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Please join us in celebration of Nigel Kipling’s new career path as the Creative Director of Christian Dior.
It is going to be an unforgettable evening and we would love to have you there.
The party will be held at Rue Vielle du Temple, in Paris. Please RSVP by June 24th to let us know if you can attend.
It took Nigel an awfully long time to convince Miranda to come. It wasn’t that she didn’t care for her friend’s success. It wasn’t even about stealing the limelight from him - truth be told he was on the right path to become as big of a name as herself. It was about something stupid. It was about Paris. Forever tainted by one awful afternoon.
Sometimes Miranda thought about that incident as if it was a divorce. She got New York, the other one got Paris. For ten years, they respected each other’s territories, staying out of each other’s orbits.
“I take it I’m the child in this equation?” Nigel asked when Miranda initially explained her reasoning for not coming. “Mommy please, it’s my big night!” he whined and tried to stifle his laugh in a glass of wine.
There was no point in trying to intimidate Nigel with her icy stare, Miranda knew it. Once he set his mind onto something, he had to get it. As much as she admired that quality about him, he could be a pain in the ass sometimes, to put it frankly.
“Okay look. She told me she’ll only be able to come for an hour or so. Said something about coming back home to her- her dog or something. Just come after ten and you’ll be fine, I promise.”
Miranda rolled her eyes, not even trying to hide her annoyance. Over the years Nigel got irritably good at reading her. Or maybe it was her who was getting easier to read.
“Your abilities to try my patience are astounding, Nigel.”
Nigel raised his glass and smiled. “I learn from the best.”
And that was that. Three weeks later Miranda found herself in the back of a car, in the middle of Paris, on her way to Nigel’s ridiculously expensive, designer penthouse.
Over the years, Miranda started getting tired of the huge gatherings that Nigel absolutely loved throwing. Same faces, same questions. Same polite but meaningless conversations held over expensive wine and finger foods. Paris is absolutely gorgeous this time of the year, no? The new Dior collection is to die for, what do you think? So how’s Runway these days? All the same, year after year. But Miranda put on a charming smile and answered each and every question, out of love for her dearest, and perhaps only true friend.
Dull conversations weren’t even the worst of it. It was a familiar voice ringing in her head after every stupid question. Does every party feel like a chore to you? God, it really, really did.
Wanting a break from yet another draining conversation, Miranda leaned against one of the large windows and took a long look at the party. She promised herself she wouldn’t look for signs of her. She wouldn’t seek out the sweet perfume and lipstick stained glasses. She wouldn’t steal glances above people’s shoulders, she wouldn’t listen for the hearty laugh. She was way too old for this. So instead of looking she talked. She answered all the exhausting questions, she did the small talks until her mouth turned dry and her cheeks hurt from the polite smiles.
Miranda’s dedication to having a good time for the sake of her friend didn’t go unnoticed. Soon Nigel was right by her side, presenting her with another glass of cold, crisp white wine, and a smile so warm, it melted the alleged ice around her heart.
“I really appreciate you coming, dear.”
“Of course. I take interest in each of my children’s success,” Miranda answered simply, and smiled just as Nigel laughed. They clinked their glasses together and stood in easy silence for a while, looking at the crowd.
“You know, I wasn’t sure until the last minute. That you’d actually come,” Nigel admitted, avoiding eye contact with Miranda. “But she is gone now, I think, so you can relax and stop looking around like a distressed animal.”
“I don’t-,” Miranda tried to use humour to redirect the conversation, but she knew it was pointless.
“Oh please, your head is about to fall off your neck if you keep twisting and turning like that.”
“Mobility’s important at my old age,” was Miranda’s dry response, and Nigel knew it was best to give up the topic now, while she was still willing to humour him.
“Speaking of old age, I think my time to leave has come. I will say my goodbyes to the garden, and be on my way. It’s been a beautiful evening Nigel.”
Nigel smiled at her warmly and squeezed her shoulder. Despite their decades-long friendship, he was still anticipating her praise. After all, it was only her opinion that truly mattered.
Miranda gently squeezed his forearm back and slipped away into the night. The terrace, with its lush garden, was probably her favourite part of the penthouse. It was full of thick bushes and exotic plants. A perfect hideout spot, an oasis in the middle of chaos. Miranda closed her eyes and listened to the sound of leaves rustling mixing with the ambience of the city below her.
“Shit.”
Cracking one eye open, Miranda noticed an orange glow between the branches. It couldn’t be - ? She shook her head, trying to convince herself she was just hearing things. It was easier to face the fact that she did finally go insane, than bear the possibility that it could be who she thought it was. But curiosity got the best of her and she took a step forward, trying to get a better look at the silhouette standing by the railing. Ground seemed to move from under Miranda’s feet when she realised whose back she was facing.
Andrea. Standing on the rooftop terrace. In Paris. Wearing a sparkling, vintage Armani gown, her loose, slightly messy hair softly flowing in the wind. Miranda. Standing right behind her, silently appreciating the look. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was Andrea herself who styled the simple, yet striking outfit. After all, she’s always been so gifted, hasn’t she?
