~ Incomprehensible Desire: ~
by Eveh

Disclaimer: I don't own Devil Wears Prada.
Rating: PG - 13
Summary: Miranda let Andrea go.
Feedback can be sent to: xengab01@hotmail.com



Part 4

Malicious Words


Andy Sachs knew that perfection was nothing but a construct invented by the devil, but that didn't mean Miranda's expectations could be ignored. Andy sat in the middle of her apartment, biting at her thumb nail as she looked over the pages of uselessness that surrounded her. Just that morning, she had woken up feeling refreshed and like she was finally headed down the right track for a change. She woke up happily remembering that she had confronted Miranda Priestly and had come out on top. She even sang the latest pop hit while she showered. Nothing was going to bring her down today.

Then, she walked into Miranda Priestly's office and her world came crashing down. The moment she had stepped in front of Miranda's desk, her previously conditioned response kicked in and her body began to shake under Miranda's oppressive presence. Suddenly, her shoes weren't expensive enough, her hair was a mess, she wore plebeian clothes and she had even sung that horrendous pop song in the shower, and somehow Miranda would find out about her unworthy tastes in music. She had nothing witty or sharp to say, and all she could do while Miranda decomposed her writing was stammer ineffectually.

Her attempts to defend her work wouldn't be heard, because Andy knew there was no defending it. It had been subpar writing. It wasn't good enough for Runway, but Andy had grown lazy under her editor's comical demands of perfection. Like a child testing the boundaries with a stepparent, Andy had tested her new editor's boundaries and discovered that he allowed much more to pass under his guidance than Miranda would have even allowed from a simpleton. He wouldn't push Andy to constantly perform miracles. He wouldn't ask her to give up her family, her friends, her life for his own personal whims.

In the beginning, Andy had told herself that she was only going to take a small break away from performing miracles. She would take the extra time in her life to gain back the life Miranda had expected her to abandon. She reacquainted herself with Lily and Doug, and this year she hadn't missed Nate's birthday despite the fact they were trying to muddle their way through a long distance relationship. She, Lily, and Doug had rented a car and drove out to Boston to surprise Nate. They had a wonderful time together and Nate had even casually told Andy that, "I'm really glad you left Runway".

In the beginning, Andy felt like she had removed herself from under a heavy layer of hot tar and could see the world in full color. The restrictions that had been holding her down no longer applied and she binged on everything she thought she was missing. Eventually, all she could see was the full color and it blinded her to the fact that she was losing out on another dream. Her writing had turned into crap, and she was working her way towards becoming someone who wrote a column on how to properly maintain a garden in the middle of New York City. She was going to be the girl who left Cincinnati for New York so that she could write about flowers. It'd be a far cry from the article she wrote about the janitor's union that cemented her love for journalism.

So, Andy had gathered up what lingering lessons she had learned from Miranda and tried to refocus on her writing. She tried to write better pieces, but her damn editor's feedback had always been, "Good job, Andy."

After hearing that insightful commentary for what seemed like the fiftieth time, Andy decided she was going to start aiming for her editor's job. She knew she could do it better than him, and she knew she could tell the staff writers more about their work than a flippant, worthless bit of, "Good job." But still, it was hard for Andy to focus on becoming an editor when she couldn't force the words out of herself that would get her the job, not when she was still being handed down pieces that were stuck in the middle parts of the Mirror that no one bothered to read.

She was working on just that type of piece, too, when she decided to take a break and perused the internet for mindless entertainment, and then found herself outside of Miranda's home demanding a job that wouldn't make her want to poke her eyes out from boredom. She had returned to the one person who had made it clear that 'good' wasn't really all that 'great'. Andy hadn't written a single meaningful word under her tenure at Runway, but she certainly had learned more about herself than she had learned anywhere else. She had been woken up to her own ability to perform beyond what people wanted and what they needed. She had been woken up to her ability to choose for herself.

Now, only if she could write something that would hold Miranda's attention past the first word. Andy had briefly considered writing an article about Miranda since it was sure to be something that would catch Miranda's attention, but Andy wasn't in the market to be murdered. Andy knew that she had to come up with something that would surpass anything she had ever done. It had to be beyond brilliant, because Miranda had declared their rules of engagement and Andy wasn't in any position of power. She was lucky that Miranda had even allowed her to step foot back into Runway.

Andy rubbed roughly at her forehead. Perhaps, she should have asked Miranda to allow her to fetch coffee again. Andy had perfected coffee fetching. She could do that without too much trouble and she'd still be under Miranda's globe of influence. Eventually, she could start writing again and Miranda could hand her the subject to write about. Andy was getting the distinct feeling that she had jumped the gun.

