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“I see a great deal of myself in you.”
Those had been her exact words. A few months prior, they would have been flattering. But at the moment she heard them, all she could think of was how wrong that was. She hadn’t seen her own change; she had barely noticed. The only thing she knew was that she was fighting for a place in the writing world. And if to get where she wanted, she’d have to endure Miranda’s temper and humiliations, so be it. What she hadn’t noticed was that her will to go forward, her 'the ends justify the means' mindset, had brought her closer to Miranda than she wished. But knowing her better now, Andrea had also learnt how to appreciate her: tough, sadistic at times, for sure. Yet, a strong woman. When she questioned her own actions, when she felt the urge to leave Runway, Miranda had pointed out what a mistake that would be.
“But what if… this isn’t what I want? I… I mean, what if I don’t wanna live the way you live?”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Andrea!”, she said stressing the last syllable. She was the only one who did that. “Everybody wants this. Everybody wants to be us”.
She acknowledged she was at a crossroads. She could get out of the car, leave it all behind, start over, apologise to Nate, apologise to Emily, apologise to the people she hurt and ask for an interview at “The New York Sun” or any other renowned publication company. Or she could trust Miranda’s judgement, follow her, do her job and choose to go ahead. The rational woman she had become chose the latter, and that decision, taken under pressure in Miranda’s car in Paris, would end up changing her whole life.
Time flew by her. Andy had died, now she was called Ms. Sachs. Or Andrea, for friends. Except they weren’t quite that. They were a group of liaisons, tangled in a vast and complex net of affairs and businesses that sooner or later had benefited her. Lily, Doug, Nate, they were all part of her past and what they represented stayed way behind her. The last people who actually knew the real her were now gone from her life. She mourned them in silence, never again pronouncing a word about it, never again letting their names slip through her lips. Her old self was buried with them.
She made a life for herself. She had chosen to go ahead and she knew she had what it took to go far. After her second year as Miranda’s assistant, she got promoted. Soon, she had taken over the writing department. Her popularity was directly proportional to the amount of people she displeased: the better she was at her job, the more she was hated.
Her romantic life, even if almost completely absorbed by her late nights at the office, was one of the few things that wasn’t a total chaos. Not now; not at this point. Because people didn’t get close enough to know her, therefore not enough to hurt her. Unlike what had happened with Nate, she wasn’t hurt anymore. She was simply looking for a good time, an escape, a hobby; someone that would help her to have fun without losing her focus on her job. The shift had happened with Christian Thompson. And even though she hadn’t seen the one since Paris, there were plenty of ‘Christian Thompsons’ in her life. Charming, successful guys, who could entertain her, but at the end of the day meant nothing to her. They had nothing in common or wouldn’t enrich her in any way.
Two years went by and her routine was the same. Her life happened between work, parties and meaningless affairs, until the day came where something changed. She ended up meeting someone, the editor of a renowned New York financial newspaper. Like the guys she’d usually meet, he was a gentleman. But this time, there was something more to it. Like a connection they couldn’t ignore, a will to grow together, a well-balanced ambition. The attraction was fatal. But it wasn’t love.
He was a practical man: she was the most powerful woman on her field, he was the most powerful man in his business. He proposed. They worked side by side and benefited each other, attending each other’s events, displaying their affinity. It wasn’t faked; there was a spark. But it wasn’t real either.
For a while, it was enough. She was busy, therefore happy. Meetings, writing, events to attend and dinners with her acquaintances. Her husband making her discover new people, and glamour, and adventure. Winter holidays in a resort; summer in a riviera. Not a bad life.
But one day, she ran into Christian Thompson – not just “a”, but “the”. He was sat by the counter of the hotel she was staying at, a few stools away. They crossed eyes and that was enough for her to understand he hadn’t changed much. She approached him, something old Andy would have never done. The new one, however, felt very confident and bold.
“Well, well, well... If it isn’t the great Mr. Thompson…”
“Miranda girl!”
She hadn’t been called that in six years. And she wasn’t exactly that anymore. But something beneath his words, something travelling through his tone, made her feel warm. It was good to recognise an old part of herself she thought had been long ago lost. The woman she had been, somewhere between the fragile, clumsy Andy, who had started little by little to impose herself in that world, and the strong, intimidating woman Andrea had become.
