge you and ruthlessly stick a knife into your chest and twist it gleefully yet almost carelessly, as if it meant nothing at all as you writhed in pain—explained a part of life she hadn’t known. Miranda had known. When you were fighting for your emotional life, you fought as dirty as you had to.
The girls were golden, platinum even. Having been raised to ignore, they ignored like champs. They didn’t seem to care at all.
After four months Andy virtually lived with the Priestlys, although she’d kept her apartment. Andy found she’d turned a corner with the girls, in a rather abrupt way, when Cassidy approached her after she’d stayed the previous night in her own home.
Andy had been working on a story on her laptop in the kitchen and Miranda had been in her study.
“Andy?”
Andy turned from her computer and said, “’Sup, Cass?”
“Are you and Mom mad at each other or something?”
“No! Of course we’re not.” She chuckled as she added, “Seriously? Can you imagine you’d even have to ask that question if we were? Why would you think so?”
“You weren’t home last night.”
Andy looked into Cassidy’s eyes and saw real anxiety in them. She patted the girl’s arm as she said, “Nah. It was nothing about your Mom and me. We’re fine. I was working really late on a story and I needed to crash. My apartment was just closer than here. That’s all it was.”
Cassidy’s voice was firm, “Caroline and me think that’s really dumb.”
“What’s dumb, honey?”
“You should live here with us.”
Andy blinked in astonishment and said very slowly, trying to formulate even as she spoke, a reasonable response to a question she and Miranda had skirted around, “Well, Cassidy that would be nice. But this is your house, not mine. I can’t exactly just move in.”
Cassidy stared at her for a few moments before saying, “You mean Mom is so lame that she hasn’t asked you to move in, right?”
Andy tilted her head and said even more slowly, “Well, I guess so. Yes. In a way. But I would never say your Mom was lame.”
The girl smirked at her and said, silkily, “Of course you wouldn’t.”
Andy grinned. Busted.
“Okay. But if she asks you, you’ll say yes, right?”
It was strange to be bullied by a child, Andy thought. “Yes. Of course. I want to live with you guys. I’d say yes.”
“Good. I’ll handle it.”
Andy leapt out of her chair, “Wait-a-second. Cass? I think maybe your Mom and I should—“
Cassidy airily dismissed her. “Please. You guys are clueless. It’ll take me five minutes and it’ll be done.”
Andy’s heart was hammering when, five minutes later, Miranda entered the kitchen and said, as she poured two glasses of wine, that it was a far more sensible thing for Andy to just move in, didn’t she think? Why pay rent when she basically lived here, anyway? As she handed one glass to Andy, Miranda played it as if it had entirely been her idea. Andy nodded and promised to get right on it. Cassidy had been right. She and Miranda were both totally clueless.
***
Which was how she found herself changing addresses—and addressing this fact with her parents, with whom she’d begun to have an increasingly civil discourse. A bit strained at times, but civil. They always asked after the children and Miranda, which was certainly game of them, Andy thought.
When Andy told her mother she was moving into Miranda’s home, however, Audrey was quiet for a few moments before asking, “Don’t you think this is all a bit quick, dear?”
That pause, and that circumspect response, told Andy her mother was really making an effort. She was concerned but trying not to push too hard. So, Andy tried, too. “I hear what you’re saying, Mom, but when we were kids, just think about living apart from Daddy and me and Sam. I don’t want that. I really need to live with them.”
There was another long pause. “Andy, I ask this with love. Did you hear what you just said? Do you really consider this woman and her children your family?”
A mother could always ask a question that took your breath. Andy thought about it and sighed, “Yes. Completely. They’re mine and I’m theirs.”
Audrey paused again and then said, “I think we need to visit, Andy. And soon. I’ll talk to your father and Sam.”
Andy gritted her teeth and said, “That’d be great,” although she was thinking Fuck. Fuck-apolous. Fuck on rye with mayo and a pickle.
***
After she’d moved in, Andy found herself stifling a laugh at Emily’s death glare the first time she visited Runway after Miranda had, evidently, decided she was over it all and had taken her hand and held it as they walked toward their car. Page Six was over the moon. “We Told You First!”
Emily waved at her airily and said, in as dismissive a tone as she could muster, which was actually considerable, “I don’t think you need announcing, do you?”
Andy smiled and said, “Awww. Probably not. But you know that I’ve always sort of loved you, don’t you, Emily?”
