DISCLAIMER: The Devil Wears Prada and its characters belong to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
ABCs of DWP (A to E) I
It was a delicate sensation of reaching through history every time she poured over The Book. A tangible connection through time, trends, and changing expectations played out on the pages that were the cumulative effort browbeaten every month from her employees.
Even when the role as the arbiter of new fashion direction fell to her, as much as she loved the power and privilege of raising a new designer to fame and fortune, she still treasured the lines of vintage clothing -- something pulled her attention to the past even as she was expected to find the next star of the future.
It was that acute sense of loss -- a certain uncertainty that had crept into her life that made each moment that much harder to ignore. She had gotten so used to Andrea being in her peripheral vision that the sudden absence gave her pause for thought.
She tried to persuade herself that she missed Andrea's competence and foresight during the daylight hours but found that she could not lie to herself even if she could fool the rest of the world.
It wasn't so much the propensity for Chanel that caught her attention as it was the gradual emergence of those delicate clavicles from the less than stylish blouses that spoke of mundane selections and blind adherence to fashion tips from the unseeing.
Even as the responsibilities and demands grew ever more, those shoulders only stiffened as if daring Miranda to try and break this second assistant with the endless scurrying across the city. And when they did fall inwards in dismay at the hospital, Miranda never saw it.
Whereas before, she treasured the silence, seldom found among the clicks of keyboards, the sometimes squeaking wheels of endless clothing racks, and even the persistent clacking of Emily as she bustled back and forth from the outside office; now, the silence was stifling, empty, and wholly unwelcome. It gave her too much time to think, to remember, and even though she'd deny it anyone who'd dare to ask, it gave her occasions to think of what-if's and other roads not taken.
It was the early morning hum of satisfaction at the first sip of scalding hot coffee, and the small smile that she could see, that she missed. Something that reset the day from becoming the disaster it promised to be, if the list of distractions that seemed to be piling onto Emily's list was anything to be trusted.
It was as if a veil had been pulled back -- all time before, and then later -- all time afterward, were to be separated by events that were so insignificant as to have been able to change everything. Although never to the same degree as that Harry Potter book and names not to be spoken aloud, the tangible change in the atmosphere had shifted from one of pleasant expectation to that of barely concealed disappointment.
With pursed lips and a quiet realization that the idea of "Andrea" had replaced "Emily" on the scale of competence - something that had been left unacknowledged before Paris, and now, there would be no one to recognize this change.
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