“How long has it been, six years…?”
He nodded, looking at her from head to toe, studying her.
“You haven’t changed much…”
“Says the man sat at a hotel bar, with a pile of papers on the counter and a whiskey on his hand.”
He laughed, glancing at the documents in front of him. She was right: he was a charming workaholic. Like her in a way.
“I heard you’re the responsible for James Holt’s business marketing. How’s that working out for you?”
“Well. How about you? Still on Runway?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow! Miranda girl…”. His mocking tone, along with his lifted eyebrow, showed that his expression was somewhat between an accusation and disbelief, more to tease her than to criticise her. “I’ve always assumed you’d leave it all behind.”
“So did I.”
Those were the most brutally honest words she had said in a while, and she said them to him from all people.
“You won’t ask me why I stayed?”
“I know why. I saw it the day I got you that Harry Potter manuscript. You were ready to do about anything to keep a position you supposedly hated…”
“Your point?”
“I think it’s quite obvious: you, my friend, are crossing over to the dark side.”
He repeated the same words he’d used on their date in Paris. The difference was that she now believed him. And more than that, she had welcomed that change. There was something exciting about it. About it all: his closeness, his scent, his twisted smile, his defying eyes, that seemed to burn when they fixated on her wedding ring.
“I see you replaced the stupid boyfriend with a stupid husband.”
She snorted.
“You don’t even know him! Stop acting like you have me figured out. You don’t.”
“Enlighten me, then.”
“The ‘stupid husband’ happens to be quite something, actually.”
“Are you happy?”
She took a brief second to answer. But a second of hesitation that was enough to make him smile.
“You can say that.”
“Hum. Such a shame. If it wasn’t for that, I’d have to whisk you away right here and now.”
Unlike the first time he’d told her that, at the charity benefit, she didn’t flinch or look away, and he saw her for what she really was now for the first time. Her past guilt about hooking up with someone a few days after her breakup was now completely irrelevant and he could tell she, a married woman, was ready to cross the line with no regrets. He pushed her buttons by reminding her of a past event:
“Hey… ‘We’ll always have Paris’.”
That “Casablanca” quote was cynical and, at the same time, felt so appropriate. Andrea could tell by his eyes he was so sure she’d fall into temptation. He knew it and so did she.
He took her to his room and that was the beginning of their affair. She went willingly and didn’t feel guilty. If anything, she felt excited about the reborn of a part of her past. She went willingly and didn’t think of the consequences. She went willingly and didn’t feel remorse when going back home the next day and shared the bed with her husband.
It kept on for the next months: they’d meet, not always, not exclusively, but frequently. A trip to Paris or a simple weekend getaway would always present itself as the perfect excuse. Two years went by and they decided to meet publicly. Why not? Andrea usually had hundreds of lunch meetings and that could perfectly well be one of them. For a couple of hours, they weren’t careful. They didn’t care about hiding it, because apparently they had nothing to hide. But there was a picture when Christian laid his hand on hers over the table. The next day, it leaked and the repercussions went far beyond what they could have imagined. They were both well-known, she was married, and a single gesture, as innocent as it could be, could ruin her. When Andrea got home from work that day, her husband was waiting for her with a whiskey on his left hand and the magazine opened on page 6 on the other.
“I can explain.”, she began.
“Don’t bother.”
He was calm, but his eyes were cold. He didn’t get upset easily. There were only two things that could break his marble face and get a reaction from him: problems in business and a damage to his immaculate reputation.
“If you think I didn’t know, you underestimated me. Now, my dear, I couldn’t care less about your little adventure. What I always expected was that you’d be more careful with it. I thought you’d be more discreet. Clearly, I was wrong.”
She gulped before asking:
“So, what now? You want the divorce?”
“Don’t be stupid. That would only be the public confirmation of your affair. I can’t have that.”
She sniffed in disbelief.
“What do you want from me, then?”
“You’ll stop seeing him. You’ll attend every event with me from now on and look radiant as ever. Smiley and polite. We’ll crush the rumours by acting in love.”
“What makes you think I’ll do it?”, she asked in disbelief.
“You will. Because you need me too, and you know it.”