Emily looked at her in horror, as if Andy had said she was about to pull her heart out with her bare hands.
“I love you, Em.”
Emily’s face flushed.
“Emily?”
That was Miranda’s voice. And because they were both trained, their spines stiffened at that sound. But, immediately, Emily smiled and relaxed, “She means you, Emily.”
“She does,” Andy laughed and replied, “Yes, Miranda?”
“When you finish declaring your undying love to my Emily, you can come in. I’m ready for lunch.”
“Yes, Miranda.”
Emily smirked, “Once an assistant, always an…”
Andy winked, “Oh, I assist her, alright.”
Emily blushed scarlet and cursed her English complexion for the billionth time in her stay on Earth.
***
They eventually found themselves on their way to a house in Queens on a Sunday afternoon.
As they approached the Castillo home, Andy was faintly surprised but pleased to hear Miranda say, in her very deadliest tone, “Caroline? Cassidy? These are good people. We are wealthy. They are not. We’re the exceptions. They are not. Most people live the way they live. If there’s only one floor to their house or only one bathroom, you are not to mention it. Juan Carlo may not have all of the latest Xbox games and a plasma TV in his room. You are not to mention it. It will shame me terribly if I’ve raised children who would make him ashamed because he doesn’t have what you do.”
Andy was impressed. Caroline nodded, a bit shocked, but Cassidy smiled, “J.C.’s our best friend. We wouldn’t care if he lived in a cardboard box. No probs, Mom.”
***
It was strange, Andy thought, to see Miranda so out of her element. She’d talked the woman into jeans and a Barnard sweatshirt, which she’d evidently and uncharacteristically bought when she purchased Andy’s Northwestern sweatshirt.
The house was very small, but lovingly decorated and maintained, and even Andy was proud of the way the girls took to its smaller scale. She’d seen anxiety on Juan Carlo’s face as he’d opened the door and welcomed them but the little guy had impeccable manners. They’d soon started an Xbox game in the living room and ignored the adults.
It was sweet to see Miranda’s rapport with Wanda’s husband, Carlo, who took to her completely and easily. And Miranda was similarly at ease, which was so very refreshing, from Andy’s point of view. At one point, when Miranda caught Andy looking at her, she’d lowered her voice and said, with her typical perspicacity, “What? You’re surprised? This is how I grew up. This was my life before Runway.”
Andy could only nod.
***
As Andy and Wanda finished preparing a salad and watched Miranda and Carlo supervising steaks on the grill, Wanda said, “They are so alike. They want to pretend not to be soft inside.”
Andy grinned. “But they’re both just jello, aren’t they?”
“Si. But you can never tell them that.”
“They’re so…”
Wanda smiled and finished Andy’s sentence as she diced a cucumber, “Si. As you say, cement covering jello. They are both so ridiculous. Let them think you don’t know. It makes a happy life.”
Andy smiled as she diced a tomato.
***
The badminton matches, after their meal, were serious. Andy was pleased with them until Miranda took up her racquet. Of course. She’d assumed Miranda would be a hellcat at anything competitive. Miranda wasn’t a hellcat—she was a demon.
She was more athletic, or maybe just more motivated, than Andy could have imagined. Miranda put Juan Carlo and Caroline in the dust against her and Cassidy.
Carlo laughed as he watched and said, “La jefa plays to win.”
Miranda laughed and smiled, “I don’t lose. Ever.”
Andy tried, really tried—but Miranda was relentless in a way she’d never seen her. She simply would not lose.
When they’d switched teams and Miranda and Caroline had won another match against Carlo and J.C., Miranda said very specifically to Andy, “I don’t submit.”
“Message received, chief.”
Carlo and J.C. played and lost another time before Carlo conceded, with a laugh, “There’s no point in playing with you, lady.”
Miranda beamed, her face flushed with her effort, “Thank you, Carlo. It took you only one hour to figure out what my board of directors is still taking decades to discover.”
Carlo laughed again and smacked her on the shoulder. She punched him right back. Andy and Wanda smirked at each other and the kids grinned. It was so nice to see the Alphas in the pack getting along.
The rest of the pack played until after the sun had set and Miranda helped Wanda light citronella candles against mosquitoes. Miranda smiled as she said, “This has been a wonderful day, Wanda. Thank you.”
