Chapter Text
Paris, October 2006
“But what if it's not what I want? I mean, what if I don't want to live the way you do?”
“Don't be silly, Andrea. This is what everyone wants. Everyone wants to be us.”
As the car pulled to a stop, the din of reporters clamoring for Miranda’s attention grew louder. Andy’s hand closed around the car door handle. For a moment, she imagined stepping out into the street and walking away from the crush of people, from the insanity that her life had been the past few months, from Miranda. And then, just like when she’d considered whether or not she’d go to Paris, she felt pulled by Miranda’s gravity.
Shoving the sick feeling in her stomach down, Andy followed Miranda into the fray.
…
New York City, November 2006
Jumping over icy puddles, Andy Sachs rushed to the Runway offices. She was by no means late, but anything less than fifteen minutes early might have well as been according to Miranda Priestly. She clutched her bag a little tighter, acutely feeling the weight of her letter of resignation tucked inside. It was physically impossible for one piece of paper to make an entire purse feel heavier, but ever since she’d written it back in October after arriving home from Paris, the weight of it was palpable.
Everyone wants to be us. Miranda’s words echoed in Andy’s mind. It would have been so much easier if she’d said something else, anything else. If she’d said ‘everyone wants to be me’ Andy would have been out of the car like a shot, but it was the ‘us’ that gave her pause.
Andy knew she was ambitious, that- plus hard work- was how she ended up the editor of her college newspaper, that was how she’d hung onto her job at Runway, but at what cost? She couldn’t do what Miranda did, couldn’t sacrifice people for another step up.
You already did. To Emily.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Andy tried to push Miranda’s words from her mind. But every time she thought about handing in her resignation us us us echoed in her head, paired with the memory of Miranda in her Paris hotel room, robe clad and more vulnerable than Andy had believed possible. She couldn’t have left Miranda then, not the day after Stephen sent her the divorce papers. Opening her eyes, Andy walked into the Elias-Clarke building and jabbed at the elevator buttons. As soon as the divorce was finalized, she’d leave.
…
The busy crush of Runway swept away all thoughts of gray robes and impossible choices, leaving only a flurry of activity. Andy flew through her morning duties, checking messages, refamiliarizing herself with the day’s calendar, getting the daily papers and magazines laid out on the editor’s desk, and finally picking up Miranda’s coffee.
Emily, still only talking to Andy out of necessity, hurried to meet Miranda at the elevator, scribbling down instructions as she followed her back to the office. Without breaking stride, Miranda shucked her coat off, flinging it onto Emily’s desk. Her sharp gaze shifted to Andy, and Andy suppressed a shiver of something not unpleasant as Miranda’s eyes raked up and down her body. Miranda’s lips twitched before continuing into her office and Andy let out a breath she hadn't realized she’d been holding.
Miranda’s job, in the most basic sense, was clothes. She lived and breathed fashion. She was the leading expert in fashion and trends, creating and breaking them for the masses. But she never looked at what Emily wore- or what Jocelyn or Serena wore- with the same intense focus she paid Andy. Some days, Andy pretended that it was because when she had started at Runway, she had no fashion sense, at least not in the way that mattered to Miranda Priestly. But other days it felt as if Miranda was undressing her with her eyes, and Andy liked it.
“Andrea,” Miranda’s voice floated out from the office, “Get me Paulo.”
“Yes Miranda!” Andy chirped, and picked up the phone, ready for what she knew would be another busy day.
“Well now we know why you’re the favorite,” Nigel said, hours later, dropping a copy of Page Six on the desk in front of Andy. The outer office was quiet and empty with Emily gone for lunch and Miranda at an appointment with her divorce lawyers.
Ice Queen Melts for Young Assistant! Read the headline in big bold letters. It wasn’t the first page, or even the second, but somehow the third page was covered in blurry photos taken with a long distance telephoto lens, all of Andy and Miranda in Paris. Their heads were bent close, faces tipped away from the camera, and if one didn’t know what was happening, it definitely looked like they were kissing.
“Wha-?” She said, picking up the paper. Andy would have remembered kissing Miranda. Instead, what she remembered was leaning in to whisper to Miranda the name of whatever celebrity had just walked in.
“I’m disappointed that you didn't tell me, Six,” continued Nigel, fake pouting, “Our benevolent overlord and I haven’t been on the best speaking terms lately but I thought you and I shared everything, after doing our nails and braiding each other’s hair of course.”