Andrea knew he was right. And Christian didn’t mean that much to her. But she would miss him. He awakened that fun, wild, irrational side of her she so badly needed to escape her rigid work method once in a while. To escape her fake marriage. The thought of not feeling that type of excitement again terrified her and it made her ask her husband:
“And in private? Will we still be husband and wife? Or is it all just a façade?”
“We’ll live as we did so far. Nothing has to change.”
“Even now?! How can you say that, knowing what you know?”
“Andrea, the bottom line is that we are good together. A good team. You’ll remember that. I know you don’t see it now, but things will go back to the way they were.”
That was the first time she wished she hadn’t married him. And the first time she understood she was a talisman for him, but only because of her status and her hard-working personality. Not for who she was beyond that. But faced with that epiphany, she also had to face her own flaws. Although being attracted to him and loving sides of him, she married him for the exact same reason. They were the it-couple everyone envied, but no one would want to be if they knew the truth. Still, all her doubts and fears were meaningless now. They had a deal and she needed to keep her part.
Playing the role of the perfect wife, she shared his bed, as always. They read the news side by side for half an hour till he turned off his lamp light. She snuggled up to him as she’d do every night and he let her. Not because he loved her, but because he had invested too much on his marriage to let that small incident interfere in their future plans. And also because, in spite of everything, he admired her. He was very well aware she was the female version of him and the only woman with the guts to lead both of them where they needed.
For the next months, she kept her promise. Without any more proof, the media had no other choice but to eventually let go of her supposed betrayal. Her husband was right all along: they were able to go back to the way they were. The affinity was back and, little by little, so was the passion – at least, the physical one. She was content. Not happy, but at least she wasn’t sad. Her stable relationship was what made her keep going. Promotion after promotion, she got to the top.
Three years after the end of her affair, she got where she planned to be all along. In Miranda’s place. Occupying her chair. Directly appointed by her before her resignation, as she had become one of the few people the Dragon Lady trusted. And rightly so: many things had changed, but she was always loyal to her.
Now, with her gone, the only real friend she kept around was Nigel, who chose to stay by her side as her mentor when she got to editor-in-chief.
She hadn’t seen Emily since she had been hired by the French Vogue and occupied now the position she’d always dreamt about. With her new job, all ties between them were cut. Emily, who had never forgotten about her betrayal, couldn’t be more eager to finally risk her name from her life. Andrea understood. She didn’t contact her again.
Time went by. That year was one of the busiest she’d faced since she was in charge. That particular very busy morning, between meetings and phone calls, her assistant knocked on her door and something on her expectant expression made Andrea frown.
“… Let me call you back, Steve.”, she said before hanging up. “What is it?”
“Mr. Christian Thompson is on the phone. He asks to speak to you directly, Miss Sachs. He says it’s an urgent matter.”
The five seconds she took to make a decision would be enough for her assistant to gossip about it with her friend at lunch later that day. But her stand-offish behaviour scared her, as Miranda’s would.
“Transfer him. Now, get out! I have a lot to do.”
Her tone and cold eyes were enough to make the poor girl rush out of her office at the speed of light. But in spite of her apparent impassibility, her mind was screaming with questions. Him, again. Why? Did he want to work with her? Or did he want something from her? A few seconds later, all her doubts were dissipated.
“Christian. What do you want?”
“That’s not a polite way to treat an old friend, Ms. Sachs.” It made her roll her eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “I’ll go straight to the point. I’m handling all of the British Vogue’s publicity for this event they’re planning… they want to make a collaboration with Runway.”
“And I’m hearing this from you why?! Edward’s got my number…”
“Because I know you. They were hoping our… friendship would push you to accept their offer.”
“Our… friendship has never interfered in my businesses.”
“It’s not like that, Andrea. They needed someone who knew your modus operandi well. Someone who knew Runway. Basically, I’m their contact.”
Andrea was intrigued. It sounded like something purely professional. But there were a few problems.
“As interesting as it sounds, I can’t work with you. You know as well as I do that, if we’re seen together again, there will be rumours.”
“And that’s the reason you’ll pass this opportunity!? Because of an affair no one really has proof of and that was buried years ago?”
The presumption on the other side of the line enraged her.
“Unlike you, I have something to lose. My marriage is on the stake here.”
“No, it’s not, because this is strictly business.”
Was it? She doubted it. Everything she’d do would end up affecting her personal life, as always. A wrong word, a wrong gesture and that would be the end of her. Her silence led him to insist.