There were few things that could astound Miranda, and this sight was definitely one of them. Here was Andrea. Here was her new image of a nonchalant writer who wore vintage designer clothes. Who snuck out of parties to go smoke on the roof. Here was Paris, in all its glory, shining and bustling with nightlife. Here were the ten years that passed between now and the last time they saw each other.
“I would say it’s unattractive to stare, but I think we can both agree that Miranda Priestly and unattractive don’t go together, no?”
Miranda rolled her eyes and smirked at the reference. It seemed things were now as they were before - nothing gets past Andrea Sachs. She shuffled closer to where the girl stood, careful not to get too close.
Andrea held out the cigarette pack to Miranda, but the woman refused with a shake of her head.
“Cassidy caught me one night, out on the patio. Made me promise I’d quit, or at least try to. Being sneaky is one thing, but sneaking behind my own children’s back is a low I’m not ready to reach yet.”
“How old are they now, twenty? I’m sure they’re the ones sneaking behind your back,” Andrea said, amusement creeping into her voice.
Of course, Andrea knew very well how old the twins were. She still remembered their birthday, or their favourite flavours of cake frosting. She remembered the names of their childhood teddies. And whenever she really wanted to drive herself into a pit of melancholy and nostalgia, she opened Instagram and went through their profiles, trying to catch a glimpse of a life she once wished she was a part of.
She took another cigarette out of the pack and lit it with a match. How French, Miranda thought, and rolled her eyes. The absurdity of this whole situation was not lost on her. Ten years passed and yet they found themselves in a painfully familiar setting. Maybe this is how it’s going to be for the rest of time. Them, finding each other on rooftops across the world. They would be civil, they would reveal their true feelings ever so slightly, under the guise of polite conversation, but never too many feelings. Never enough so that they would have to act on the revelations.
“Do you have children now, Andrea?” Miranda asked, already knowing the answer. Claire and Èlise. She overheard Nigel and Emily’s hushed conversation downstairs. Have you seen-? Yeah, I think she’s gone home to the girls, Èlise won’t go to bed until Andy’s home.
“Mmm.” Andrea turned her head away to exhale, and nodded again. “Girls. Two and four.”
Miranda nodded pensively and looked at the city. She did her best to look unbothered, trying to remember if Nigel mentioned the father of the kids, but Andrea saw right through her, as she always did.
“Oh, don’t worry. They’re not Nate’s. That was over way before this was over.” Andy quickly waved her hand between the two of them and brought it back to her face. “You would be astounded at what modern medicine can do for women.” There was a longer pause now, Andrea waiting for Miranda’s reaction. She couldn’t help but let a smug smirk creep up on her face at the sight of speechless, confused Miranda.
Miranda didn’t care for Andrea’s quite obvious bait so instead of replying, she studied the girl’s hand holding the railing. As much as she didn’t appreciate the fact that Andrea and Nigel still kept in touch, she had to admit, her style really blossomed under Nigel’s guidance - the jewelry choices were stunning, complimenting Andrea’s slim hands. However, Miranda’s heart dropped when she noticed a plain gold band among the jewels.
Andy followed her gaze and realised what it was that made Miranda’s breath hitch.
“It’s so stupid. It’s been half a year and I can’t bring myself to take it off.”
Miranda shot Andrea a puzzled look, although she already knew very well what the explanation would be. Being around Nigel meant hearing most of the gossip about Andrea’s romantic life before they hit the public eye. Engagement in Paris. Seventy guests at a backyard wedding somewhere in Bordeaux. Nigel officiating. It was Andrea who proposed. Not that it mattered now, anyway.
“Along with gay marriage came gay divorce, I suppose.” Andrea tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.
Ah, there it was.
Miranda felt like she was looking into some sort of sick and twisted mirror. A divorced mother of two, cursed with success, always striving for perfection. Irreplaceable in her own field. Admired by friends and fans, feared by competition.
But so, so much braver than Miranda could ever be. Putting herself out there in the world, proudly, at the arm of another woman. Miranda would have never dared to do so, not even back when she still hadn’t sworn off women completely in the name of success and public acceptance.
As if Andrea could read Miranda’s thoughts (and to be honest, there was a non-zero chance that she genuinely could), she turned to her, and quietly said “It seems you cast a spell on me that last day in Paris.”
“Your last day in Paris,” Miranda cut in quickly, her tone harsher than she intended. But there it was. After ten years of radio silence they were going to have it out. “Some of us had to stay and deal with the aftermath.”
“Well. I’m sure the horde of assistants, always at your beck and call, and the loyal admirers softened the blow of the fat, but smart! girl walking away.” Andrea laughed bitterly and turned her face away. Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she wasn’t entirely sure if it was the booze, the heat of the night or the anger attached to the memories of that fateful day. She chose to believe it was not the last option. She chose to believe she was long over that whole thing. Liar.
“I refuse to believe you truly think that, Andrea.” Miranda stated, her voice rising slightly. “I refuse to believe you did not know how valuable you were in my team.”