“Oh—it is nothing. Nothing like you could have—“
“No no. Don’t say that. I can’t give you the smell of a grill or this fresh-mown grass or even these candles. I remember times like these when I was a child.”
Wanda nodded. “Then you are lucky.”
“I was. It’s odd, don’t you think,” she said as she touched a match to another candle, “to wonder what memories survive? You never know when you’re living them, do you? This day—this smell—this feeling—this will be something I will remember. Or not.”
She looked at their children, sprawled on the grass and showing each other animals in the stars overhead. “Look at them. I hope they remember this.”
Wanda watched as their children pointed their fingers at the world. “It is good. Even if they don’t remember, it is still good. Good food for the…” she tapped her chest and continued lighting the candles.
Miranda looked about her, at the sweet little house and the lawn and the children and her Andy and she closed her eyes. She could smell the grass and the faint scent of the grill and the night was so pleasantly beginning to be just a bit chilly. Please remember this, she thought.
Author: hawkbehere (hawkbehere@yahoo.com)
Rated: PG—Sorry!
Summary: Hawk continues to lead readers on a seemingly endless journey. They begin to wish they’d packed heavy lunches and blunt objects with which they could bludgeon her—and/or themselves.
Disclaimer: I have no rights in the DWP universe.
A/N. This chapter is all over the place because I now officially have six zillion plot threads. The next chapter is nearly finished. This is dedicated to Rosemary, a kindred spirit across the pond.
As always, I must thank m my beta, Mercurychkita. Despite her tireless assistance, all errors are mine.
***
Even as the Priestly household adjusted to Miranda in a sweatshirt, across the city, Serena gathered the stack of newspapers she had regularly delivered and took it into the kitchen. It was twice its usual size. Emily had stayed the weekend and they’d hardly gotten out of bed, much less read, which was always a good plan in Serena’s estimation. They’d had bagels the morning before, but this morning Emily was cooking breakfast. That was one of the rare meals the English actually could cook correctly, she thought, smiling to herself.
She was looking forward to reading the Sunday Times’ Literary and she knew Emily would immediately turn to the Post’s Page Six. That they were so different was no surprise but what had surprised her was how eager Emily was to talk about anything of an intellectual bent. Emily’s heart belonged to fashion and gossip but she was quite willing to open her mind to other things. Exploring this side of Emily was incredibly sexy.
As she put the papers on the table, Emily said as she pulled some sausages out of the skillet, “While I appreciate your efforts to provide me the makings of a proper English breakfast, Serena, if you stoop to stocking the fridge with kippers or deviled kidneys as your bit of a joke about my nationality, you’ll be in trouble.”
Serena smiled, “If trouble means more of what we were doing an hour ago, kippers are on their way.”
Emily scowled as Serena kissed her nose. “Our papers are here, English. Let’s catch up.”
They served themselves and began to read. This was one of the many things Serena also loved about Emily—they were equally happy to ignore each other and read while eating.
At least Emily was until she said, “Oh. My. God.”
Because of the theatricality of the voice, Serena knew no real tragedy was at hand. She looked up and peered at Emily over what the Englishwoman called her ‘fuck me’ glasses. “What’s that, Emily? The Lindbergh baby’s been kidnapped?”
Emily flapped the paper like a sail and slapped it down so that Serena could see, “Look at this!”
Serena saw a picture of Miranda and Andy climbing the short set of stairs toward Miranda’s townhouse, Andy’s index finger wrapped in some sort of cast. She read the accompanying copy and smirked as she asked, “My God, English. I knew Miranda was demanding but what could she possibly ask of Andy as a lover to put her finger in a cast?”
Emily’s mouth dropped open before she replied, “It’s so obvious you never, ever said that.”
Off Serena’s expression, Emily flapped the paper again, “Do you not understand how many phone calls I’ll field tomorrow asking about the nature of their relationship?”
Serena took a sip of coffee, then said, “I do. But they’re in love. What else needs to be said?”
“Fine. Right. But they’re not going to admit that—I know Miranda.”
Serena conceded. “That you do. Let’s look at today’s paper.”
They looked at it and Emily groaned. Pictures of Miranda and the children and pictures of two of Andy’s friends. No Andy. Which made everything seem faintly ominous given the smart-assed commentary from the Post.