“I don’t think you have the idea of how huge this event is going to be. I just want to discuss it. I’m in NYC. Grant me, at least, the chance to expose their idea over lunch.”
Andrea bit her lip. It was a risky move. She knew her husband well. He wasn’t one to give second chances, and even if it was “strictly business”, the chance of another humiliation would mean signing the divorce papers right away.
But something called out to her. The ambitious side of her who always wanted more and couldn’t turn away from a challenge. A collab with British Vogue would be profitable, for sure. She made up her mind.
“Anne, cancel all of my meetings for the afternoon. I’m going out.”, she said taking her jacket from her assistant’s hands. Twenty minutes later, she was meeting him at a restaurant they both knew well. He stood up to greet her and she shook his hand before taking her place facing him. She tried hard to ignore the knot in her stomach and the dizzy feeling of being that close to him again. But she did a terrific job hiding it. After ordering, she went straight to the point.
“How did you start working for British Vogue?”
“I didn’t, I’m a freelancer.” He informed her while pouring wine in both of their glasses. “They wanted someone who was used to deal with that type of work and preferably who would know the fashion industry. A friend of mine works there and he gave them my contact. When they heard I knew you, they were even more interested.”
She nodded.
“So, this is just for one event, right?”
“Exactly.”
“And what type of event are we talking about?”
“A gala. But not just any gala. They want it to be the new ‘Met Gala’.”
She snorted.
“That’s impossible!”
“Difficult, for sure. But not impossible. They figured that, if there were two highly regarded fashion magazines involved in the promotion, there would be a high chance of attracting people’s interest.”
“Christian, the Met Gala is the most important fundraising event here! We can’t compete with it!”
“Yes, I’m aware. The idea was to create a new Gala that would earn its prestige over time. And they figured that, if there’s someone capable of pulling that off, that someone is you.”
Those words sounded an absurd to her. She knew she was good at her job, but she had just taken over Runway’s direction. Four years were not enough: she knew she was still being scrutinized. But Christian justified his certainty of their success.
“They call you a breath of fresh air. You’re younger than Miranda, you brought new ideas. Look at what you’ve done in such short time… they’re quite impressed by you!”
That felt good to hear. Deep down, she still had a few doubts of whether she was on the right track. Once in a while, she needed a sign that she was doing the right thing. But that project sounded way too ambitious.
“Do you really believe that’s possible?”
“I do. With a good marketing campaign, anything is possible!”
“Then, you’re the right man for the job.”
That was the first time she smiled at him and her words crossed the boundaries a little. He felt it as a permission to share the thought occupying his mind since he saw her walking towards his table.
“You look amazing.”
She exhaled. She couldn’t let it happen again.
“Please, don’t.”
“Come on, Andrea… Stop treating me as an associate. You’re killing me!”
“You know the terms, you know why I came… to discuss business...”
“How can I keep it professional when it’s you?”
Her rational personality kept her from falling into his honey words.
“I know it’s tough for you to don’t sleep with your business partners, but this time you’ll have to manage somehow.”
“That’s not fair… you know very well that’s not true. I never slept with you because I hoped to profit with that.”
“Unlike all those women you’ve also made business with, right? That’s a very blatant lie, Thompson. You forget I know you too well.”
He smirked.
“That’s what I like the most about you. But I’m being honest.”
“What makes me so different than any other woman you’ve been with?”
“You’re the only one I’ve been with for two years.”
“Not exclusively, though… We were–”
“The only one.”, he asserted once more. It was the truth. They had a deal, but a deal he didn’t make with anyone else. She had been the only constant in his life. She was quietly thinking of a way to get out, to keep him from dragging her into his life again when he said three words that warmed her heart.
“I missed you.”
She had so badly needed someone to say that to her; to show her she meant something, just for who she was and not for what she represented. She cherished those words, but she took a decision.
“I know. Me too. But it can’t happen again. I made a vow. For the past four years, I did my best to be a better wife.”
“And was it worth it? Are you happier?”
“In a way. I feel it’s the right thing to do, so…”
“What is, exactly? To display your marriage as if it was a showcase?! You deserve so much more! How can you live like that?”
“And what is your solution? To be your mistress? Would that be better?! Or to divorce him?”
“Yes!”