Her phone rang from under a few sheets of paper, and Andy dug through the pile to pull it out. She answered without looking at the caller ID knowing that only one person would bother to call her this late.

"Hi, Honey," Andy sighed into the phone.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh!" Andy's heart stopped, her eyes widened and the constant shaking she had finally managed to control began anew. "Miranda?"

"Tell me, Andrea, how is it your manners degenerated so completely from your short tenure at that publication?"

"I didn't," Andy began to stammer.

"I have no time for you excuses," Miranda sighed into the phone. "What are you working on?"

Andy looked around her at the papers spread across her floor. "What?"

"You are beginning to waste my time."

"I uh," Andy reached down for a sheet of paper that looked most promising in the moment. "Well, I was thinking of writing about the impact reality television shows about fashion effect…"

"No," Miranda interrupted.

"Okay," Andy drew out the word. "I could write about how fashion is reflecting the current political…"

"No." Miranda interrupted again.

"Or I could…" Andy had no words to finish a thought she hadn't even really meant to begin. She had nothing.

Miranda sighed again. "What is it you know about fashion, Andrea?"

Andy looked down at the pajama bottoms she was wearing that had been a gift from her mother last Christmas. "Uh…"

"Exactly," Miranda purred. "I expect much more from you than what you are offering. Do not disappoint me again."

The line disconnected and Andy dropped her phone down into her lap. "Fuck." She dropped her head into her hands and barely kept the tears at bay.

Miranda was right. Andy didn't know anything about fashion. She hadn't been as concerned with religiously keeping up with Miranda's industry after she had begun her work at the Mirror. She had been more concerned with catching up on what was going on with the world outside of fashion.

Miranda had told her to offer her something that was worthy of Runway, and Andy had already failed before she laid a single page onto Miranda's desk. And Andy had started off the day with such high hopes. In less than twenty-four hours she had become a complete failure. She'd have to go back to the Mirror with the editor who told her she had done a, "good job". She'd start drowning again in mediocrity and Miranda Priestly would have driven her away fairly this time.

Now seemed as good a time as any to start shedding tears across her broken dreams. Her phone rang again, and this time before she picked it up she looked at the caller ID.

"Hey, Nate."

"What's the matter?" He sounded much friendlier than Miranda had. Unfortunately, Andy didn't know how to explain to him that she had gone to Miranda's home to demand a job, and that Miranda had given it to her but that she was going to lose it before she had even really started. She didn't even know how to tell him that she had quit working at the Mirror. She wasn't sure exactly how to explain that she needed Miranda Priestly in her life, because Miranda was the only person that could push her into performing miracles. These weren't simple things she could just tell her boyfriend over the phone.

"I'm just a little frustrated about this article I'm supposed to write." Andy wiped away her tears.

"Oh." Nate's tone suggested he expected something more severe, something more important. "What's wrong with it?"

Andy shook her head. "Nothing," she whispered. "Nothing's wrong with it. I'm just being a little self-conscious about my writing."

"Ah, Andy, you've got to ease up on yourself." Nate was trying to be supportive. "You've just got to start believing that you'll do a good job."

"Wh-what?"

"I said you've just got to believe that you'll do a good job."

Andy viciously wiped at her tears. She would not fail. If she could produce a goddamned Harry Potter book for Miranda's brats, then she could write one solitary article that Miranda wouldn't think of saying was a, "good job". She turned her body around and flipped up the top of her laptop.

"Andy, are you still there?"

"Yeah," Andy distractedly answered as she brought up her word processor. "How was your day? You still having problems at work with that guy…Usmani?"

Nate began chattering away about how hard his life had become since moving to Boston and accepting a position that held more responsibility. He could talk about himself and his culinary world all night. He had yet to learn that Andy's unwavering support didn't extend to actually caring about culinary topics. She had never cared about how long Nate spent learning about a potato or any other vegetable for that matter.

"Ahuh," Andy muttered as she typed out her first sentence for the article she was going to hand over to Miranda Priestly:

"Good" and "Job" are the two most malicious words any artist will ever hear; it makes those who are Mediocre believe that they deserve a place among the Greats and makes the Greats feed into the lie that all talent is subjectively equal.

Nate continued to talk and Andy continued to give noncommittal responses to his problems while she typed away about something she knew and understood. She'd have to pull up some statistics to solidify her point and round out her thesis, but she was beginning to feel the small presence of hope within her belly-the only thing she would live off of while working for Miranda Priestly.



Continued



Eveh's Scrolls
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