Emily violently tore into her sausage and chewed as she spoke, “When I get my hands on that girl, I swear—”
“I’m sure there’ll be a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
Emily laughed ruefully while still chewing her sausage with great vigor, much to Serena’s amusement, “That’s exactly where you’re wrong. The explanation will be ridiculous, I promise you. Remember—I know these women. Andy will have fed her hand into the garbage disposal or injured it giving Patricia a pill. It’s bound to be something unheard of—she’s a walking Keystone Cops episode around Miranda.”
“Then we’ll have something amusing to look forward to, won’t we?”
Emily sniffed primly and Serena smiled, wondering if Emily knew how very many of her mannerisms were Miranda’s. Almost assuredly not. Emily was a walking definition of blind hero worship. She took a sip of her coffee and patted Emily’s hand.
***
Andy hadn’t gone home on Sunday, because she hadn’t really wanted to. She’d wanted to be with Miranda and the girls and, as she’d known there would be without even asking, clothes were delivered to the townhouse for her Monday return to work. Really fuck-gorgeous power clothes, she noted wryly. Of course they were. As she dressed, after Miranda had re-bandaged her hand, she asked, “Any advice, chief?”
“Yes. Keep your chin up. Don’t answer questions unless you truly want to. The answers are ours and we don’t have to share.”
She kissed Andy’s cheek. “That being said, you can say whatever you want. I’m proud of you and of us. I’m going to take my time. But you are your own woman and I respect that.”
“I’m your woman and you know it. I’d like to take my time, too.”
Thirty minutes later, just before Andy left the house, she got more advice from the Priestly girls, which they had to have learned from Miranda because it sounded just like her.
Cassidy said, as she handed Andy her coat, “Never dignify their questions with a response, Andy.”
Caroline said, “Remember, you’re not taking pictures of them. They’re taking pictures of you. You’re important. They’re not.”
They hugged her and she kissed them both on the forehead, which they didn’t seem to just tolerate. They seemed pleased. “Thanks guys. Out into the fray, as your mom would say.”
***
It was surreal, actually, to have paparazzi outside waiting—for her. Andy plowed through them and leapt into the car Roy was holding open for her, his face a blank mask. Thank God for Roy.
When he’d re-entered the car and because they were, from their old Runway days, friends beyond the need for formality or pretense, he said, “Fucking jackals.”
Andy laughed. “I know, right? How does Miranda put up with it?”
Roy looked at her through the rear-view mirror, “She ignores them. You should, too.” He hesitated for a moment, then said, “You look happy, Andy.”
Andy looked into Roy’s lovely blue eyes, reflected in the mirror, and saw he was saying what she thought he was. And she answered in kind, “I’m very, very happy, Roy. Happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”
He nodded, “Then fuck ‘em, Andy. Fuck ‘em. They’ll say what they will and you’ll still be you and Miranda will be Miranda and the girls will be the girls. Magdalena will be Maggie. And…I’ll be me. We’ll all get through it.”
Andy reached forward and put her hand on Roy’s shoulder, “Thank you. And, yes, Roy, you’re definitely part of her family. I know she never tells you that but totally thinks it and I’m squealing on her.”
Roy smiled and said, “I didn’t hear a thing.”
***
When she finally walked into her office, Andy was not one bit surprised by the ‘all eyes on her-ness’ of her coworkers. She waved her splinted finger and announced, “Yep, I’m alive. It was just a dumb accident and nope—not talking about it.”
Mike had evidently been waiting for her because he barreled out of his office and said, “Sachs? Get in here and close the door.”
She followed him with a hammering heart, closed the door and took a seat. When she faced him, she instantly saw Mike wasn’t angry. He was concerned.
He looked pointedly between her hand and at the closed door and said, “Entirely off the record. Spill it, Sachs. If something’s wrong or…if someone’s hurting you and believe me I don’t give a rat’s ass who it is, let me know and I’ll help you take care of it.”
Andy looked into her editor’s kind eyes. Just like Sam—a sweet man ready to kick ass on her behalf at the drop of a hat. She smiled and laughed, “Well, funny you should mention a rat, Mike. And seriously, off the record?”
“Completely.”
Minutes later, he was still laughing at the rat story when she said, “Still off the record?”
“Yep.”
“It’s true, just so you know. I’m romantically involved with Miranda and it’s serious. So it’s probably only likely to get worse before it gets better.”
He whistled, then said, “Jesus Christ, Sachs. That’s impressive in a way you could file a sexual harassment suit against me if I even tried to explain. What am I going to do with you?”