She laughed heartily.
“You really have no idea what you’re talking about! I leave him, and then what? You and I live happily ever after…” She used her best sarcasm voice, before confronting him with the reality. “We both know, Christian, that you’d leave me the minute things would get boring. When we’d fall into a routine. Admit it, you’re not good with relationships, and I’m not good with waiting around for someone, playing the broken-hearted victim. What you’re asking of me is unrealistic.”
He knew she was right in a way. They didn’t love each other. What they felt wasn’t strong enough to make them stay together, but it wasn’t so weak as to let go either. There was a connection, a will of having their affair back. When they were together, they were happy. Happy, and not just content. But the only reason it lasted for two years was because it wasn’t official. Because they didn’t share any other moments of their day, besides the fun and the passion. Because they had never shared the boring moments from life that would slowly kill relationships. Yes. She was right. But he didn’t want to let go.
“I need you. I do. So, maybe I’m not husband material. But you can't convince me your husband is either.”
Andrea wanted to stop fighting, to let herself feel it one more time. To, just like that, let their affair begin again. But she was tougher than four years prior and she could choose better.
“I’m willing to work with you. But anything else is off the table.”
He didn’t insist because he knew it was worthless at the moment and he didn’t want to make her pull back from their business deal. That afternoon, she went home earlier and opened an exception. She gave the night out to all her servants and cooked the dinner herself. She put some candles around and set the table with her finest tableware. When her husband got home, he was shaken.
“What’s all this?”, he asked while throwing his trench coat on the sofa.
“A special occasion!”
She pulled his chair for him and served both of them. He was quietly analysing her, not saying a word. He waited for her to take the first step. She took her time to enjoy her meal, her wine, the environment, leaving him anxious, before addressing the subject. When she finally did, he was taken aback.
“I met Christian Thompson today.”
His curious face harshened in a minute and he prepared to protest, but she didn’t let him continue.
“It was a business meeting. He’s working for British Vogue. Now, I know you’d prefer I’d never see him again. I know you feel threatened by him. But I’m informing you that I will collaborate with him for the next few months, and any other occasion, if I find that benefits me. I will not let this chance go by. And I’m telling you this now, because you need to know it’s a strictly professional relationship. You have no reason to suspect of anything either, because I’m opening the game. I could have slept with him today, if I wanted to. He sure wanted to…” When hearing these words, her husband flinched, but didn’t interrupt her. “But I didn’t, because I made a decision a long time ago and I intend to remain faithful to it. In return, you’ll have nothing more to say about what I do, or how I do it. You won’t boss me around again. Whether it’s Christian Thompson or any other person or situation that displeases you, you’ll keep your opinions to yourself. You’ll have to trust me, if you want this marriage to work. These are my terms. Keep in mind that I’m loyal, but if you make me an ultimatum, if you so much as try to interfere in my life, we’re over. Don’t make me choose, because I will choose my career over you.”
His eyes were carefully fixated on hers and a million things crossed his mind. A part of him was resentful, the part that hated to lose control over everything. But a stronger side of him revealed itself. This was the woman he felt attracted to in the first place. He knew how she was. He knew her priorities. And there was a certain attraction to the abyss, a will to love that indomitable woman he had married. He laid his hand on hers and smiled to let her know he had accepted her terms.
“And you cooked dinner to tell me that?!”
“No, I cooked dinner to prove to you I’m focused on making this work.”
He saw her crystal clear now: every action of hers had a reason behind it. He had never been surer of his choice than in that moment: she was the right one, they suited each other. That night, they shared the bed in ways they hadn’t in a while.
The following year, her marriage was stronger than never, and it showed. Even working with Christian, even collaborating with him frequently, it didn’t affect her reputation, in spite of the media’s efforts. The magazines had tried to make headlines of their intimacy, but the vast majority of the public didn’t believe the rumours, because Andrea and her husband looked closer and there was no solid proof that could corroborate those theories.
Life was good, she was happy. Her days were busier than ever. But one day, Nigel walked into her office with a heartbroken face: one she had never seen. He came to break the news. Miranda had passed away that morning. That was the only sentence that could make Andrea crumble at her feet. After a long quiet minute, she was able to spit out a few words in a cracked voice:
“How did it happen?”
“A stroke.”