“And last week Page Six said LJo was having a baby with an alien,” said Andy, shooting him a look. Then she lowered her voice, “Has she seen this?”
“How should I know? Like I said, we’re giving one another a wide berth,” Nigel said.
Andy winced, biting her lip. The fallout from Paris was not spoken of within the walls of Runway. Nigel was subdued, and despite winning the battle, Miranda remained tense, waiting for whatever Irv planned next.
“And to think while my life was being ruined, you were playing tonsil hockey with our lady of fashion,” Nigel said, snatching the paper back from Andy as Emily returned. The first assistant was off of crutches, but still hobbled by an extremely unfashionable boot.
“Oh Emily, look what our little Six got up to in gay Paris,” said Nigel, saying the last word with an accent.
“Nigel,” Andy groaned.
Emily’s frown deepened as her eyes flicked across the page, “What drivel. As if Miranda Priestly would stoop so low as to date someone like you. She does have standards, something you may not know about.”
“Yeah because Stephen was a real catch,” Andy said, rolling her eyes, face screwed up in a sneer at even saying his name.
“I will be sure to consult with you the next time I consider marriage, Andrea,” Miranda said, her deadly quiet tones causing the temperature in the office to plummet.
Nigel’s shoulders tensed. Andy froze in her seat somehow both ice cold and flushed with embarrassment. She wanted to sink into the floor, feeling almost as humiliated as she had the day Miranda had schooled her on shades of blue. Emily at least had the good sense to slowly Page Six beneath the desk, out of view, even if she did look a bit smug while doing so.
After shooting everyone withering glares, Miranda stalked back into her office, and snapped, “Where is my coffee?"
“Coming Miranda!” Emily called, then shooed Andy off to Starbucks.
Andy was grateful to get out of the office, even if it was just a mad scramble down to the Starbucks below. She’d called on the way to the elevator, an arraignment she’d set up with some of the baristas.
“Geeze Andy, you haven’t looked this frazzled in months,” said Piper as she handed over Miranda’s extra hot coffee. Andy shoved a big tip in the jar. “Trouble with the girlfriend?”
“Oh god, not you guys too,” groaned Andy.
Piper laughed, “You have to admit it’s pretty funny.”
“Yeah because there’s no way she’d ever date me,” said Andy.
“It’s not that. Can you imagine if the Head Bitch of Fashion was secretly one of us the whole time? I’d be first in line to buy the next issue of Runway,” said Piper. “I’d convert into one of those- what do you call them? Clickers?”
“Clackers,” said Andy.
“Right! Say hi to your girlfriend for me!” Piper called as Andy hurried back to Runway.
…
Miranda watched Andy retreat from her office as she sipped her coffee. The girl had wisely not even tried to meet her eyes when she delivered it, simply setting it on her desk then meekly slipping away. At least Miranda hadn’t lost her touch. Andrea had become far too familiar, always pushing Miranda’s limits. She tried to chat with her the few times Miranda had allowed her to ride up in the elevator with her, offered to help Miranda with her coat instead of handing it over, and now this… comment about how Miranda chose to live her life.
If it had been any other assistant, Miranda would have fired her, but Andrea’s competence had quickly become a necessity in Miranda's life. Between the turmoil of the divorce being slashed all over the press and her suspicion that Paris wouldn’t be the last time Irv tried to unseat her, she needed something dependable, loyal.
And her Andrea was nothing if not dependable and loyal to a fault.
At least her meeting with her lawyers had gone as well as possible. Stephen wasn’t fighting any of her requests, and their divorce would be finalized within the first few months of the new year. It was bittersweet, knowing the ease of it all was because he couldn’t get away from her fast enough, even though it ensured she wouldn’t be dragged to court or her girls wouldn’t suffer any more than needed. But Miranda tried to remind herself that a victory was still a victory, no matter how hollow it left her feeling.
“Emily, get me Jocelyn and the layouts for the Dior spread,” she called.
In the outer office, Miranda caught sight of Andrea slumping in seat, trying to hide behind her computer monitor. Good.
“Have Andrea fetch the skirts from Chanel,” Miranda told Emily as the first assistant handed her the layouts. Perhaps an afternoon of running around in the cold would teach her.
Miranda slid her glasses on, turning back to the spreadsheet of circulation numbers. The circulation for November’s issue was down almost imperceptively, but anything short of robust sales would be another strike against her, another thing Irv could leverage to strip away more of her budget. December had to be better. December would be better, because Miranda would make it so.