“I know—I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. But don’t kid yourself. It’s going to be harder for you to do your job until this blows over, you know. You’re running down stories but you’re going to be a story yourself.”
Andy winced but her voice was steady. “I know that. But it’s worth it, Mike. She’s worth it. Even if you fire me. I know it’s insane to keep me.”
“Fire you? No. That would be insanity.”
Her coworkers were surprised to see a beaming Mike lead her out of his office. He patted her shoulder and said to the newsroom, “Leave Sachs alone—she’s explained everything. She’s just a dumb-ass and has the war-wound to prove it. Everything Sachs says in this room is off the record. If I see one word about her from this newsroom on record, I will hunt that person down and fire him or her.”
As Mike retreated into his office, Reggie approached her and said, “Day-umm, Andy. You have a way with the editors, don’tcha?”
Andy knew that question was a double entendre about Miranda and could feel the newsroom listening but she didn’t care. She smirked into her monitor and said, “Sure do. Some girls got it like that, Reg.”
He snickered, they did a knuckle bump and returned to their jobs.
***
When Miranda arrived at Runway, she was slightly amused that Emily didn’t quite meet her eyes. She threw her coat and bag on Emily2’s desk and turned to Emily, “I suppose you need to know that I fired Alexis over the weekend.”
The look of just barely suppressed outrage on Emily’s face made Miranda closer to laughing out loud at Runway than she had been in years. She said, “Oh, for God’s sake, Emily, don’t look like that. I’ll get someone else and beside that, we’ve been through worse, haven’t we?”
As Miranda had intended, Emily was visibly dazzled by this expression of solidarity between them. She sat up straight and said, “Of course we have, Miranda.”
“So you know exactly what to say, do you not?” To Emily’s astonishment, she heard Miranda assume an accent uncannily like her own, “Miranda Priestly never comments upon her personal life or that of her friends.”
Emily stared but nodded, “Yes, Miranda. Irv wants to see you immediately.”
“Of course he does. I’ll go right now. Don’t tell his assistant.” Her smile was wicked as she said, “He won’t expect me until midday. I expect he’ll choke on his coffee.”
***
Irv had almost choked as Miranda strolled into his office and calmly took a seat. The bitch.
Miranda’s voice was cool, “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. What are you doing? And why is it on Page Six?”
“You’re referencing my having a family friend stay in my home after being injured?”
He stared at her perfectly composed face for several seconds. “It looks bad, Miranda.”
“And exactly when or why have we ever stooped to respond to the tabloids?”
“When it looks like you’re sleeping with a woman half your age. That’s when.”
“If I were, if I were, it would be no one’s business but mine and my family’s.”
Irv was rattled and angry, “So it’s true? You’re shtupping some girl half your age? A girl who used to be your assistant?”
“I said no such thing. And your vulgarism is not appreciated. Whatever my relationship with Andrea is or isn’t, the world will adjust.”
Irv spluttered for a moment before saying, “You’re going too far this time, Miranda. This is the sort of thing that—“
Miranda interrupted him with a laugh with no mirth in it. “That what, exactly? That will enable you to force me out of my job, as you’ve wanted to do for so many years? Fine. Why don’t you try it? I can list any number of people you could put in my place. I’m sure you’ve nearly memorized their CVs, which I’m completely confident you have on your computer right now. Would you like for me to look over your list and help you replace me?”
He looked at her face, so beautiful, so entirely serene and unworried. He hated her. And didn’t say a word.
She noticed this, naturally. “Good choice. I am Runway. And Runway is the flagship of Elias Clarke. Anyone else you choose will be far below second best. Fire me. Feel free. I’m independently wealthy at this point. But don’t think, if you force me out, that I won’t sell every bit of EC stock I own, which you know is quite considerable. And don’t think the market won’t notice that. Leaving's one thing but selling is a vote of no confidence. I know you have a much larger number of shares of EC than I do, but after I sold, I think I could cut their value in roughly half. Don’t you?”
He glared at her. “Goddamn you, Miranda.”
She smiled at him. “Yes. God is curious. He damned me with you and blessed me with others.”
She stared at him for a few moments and continued. “Never forget, I do this job because I love it, Irving, not because I have to. Not anymore. And always remember, although I work for you? I work harder in one week than you do in one year. We both know this.”