She was met only with silence - one thing she least expected from Andrea now. She expected, wanted, a screaming match, an argument that would finally give them both closure. Anything that would show that Andrea thought about that day even half as much as she did. Andrea did not seem to be on board with that idea. Miranda ran a trembling hand through her perfectly white hair while her brain was scrambling for something, anything she could say to coax a reaction out of the girl. She didn’t care what that reaction would be, as long as it was something else than this deafening silence.
“I would have kissed you back on that roof, you know?”
Andrea barked a laugh and turned towards Miranda. Despite her big brown eyes, her stare was icy cold.
“Oh, we both know that was low, Miranda. Even for you. And no, I don’t know.” Andy smiled sadly. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”
Seeing Miranda’s furrowed brow she took a deep breath and decided to explain. There was nothing to lose now anyway.
“I spent months wishing that’s true, that maybe if not that night, then sometime later. That maybe one day you’d waltz into the office and finally see what’s been right there in front of you. But we both know you’re too smart for that, Miranda. Kissing an employee, I mean. Meanwhile I was stupid enough to think that you’d catch on.” There was an edge to Andrea’s voice, her words becoming louder as she went on.
“You’re so used to everyone going out of their fucking way for you, everyone rolling out the red carpet for you, everyone admiring you. And you know very well that they do it because they’re afraid you’ll ruin them. Or because they want a favour. And it probably never crossed your mind that I felt any other way than those people. You just needed another assistant to walk all over. It’s just a shame you picked the most competent one.”
Miranda bit the inside of her cheek and considered Andrea’s point. Surely, she must have known. She must have felt how important she was to Miranda, no?
Suddenly Miranda was looking into the eyes of Andy, a girl fresh out of college, standing in front of Miranda’s desk at Runway. Fending for herself, showing that she’s up for a challenge. Andrea set her jaw and held her head up high before she continued.
“I have to walk past Place de la Concorde every day, on the way home from my office. Every night I close my eyes, and I see your face watching me from your car, across 6th Avenue.” Despite her best efforts, Andrea’s voice got shakier and shakier with every word.
“Fuck, one of the last arguments I had with my ex was about how I was still hung up on you and Runway! So if you think my decision that day in Paris doesn’t haunt me, well. I bet you’ll be pleased to know that I’m still paying back for what I did. If that’s what you came here to hear then bravo. You got your way. Again.”
Andrea sniffled and started collecting her things. She looked deflated, her head hanging low, long hair hiding her face. Looking at her, Miranda realised she felt no pleasure or satisfaction in seeing Andrea like this. Knowing she was still hurting after walking away in Paris didn’t make Miranda feel better about it at all.
Seeing Andrea turning her back to her again made something crack in Miranda. She realised this could be her last chance at finally getting what she wanted all these years. She was cold, yes, but she wasn’t stupid - she knew very well that how she felt about Andrea had much more to do with love than with resentment. All the tossing and turning at night, wondering if she’s alright. If she’s happy.
Miranda barely learned to cope with losing Andrea once and she wasn’t sure she’d manage this time around. There was no time for apologies or for excuses. She covered the distance between them in quick strides, her open palm slamming the door closed right before Andrea. The girl’s head whipped around in shock, and only now, in the dim light, could Miranda see Andrea’s cheeks turned red, her eyes glassy.
Without thinking too much, Miranda grabbed Andrea’s arm and pulled her close, wrapping her in a strong embrace. Andrea felt frozen, glued to the spot. Before she knew it, her arms were moving at their own accord, wrapping Miranda in an equally tight hug, her face burying itself in the crook of Miranda’s neck.
After what felt like eternity, Miranda pulled away slightly, enough so that she could look Andrea in the eyes. Andrea noticed her slight hesitation, saw that Miranda was out of her depth here. A small nod from her was enough to encourage Andrea though, and soon she was leaning forward, pressing their lips together.
It was sweet. Too short for Andrea’s liking, but sweet nonetheless. It was a promise of something more. She’d take it.
“If you think losing sight of you for ten goddamn years was in any capacity my way, then maybe I-“ overestimated your intelligence was at the tip of Miranda’s tongue, but seeing the vulnerability in Andrea’s eyes she realised this was no time for insults. “Maybe I truly failed at trying to show you I’m not the Dragon Lady they make me out to be.”
Andrea sniffed and took a deep breath.
“Part of me hoped you’d come up here and find me,” she whispered.
Miranda put a stray strand of hair behind Andrea’s ear and rested her palm on her cheek. Up close she could see a few wrinkles formed around Andrea’s mouth and eyes. She suddenly felt the weight of the ten years that went by. But when she looked even closer she realised that despite all this time Andrea was still the same doe-eyed girl, eager to please and impress.
“Silly girl.”
A smile stretched across Andrea’s face as she leaned in for a second kiss.
Part of Miranda, the rational, cold part wondered if any of this actually made sense. Their lives, despite being so alike, were miles apart. But the soft, human part of Miranda knew there was no point in dwelling on the past or the future. There was only now, this moment. They would make it work. Miranda didn’t know how, but she knew they would.
After ten years, Paris finally became the city of love again.