Chapter Text
Over the months, Andy began to question if she was still connected to the original purpose that had led her to join Runway. The Andy of weeks ago just wanted the experience to eventually land a job at a serious newspaper, focused on stories with real social impact. Fashion was far from that in her view, at least, in the view Andrea had held before Runway.
The Andy of now, wearing a black Prada cashmere turtleneck, black Alexander McQueen tailored trousers, and Saint Laurent black leather stiletto boots, felt more at home. Despite all the aesthetic pressure and the drained energy, she didn't feel like she was walking through the valley of the shadow of death as she had during that first week, when Miranda made her cry and called her fat with the casualness of someone telling a stranger the time.
In four months, Runway had taken things from Andrea, though not enough for her to feel they were irreplaceable. Her boyfriend, Nate, citing a lack of attention and a drastic change in her personality, broke up with her. The lack of time for decent meals and the fact that carbohydrates seemed like a crime in the office caused her to lose 2 kilos. And most importantly, she had lost the certainty that she could easily handle anyone, no matter how grumpy, without getting stressed. Emily drove her to the limit daily with her acidity, sarcastic remarks, and rudeness. Miranda wasn't exactly pleasant, but her contact with her was less direct than it was with Emily.
That morning, the office was buzzing, everyone rushing back and forth, phones that wouldn't stop ringing, clothes passing by in black garment bags. While printing out some schedules, Andy watched Emily from her desk, completely stressed, with the phone pressed to her ear while she scribbled something down. She let out a sigh as if trying to calm herself and hung up the phone.
And she said, in her striking English accent: "If Valentino changes the seating chart one more time, I swear I will kill someone!"
Then Nigel walked past, irritated and frustrated, holding a garment, nearly in tears: "Dolce sent the wrong color again because, apparently, no one in Milan knows how to read."
All that chaos was the precursor to the CFDA Fashion Awards.
After a few minutes, Emily left for lunch with Serena, leaving Andy temporarily alone with the mess in the room. Before leaving, she said: "Don't do anything stupid until I get back" with a serious look directed at Andy.
But she took longer than she should have. In the meantime, nothing was put on hold; the phones kept ringing and the general madness continued firm and merciless, causing an anxiety in Andrea that ate away at her.
Emily returned, and the second she sat down, Andy went over to her. She dropped a folder of confirmations onto Emily's desk with enough force that some papers slid off. She was a bit irritated about being left to manage the chaos, but it sounded more like excitement than rudeness.
"I solved the Galliano problem," she stated, smiling.
Emily looked up slowly, wanting to understand if she had heard correctly: "Excuse me?"
"The fitting was postponed because his assistant changed the arrival time again, so I moved Miranda’s interview with Vanity Fair to six-thirty and swapped the car reservation," she explained simply, feeling a knot in her stomach. Emily’s look did not seem good at all, and the silence that followed was extremely dangerous.
"You changed Miranda’s schedule for the CFDA without telling me?"
Now Andy’s nervous smile vanished completely: "Because you were too busy having lunch with your friend. Meanwhile, I was here, talking to three assistants at the same time who seem to not know how not to scream!"
"That doesn't give you the right to improvise with Miranda’s agenda, Andrea."
"Well, someone had to do something before Galliano disappeared into another European time zone fueled by cocaine," she whispered the last word.
Emily leaned her face toward hers. The flush on her cheeks was pure rage: "You always do this."
Andrea held her ground. What could Emily mean? "Do what?"
"Act like the rules don't apply to you just because Miranda suddenly finds you useful."
Andrea blinked, clearly stung. This wasn't about her, or about Emily it was about solving a problem before Miranda ripped their heads off and had hats made out of them: "Emily, that’s not what this is about!"
Emily laughed, without any humor: "You think you can show up here a few months ago and start reorganizing everything just because Miranda tolerates you now?" There was an explicit tone of resentment in her voice.
"I just solved a problem" she shrugged.
"You crossed the line!"
"And you're overreacting!"
Emily tilted her head slightly: "Seriously?!"
Andy felt her breath hit her face almost like an aggression. But it was Andrea who had the right to be irritated; after all, it was she who had been left alone in that hell: "You know what? If you had waited just one more hour to have lunch with your dear friend, maybe you would have been here when the bomb was dropped in my lap, and then you could take your brilliant mind and find a solution!" She wasn't finished. The anger was still boiling very strongly inside Andy; it was bubbling over. She couldn't understand it, but to her own ears, it sounded a bit disproportionate. Something more about Emily was irritating her personally that day.
"Funny you chose precisely today to remember you need to eat!"
Emily stood frozen for a second. That clearly hit home.
"Careful" she replied more quietly: "You're starting to confuse competence with relevance, Andy."
Andrea took a step closer, almost closing the distance entirely: "And you're afraid of losing your relevance."
Silence. Heavy. Too tense.
Emily clenched her jaw: "Suddenly you've become too confident. Wow. I earned my place; it didn't happen overnight."
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, please" Emily retorted, finally losing some of her impeccable composure: "Miranda barely looked at you for two months, and now, suddenly, she asks for you by name twice and you think you’ve become untouchable."
Andrea opened her mouth to respond.
"You two look like a divorced couple negotiating joint custody."
They both froze.
Miranda Priestly was standing at the entrance of the office, slowly taking off her sunglasses. Her gaze moved from Emily to Andrea, completely merciless.
They had been so absorbed in their argument that they hadn't noticed the office had gone silent at Miranda’s presence, which made their voices the only sound in the room. After that, absolute silence.
"And, judging by the volume of the discussion," Miranda continued coldly, "I assume neither of you got the penthouse in Manhattan."
Andrea was still standing too close to Emily Charlton. Emily was still a bit in shock at Miranda’s unannounced presence. No one was breathing.
Miranda Priestly handed her wet coat to Andrea without even looking directly at her: "The car will need to leave twenty minutes earlier. Valentino changed the location because, apparently, no one in this industry knows how to respect a schedule."
Andrea took the coat automatically: "Of course."
Miranda then turned her eyes to Emily: "And Emily."
Emily immediately straightened her posture: "Yes, Miranda."
"If you have enough free time to argue during work hours, I assume the seating crisis has already been resolved."
Emily stiffened slightly: "Yes, it has."
"Excellent." Miranda began to walk toward her office as if she hadn't j.ust psychologically destroyed two people.
Then she stopped at the door for a second. Without turning around: "And try to keep your marital crises out of the schedule organization. It’s unsightly."
She went inside and closed the door. Silence. The entire office was pretending to work, while clearly having heard everything.
Andrea blinked a few times: "My God!"
Emily continued looking ahead. "What’s more humiliating that comparison from Miranda, or the fact that everyone heard..."
Andrea let out a nervous laugh: "I can't believe that instead of a warning or firing us, she mocked our situation."
"Shut up, Andy!" Emily rolled her eyes.