She stood and said, “I think we’re done here, don’t you?”
He swallowed, hard, and said, “Yes.”
But before she could leave the office, he said, “Miranda?”
She turned. His voice had softened.
“Yes, Irving?”
“Please minimize the damage, if you can. Please. In some quarters lately, we’ve been on a razor’s edge and you know it.”
She looked at him and felt, from what seemed like out of nowhere, a flash of respect. It couldn’t be easy for a man like him to talk to her as an equal.
She nodded and said, “Irving? My private life is mine. But I believe I can spin it to the benefit of Elias Clarke. I spin for a living, do I not? I create opinion; opinion does not create me.”
And then she smiled at him, and he suddenly realized, after all of the hundreds of times she’d smiled at him, that this was the first genuine and almost friendly smile he’d ever gotten from her. It literally took his breath away.
“Trust me, Irv.”
He nodded and said very quietly, for him, “I guess I have to. You’re the only person who tells the truth around here.”
“And that’s why they call me the Dragon Lady.”
As she left, and as he thought about that smile, Irv wondered why he’d never understood that Miranda Priestly was actually a human being.
***
Two of Miranda’s blessings, Cassidy and Caroline, were incredibly bored by the hullabaloo even before lunchtime. Bored by the whispering and the staring. They’d gone through this so many times. Mom in the tabloids. They took a seat, by themselves, at an empty table at the end of their lunchroom. As always, at least they had each other and they could just ignore the snotty kids until the tide turned and someone else’s parents were the subject of scrutiny. Juan Carlo joined them, which was actually nice because everyone else was avoiding them.
“Hey, J.C.”
He nodded at Cassidy’s greeting, at the nickname only the twins used for him, and took a bite of his sandwich, “You have nothing but bandoleros at this school. They say terrible things.”
Cassidy nodded, “Yeah, they do. Sorry you had to hear it.”
“No. I am sorry you have to hear it.” His brown eyes actually began to tear and he was so discomforted and concerned that Caroline hastened to assure him, “It’s okay. J.C. We’ve heard worse, tons of times. A few days and it dies down. Always does. No problem.”
He stared at his sandwich as he said, very quickly, “My mami says that all of these papers are so stupid. That she knows Andy and she is very good and that love is love and I should grow up to be a man who knows love when I see it.”
He felt himself suddenly tremendously out of his depth and deeply embarrassed, “We...I…your mami has been so good to me. I want her to be very happy,” he said, still speaking to his sandwich.
Although both she and Caroline were a bit stunned by his being so blunt, Cassidy thought she should answer in kind.
“Thanks, J.C.,” she said, opening her sandwich and picking out a tomato. “You’re right. Our mom and Andy are happy and that’s all we care about. These other kids are losers.”
He grinned. He’d done something right. “My mami says she is going to invite you and your mami and Andy to a barbecue at our house after all of this, when the weather is warmer. Do you think they will come?
Caroline hesitated but Cassidy said, “Absolutely.”
****
Over the next few months, Miranda and Andy continued to live their lives and the tabloids’ interest in them waxed and waned, depending upon which starlet or power-couple was available or acting up and needed more attention. It hadn’t been easy. Miranda was Teflon, and effortlessly, because she’d been ignoring press about her personal life for decades. Andy’d had some tough times but she was learning to hold her chin up and to have a healthy disdain for the people who were chasing them.
She’d also gained a new respect for Miranda and a different understanding of what had happened in Paris. Knowing what she now knew from first-hand experience—that people could judge you and ruthlessly stick a knife into your chest and twist it gleefully yet almost carelessly, as if it meant nothing at all as you writhed in pain—explained a part of life she hadn’t known. Miranda had known. When you were fighting for your emotional life, you fought as dirty as you had to.
The girls were golden, platinum even. Having been raised to ignore, they ignored like champs. They didn’t seem to care at all.
After four months Andy virtually lived with the Priestlys, although she’d kept her apartment. Andy found she’d turned a corner with the girls, in a rather abrupt way, when Cassidy approached her after she’d stayed the previous night in her own home.
Andy had been working on a story on her laptop in the kitchen and Miranda had been in her study.
“Andy?”
Andy turned from her computer and said, “’Sup, Cass?”
“Are you and Mom mad at each other or something?”
“No! Of course we’re not.” She chuckled as she added, “Seriously? Can you imagine you’d even have to ask that question if we were? Why would you think so?”