Andrea slowly stood up, trying to keep it together. Her friend held her tight, sharing her pain. Nigel, who had long ago forgiven Miranda for her betrayal, for he knew her reasons behind it, was the only one who could understand how she felt then. For them, and almost exclusively for them, Miranda had been not only a mentor, but a friend. They knew her as no one else did; they had seen sides of her some declared didn’t exist. People would only see the cold-hearted, ruthless boss who’d step on whoever crossed her path. Andrea and Nigel knew better: the hurt woman who was forced to fight battles against her own heart to do what was necessary.
They went together to the funeral. There were lots of people attending it, but very few who actually liked Miranda. And Andrea wondered if in the middle of all those familiar faces offering her daughters condolences, there would be anyone who felt the loss. She could tell not even the twins did. They were there out of obligation, because they’d had a bad rapport with their mother for as long as she could remember. When growing up, they had it all: clothes, makeup, jewellery, phones, laptops and even unpublished manuscripts on their hands. But it lacked the most important: their mother’s presence. When Miranda finally resigned, four years ago, and hoped to spend some time with them, it was already too late. They couldn’t care less: they had grown up without a mother, they sure wouldn’t need one now that they had their own jobs, their own friends, their own life.
Without a family life nor a profession to keep her busy, Miranda had withered little by little, day after day. Her latest years were bitter and lonely, being only lightened up by her dinners with Andrea and Nigel. She had never said out loud she felt alone, but they knew it. It was clear to anyone who’d take a moment to look into her eyes. And yet, no one dared to say or show that at her funeral. They painted a picture of an amazing, joyful woman, whose legacy would never be forgotten. “Bullshit”, Andrea thought when hearing someone’s speech. She was positive Miranda would have hated the theatre play those people had rehearsed; she would have hated the fake tributes and the insincere words. There was only one thing she would have liked: a true remembrance of Miranda Priestly, the professional. That month, under Andrea’s orders, Runway would dedicate all of their pages to Miranda’s childhood, teenage years and rise to the top, leaving aside any personal details or exploitation of her intimacy. They forgot about her family, her twins, her exes, the scandals involving her, and focused on the woman. That, she would have liked to see.
Later that day, after the funeral and the tribute ceremonies, Andrea walked into her home, hand-in-hand with her husband. She sat at her office, looking out her windows into the city lights, and allowed herself an evening of numbness and inactivity for the first time in years. Her daydreaming was only interrupted once, when he brought her a whiskey and kissed her, before letting her be by herself.
Hours passed, and she questioned absolutely everything. Was it worth it to lead such a lonely life? Should she have chosen the other way? Would she end up like Miranda one day? Would someone really care if she died? Would she die alone?
She had a stable marriage, unlike Miranda, who had got divorced so many times. But she wasn’t much happier than her. Maybe she’d have children one day, or maybe not, but that wouldn’t help her to feel less alone. She thought of Miranda’s daughters, who had all the right to be angry at her mother. She was positive that, if she were to have children, the same would happen to her. And her husband? He’d feel her loss, for sure. For a while. Until he’d meet someone who looked like her, who acted and reacted like her, and move on. Her parents were old and she hardly had the time to talk to them anymore. If she died then and there, they wouldn’t miss her much, because they had learnt how to live without her presence a long time ago. Nigel was her last real friend, but he too would end up moving on.
She wondered if Miranda had questioned the same in intimacy. Had she ever wished to have a different life? Maybe. But why didn’t she, then? Why didn’t she walk away? Andrea could imagine the reason. That life was intoxicating. The fashion, the people, the lights, the glamour, the fame. It was like riding a roller-coaster: she enjoyed the speed and the dizziness, the adrenaline. It was electrifying. It was addicting, almost like a drug. Too addicting to quit, too inebriating to discern what would be the right choice. She remembered Miranda’s words once again:
“Everybody wants this. Everybody wants to be us”.
Andrea acknowledged that now, fifteen years later, after that episode in Paris; after the decision that had changed her life. She had made the choice a long time ago and the bottom line was that she didn’t regret it. Even if she was aware of the personal change that was required to get where she was now. Even if she was aware of the risks that lifestyle would bear. And yet, just like Miranda, she’d still choose that life over anything. That was a clear sign she had become what, and who, she once had feared the most.
She had become her. But there was a beauty in it.