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ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
ABCs of DWP (A to E) II
Miranda could never be certain as to what drew her to hire this new Emily, but some part of her was drawn to her willingness to risk her neck (and her dignity) in search of clarity and answers. Not that Miranda would ever give any answers, but still, she was aware of the sudden droop to the shoulders, a wilt to both the posture and tone.
There was a hidden depth to this new assistant that fascinated Miranda -- a determination that could be a character strength if honed correctly, or else, a bluntness that would injure more than it would endear.
It was this same strength of will that saw the girl leave in Paris, paying no heed (or so it seemed) to the potential consequences of walking away from her responsibilities at the most important time of the year for Miranda.
Like a moth to a flame, Andy Sachs would be at a loss of words to explain why she had been drawn into Miranda Priestly's orbit time and time again. She gave no reason as to why she had continued to return to the Runway editor even though the days were long and thankless.
After Paris, Andy found it difficult to explain (or even justify) her reasons but could only run through a list of explanations in her mind. There was nothing to boast of in her actions -- they were foolhardy and had the swagger and taint of amateur behaviour; something that grated against her professed professional work ethic.
Even more baffling -- Miranda Priestly had chosen not to blackball Andy from ever working at any other publication along the East Coast, even giving her that reference -- damning her by faint praise indeed.
Although it seemed odd to see Miranda Priestly pay so much attention to what appeared to be an imperfect pearl -- not quite round enough and a bit jagged on the edge, nobody was sure how that string of pearls had managed to evade the careful eyes of the Accessories department. It was not surprising that she had zeroed in on this set of pearls, and hadn't stopped counting them since, as if they were a rosary.
Placing the pearls back onto a velvet surface, Miranda re-focused her attention to the latest run-through, briskly considering and discarding new concepts being shown to her. With a quiet dismissal, her attention turned once more to the pearls -- now cool to the touch, she marveled at the image that flashed through her mind of them being warmed against bare flesh. These pearls against flushed ivory and mahogany brown.
The underlying principle had never changed she made a decision, effected it, and whatever consequences happened, happened. She seldom expressed regret at her choices; she made too many over the course of a day to go back and rethink each one. It was these demands that she placed upon her assistants to do their tasks to perfection; she didn't have time to correct their shortcomings and still deal with the all the problems that seemed to crop up over the day.
Even when there was disagreement on her decisions quitting in a fit of pique over something that wasn't even related to her own responsibilities, Miranda refused to let it faze her. Nigel understood her decision; it was nothing personal, she'd not suggested him for the position only to take it away as if it were a toy. If only others would have done the same.
Even if there was no paper bag princess (although a paper bag might have been a better choice than that baggy cerulean sweater), there most certainly was a Dragon Lady -- entirely capable of breathing fire, but more usually found freezing everyone around her with biting words and nigh-impossible expectations.
There was even Nate who hid his toady disdain until he realized that Andy's attention had shifted and no longer was he the hero of her dreams. Even as Andy had risen to meet the daily trial by fire with the Dragon Lady, Nate had sunken to new muddy puddles, preferring to wallow in the past as the future had taken a new turn.
It was a bitter pill to swallow - the knowledge that the new 'her' could be such a walking fashion disaster at Runway and that warranted only a sniff and some biting words while she, she who was on the cutting edge of Fashion (to the point of falling off on the other side of Vivienne Westwood) garnered nary a glance and certainly even far fewer words than Andrea did.
She wasn't blind to the looks that Miranda Priestly thought hidden from the rest of the world the glances that lingered just longer than usual, the gradual diminishment of biting sarcasm that was replaced by an almost pleased astonishment.
It had gotten to the point of painful numbness that she had to force upon herself to ignore the undercurrents at the office that would bode no well for anyone, never mind serve as a distraction from everything else that was going on. Honestly, was no one paying at attention to Paris except for her?
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