“You weren’t home last night.”
Andy looked into Cassidy’s eyes and saw real anxiety in them. She patted the girl’s arm as she said, “Nah. It was nothing about your Mom and me. We’re fine. I was working really late on a story and I needed to crash. My apartment was just closer than here. That’s all it was.”
Cassidy’s voice was firm, “Caroline and me think that’s really dumb.”
“What’s dumb, honey?”
“You should live here with us.”
Andy blinked in astonishment and said very slowly, trying to formulate even as she spoke, a reasonable response to a question she and Miranda had skirted around, “Well, Cassidy that would be nice. But this is your house, not mine. I can’t exactly just move in.”
Cassidy stared at her for a few moments before saying, “You mean Mom is so lame that she hasn’t asked you to move in, right?”
Andy tilted her head and said even more slowly, “Well, I guess so. Yes. In a way. But I would never say your Mom was lame.”
The girl smirked at her and said, silkily, “Of course you wouldn’t.”
Andy grinned. Busted.
“Okay. But if she asks you, you’ll say yes, right?”
It was strange to be bullied by a child, Andy thought. “Yes. Of course. I want to live with you guys. I’d say yes.”
“Good. I’ll handle it.”
Andy leapt out of her chair, “Wait-a-second. Cass? I think maybe your Mom and I should—“
Cassidy airily dismissed her. “Please. You guys are clueless. It’ll take me five minutes and it’ll be done.”
Andy’s heart was hammering when, five minutes later, Miranda entered the kitchen and said, as she poured two glasses of wine, that it was a far more sensible thing for Andy to just move in, didn’t she think? Why pay rent when she basically lived here, anyway? As she handed one glass to Andy, Miranda played it as if it had entirely been her idea. Andy nodded and promised to get right on it. Cassidy had been right. She and Miranda were both totally clueless.
***
Which was how she found herself changing addresses—and addressing this fact with her parents, with whom she’d begun to have an increasingly civil discourse. A bit strained at times, but civil. They always asked after the children and Miranda, which was certainly game of them, Andy thought.
When Andy told her mother she was moving into Miranda’s home, however, Audrey was quiet for a few moments before asking, “Don’t you think this is all a bit quick, dear?”
That pause, and that circumspect response, told Andy her mother was really making an effort. She was concerned but trying not to push too hard. So, Andy tried, too. “I hear what you’re saying, Mom, but when we were kids, just think about living apart from Daddy and me and Sam. I don’t want that. I really need to live with them.”
There was another long pause. “Andy, I ask this with love. Did you hear what you just said? Do you really consider this woman and her children your family?”
A mother could always ask a question that took your breath. Andy thought about it and sighed, “Yes. Completely. They’re mine and I’m theirs.”
Audrey paused again and then said, “I think we need to visit, Andy. And soon. I’ll talk to your father and Sam.”
Andy gritted her teeth and said, “That’d be great,” although she was thinking Fuck. Fuck-apolous. Fuck on rye with mayo and a pickle.
***
After she’d moved in, Andy found herself stifling a laugh at Emily’s death glare the first time she visited Runway after Miranda had, evidently, decided she was over it all and had taken her hand and held it as they walked toward their car. Page Six was over the moon. “We Told You First!”
Emily waved at her airily and said, in as dismissive a tone as she could muster, which was actually considerable, “I don’t think you need announcing, do you?”
Andy smiled and said, “Awww. Probably not. But you know that I’ve always sort of loved you, don’t you, Emily?”
Emily looked at her in horror, as if Andy had said she was about to pull her heart out with her bare hands.
“I love you, Em.”
Emily’s face flushed.
“Emily?”
That was Miranda’s voice. And because they were both trained, their spines stiffened at that sound. But, immediately, Emily smiled and relaxed, “She means you, Emily.”
“She does,” Andy laughed and replied, “Yes, Miranda?”
“When you finish declaring your undying love to my Emily, you can come in. I’m ready for lunch.”
“Yes, Miranda.”
Emily smirked, “Once an assistant, always an…”
Andy winked, “Oh, I assist her, alright.”
Emily blushed scarlet and cursed her English complexion for the billionth time in her stay on Earth.
***
They eventually found themselves on their way to a house in Queens on a Sunday afternoon.
