Part 3
Incomprehensible Desire
Opportunity, presented in all its nudity, was relatively benign. It was the human element that transformed it from its glorious sunshine and rainbow possibilities into a foul smelling beast. Miranda Priestly was well versed in the language of the beast, and it was currently clawing through her defenses so that it could whisper malignant utterances upon her conscience. It was urging her to take back control of a situation she had already declared finished and done with. It was demanding she destroy that willful girl who had the gumption to assume Miranda Priestly could be dictated to.
Andrea Sachs thought that she, Miranda Priestly, had simply let her go as one would dismiss a drunken man's words. Andrea's naiveté was showing and it left Miranda wholly unimpressed. She had not simply dismissed Andrea on a sentimental whim; she had very little time to indulge in sentimentality. In order to be sentimental one must first bother to traipse through landscapes of the past and Miranda believed it was territory best left unexplored.
Miranda had formed several machinations in which Andrea's arrival at
Runway turned into the girl being drawn and quartered or gleefully stampeded by the stiletto heels that clacked against the marble tiles of her personal domain. A part of her was even sure that after Andrea woke up from her impulsive binge, the girl would realize she had committed an unforgivable infraction and then would cower away like a child afraid of a monster in her closet. It was best that Andrea feared her; it had always been for the best. It would have served Andrea quite well if she had simply forgotten the bouts of humanity Miranda had weakly exposed.
Unfortunately, Andrea did not know how to properly cower nor, did it appear, Andrea understood quite how to be effectively stampeded. It was Monday morning and from the safety of her desk, Miranda was listening in on Emily trying to shoo Andrea away, but Andrea would not leave. She arrogantly insisted that she had an appointment that was made personally with the editor.
"Emily," Miranda called out as she looked at the publications scattered across her desk. "Why are you doing an award winning imitation of an orangutan in heat?"
Emily, torn between answering Miranda's call and keeping Andrea away from the inner sanctum of Miranda's sphere, began doing an even better impression of a caged animal. Eventually, practicality won out and she approached Miranda's office, making sure to give Andrea a baleful look as the former assistant dared follow her.
Miranda did not raise her gaze to look at Emily, not that Emily expected it. "Andrea Sachs has some deluded impression that she has a meeting with you this morning."
"I see." Miranda removed her glasses and slowly raised her gaze. "That's all."
Emily immediately left, but Andrea didn't dare to move. In fact, it almost appeared as if the girl wasn't even bothering to breathe. Her hands were shaking slightly and Miranda would wager that Andrea wasn't too far away from collapsing.
"For God's sake, Andrea," Miranda rolled her eyes. She pushed herself away from her desk and leaned comfortably back in her chair. She was suddenly feeling much better than she had when she woke up this morning. "Breathe. I've decided against pushing you out the window."
Andrea forced air into her lungs, but she looked none the better for it. Andrea was in the thrall of a full cower, Miranda realized. It was a pity the girl hadn't fallen under its power before she entered
Runway. Andrea would have been much better served staying at that insignificant publication that had hired her.
"I have read through your dilettantish attempts at writing." She gestured towards the latest publication of the
New York Mirror sitting on her desk. "It is not good enough for
Runway."
"Miranda, I..."
"No, no," Miranda interrupted. "That wasn't an invitation for you to defend your inadequacies." She picked up the journal with the tips of her fingers, and then threw it across her desk where it eventually dropped to the ground right at the tips of Andrea's feet. "You disappointment me, Andrea."
"Miranda, I..." Andrea tried, again, to defend herself but Miranda would not allow it.
"That's all." Miranda turned to face the large windows behind her desk. She internally gloated as she watched Andrea's reflection bend down to pick up the useless bits of paper that had been thrown at her feet.
Andrea had asked for this. She had to have expected it. Miranda was not simply going to let some Cincinnati girl write for
Runway because she demanded it. Andrea would have to do better than the lamentable offering of words that the
Mirror accepted as worthy of publication. Miranda felt honest disappointment as she read over Andrea's sampling of articles. The girl's talent was fading away without adequate guidance.
Miranda knew the squandering of Andrea's talent was one of many possibilities when she watched Andrea walk away from her in Paris, but she had wagered that Andrea would have been content enough with personal happiness in lieu of outstanding professional success. The girl had been so mindlessly innocent that she had managed to get even Miranda to believe that personal fulfillment was enough for Andrea.
Apparently, it was no longer enough. Andrea wanted to try her hand at becoming the devil, something the girl had mistakenly assumed Miranda wanted to shield her from. Miranda cared very little whether or not Andrea became what was necessary to run an empire of images and words that had the ability to dictate cultural zeitgeist, and since Andrea had stumbled back into Miranda's purview Miranda decided she would step back into the roll she had originally claimed. She would bleed out every ounce of potential closed up inside of Andrea, until Miranda felt threatened enough to destroy her.
Miranda had already sacrificed Andrea once. She had given the girl an opportunity free from the threatening rumblings of the beast, and Andrea had drunkenly returned like an addict seeking out another fix. Andrea had to have known that Miranda wasn't good for her. Miranda was the forbidden fruit, and Andrea had to have known that it would have been infinitely better if she just quit Miranda, if she found another way to satiate her incomprehensible desire.
Miranda was unsure if it was Andrea's wide eyed youth that brought her stumbling back, and she no longer cared to know. Andrea was hers again. "Bring me back something worthy of
Runway," Miranda ordered as Andrea began to stumble out of the office, "or don't bother coming back at all."
Continued