As they approached the Castillo home, Andy was faintly surprised but pleased to hear Miranda say, in her very deadliest tone, “Caroline? Cassidy? These are good people. We are wealthy. They are not. We’re the exceptions. They are not. Most people live the way they live. If there’s only one floor to their house or only one bathroom, you are not to mention it. Juan Carlo may not have all of the latest Xbox games and a plasma TV in his room. You are not to mention it. It will shame me terribly if I’ve raised children who would make him ashamed because he doesn’t have what you do.”
Andy was impressed. Caroline nodded, a bit shocked, but Cassidy smiled, “J.C.’s our best friend. We wouldn’t care if he lived in a cardboard box. No probs, Mom.”
***
It was strange, Andy thought, to see Miranda so out of her element. She’d talked the woman into jeans and a Barnard sweatshirt, which she’d evidently and uncharacteristically bought when she purchased Andy’s Northwestern sweatshirt.
The house was very small, but lovingly decorated and maintained, and even Andy was proud of the way the girls took to its smaller scale. She’d seen anxiety on Juan Carlo’s face as he’d opened the door and welcomed them but the little guy had impeccable manners. They’d soon started an Xbox game in the living room and ignored the adults.
It was sweet to see Miranda’s rapport with Wanda’s husband, Carlo, who took to her completely and easily. And Miranda was similarly at ease, which was so very refreshing, from Andy’s point of view. At one point, when Miranda caught Andy looking at her, she’d lowered her voice and said, with her typical perspicacity, “What? You’re surprised? This is how I grew up. This was my life before Runway.”
Andy could only nod.
***
As Andy and Wanda finished preparing a salad and watched Miranda and Carlo supervising steaks on the grill, Wanda said, “They are so alike. They want to pretend not to be soft inside.”
Andy grinned. “But they’re both just jello, aren’t they?”
“Si. But you can never tell them that.”
“They’re so…”
Wanda smiled and finished Andy’s sentence as she diced a cucumber, “Si. As you say, cement covering jello. They are both so ridiculous. Let them think you don’t know. It makes a happy life.”
Andy smiled as she diced a tomato.
***
The badminton matches, after their meal, were serious. Andy was pleased with them until Miranda took up her racquet. Of course. She’d assumed Miranda would be a hellcat at anything competitive. Miranda wasn’t a hellcat—she was a demon.
She was more athletic, or maybe just more motivated, than Andy could have imagined. Miranda put Juan Carlo and Caroline in the dust against her and Cassidy.
Carlo laughed as he watched and said, “La jefa plays to win.”
Miranda laughed and smiled, “I don’t lose. Ever.”
Andy tried, really tried—but Miranda was relentless in a way she’d never seen her. She simply would not lose.
When they’d switched teams and Miranda and Caroline had won another match against Carlo and J.C., Miranda said very specifically to Andy, “I don’t submit.”
“Message received, chief.”
Carlo and J.C. played and lost another time before Carlo conceded, with a laugh, “There’s no point in playing with you, lady.”
Miranda beamed, her face flushed with her effort, “Thank you, Carlo. It took you only one hour to figure out what my board of directors is still taking decades to discover.”
Carlo laughed again and smacked her on the shoulder. She punched him right back. Andy and Wanda smirked at each other and the kids grinned. It was so nice to see the Alphas in the pack getting along.
The rest of the pack played until after the sun had set and Miranda helped Wanda light citronella candles against mosquitoes. Miranda smiled as she said, “This has been a wonderful day, Wanda. Thank you.”
“Oh—it is nothing. Nothing like you could have—“
“No no. Don’t say that. I can’t give you the smell of a grill or this fresh-mown grass or even these candles. I remember times like these when I was a child.”
Wanda nodded. “Then you are lucky.”
“I was. It’s odd, don’t you think,” she said as she touched a match to another candle, “to wonder what memories survive? You never know when you’re living them, do you? This day—this smell—this feeling—this will be something I will remember. Or not.”
She looked at their children, sprawled on the grass and showing each other animals in the stars overhead. “Look at them. I hope they remember this.”
Wanda watched as their children pointed their fingers at the world. “It is good. Even if they don’t remember, it is still good. Good food for the…” she tapped her chest and continued lighting the candles.
Miranda looked about her, at the sweet little house and the lawn and the children and her Andy and she closed her eyes. She could smell the grass and the faint scent of the grill and the night was so pleasantly beginning to be just a bit chilly. Please remember this, she thought.
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