Chapter Text
Chapter one
Andy's beer spilled on her blouse, her silk blouse, and she cursed. First, at herself, for wearing a silk blouse in a lesbian bar; second, at the couple on her right, who had been quarrelling for the last thirty minutes and were now getting physical. The young woman closest to her turned to apologize:
"Shit, I'm so sorry. Oh, and you're wearing silk!" she winced. Behind her, the taller butch threw Andy a dark glance and grabbed the smaller redhead by the shoulder.
"I'm not done talking, Sid."
Violence and stupidity aren't reserved for men, Andy thought, realizing that in spite of the quiet evening she sought, of drinking and waiting, she was going to interfere, seeing the pained look in the redhead's eyes. Another damsel in distress made it impossible for idealistic Andy Sachs to turn a blind eye.
"Yes, you are," she said, standing to her full height. Her voice was calm, firm. She looked pointedly at the hand still gripping the shoulder until it let go. "I’m a black belt in Taekwondo and I have very a low tolerance for violence, verbal or physical. You have done both." She paused and channeled a ghost from the past when she whispered. "Go."
And the woman was gone. This deserves another beer, Andy decided, turning back to her stool.
"Thank you. I can't believe you stood up for me." the redhead said, her voice trembling.
"No worries. Hope the rest of your evening goes better." Andy signaled the bartender for another beer, ready to drift back into her thoughts when a hand appeared in front of her eyes.
"I'm Sid."
Oh no. She reluctantly shook her hand.
"Andy."
"Please let me buy you that beer." Sid said, already gliding a bill toward the bartender, who took it without blinking.
"No need. Look... Sid." She turned to face the young woman. Curly red hair, harmonious features, beautiful blue eyes... still, she felt no stir. "I don't want to add to your already crappy night, but I should be honest: I'm not interested. "
Sid flinched but kept smiling. "Fair. But I still want to buy you that beer. "
There was something familiar about the girl that Andy couldn't place. Am I seeing myself in her, when I was younger and needed guidance? The beers arrived, Sid had ordered one for herself, too.
"Are you even old enough to be drinking?" Andy blurted.
Sid rolled her eyes.
"Duh. They wouldn't have let me in otherwise. I am legal. To drink. And screw."
Andy winced. "Crass."
"I know, sorry, my mother would have a fit if she heard me."
"Or if she knew you were in a lesbian bar hitting on a woman twice your age..."
"You can't be twice my age, get out of here! How old are you, Andy?"
"Didn't your mother teach you it was impolite to ask a lady her age?"
A shadow crossed Sid's face.
"She didn't. Too busy working." She brushed away the painful thought and returned to her playful tone. "So… just how old are you, Andy? I'm twenty-one, FYI."
It was Andy's turn to roll her eyes. Practically a baby. She took a swig of her beer.
"Thirty-five."
“Really?” Sid's eyes widened. “I’d have sworn you were still in your twenties!"
"Now that is the way to talk to a lady!"
"Does it work?" Sid asked hopefully.
"Still no. Sorry, kiddo."
"Ahem... and what does work for you, Andy?"
A curtain of helpless infatuation, regret, and unreachable longing fell on Andy. Her shoulders slumped under its weight. She answered in a faraway voice.
"Older women. A specific older woman."
Sid's eyes glistened. A sensitive kid, Andy reckoned, she should be careful. Flirting forgotten, Sid leaned closer and whispered:
“And what happened? Did she die?”
“Die?? God, no! She’s thankfully alive and well!”
“Then… she’s married?”
“Not anymore. Hasn’t been for ten years.” Andy sighed, wishing the questions would stop. She had come here to forget, not to remember.
“Then why can’t you be together?” Sid asked innocently.
Andy sighed. That’s my cue to go home.
“Sid, it takes two. That woman is so far out of my league, I’m not even sure she knows I exist. I may love her forever, but she’ll never know it, and that’s for the best. And oh look, the Earth is still turning and the seasons still come and go. We’re specks of dust in the universe.” She stood. “Thanks for the beer, kiddo. Take care of yourself and don’t sell yourself short. Don’t waste time on losers.” Like me.
She smiled goodbye, Sid sketched a wave, then Andy turned and made her way out of the bar, into the crisp April air. She was halfway down the street when, from the corner of her eye, she saw the woman who had harassed Sid earlier step on her cigarette and reenter the bar. No, you don’t.
Back inside, she spotted immediately the tall woman, looming over Sid, gesturing wildly. Sid looked petrified. Andy was at her side in a flash.
“Thought I told you to beat it?” she snapped, then offered her hand to Sid. “Come, darling, our cab is waiting.”
*
Hard to believe that I was young once. Did I party in clubs and in bars? No, I only went to functions to be photographed for Runway. I certainly didn’t spend triple digits at Wines & Spirits, I was putting money aside to build a solid future for myself and my children. How the hell did I go so wrong with their education? Neither attends university, Caroline is halfway across the world, backpacking like a hobo, and Cassidy is secluded in that studio, refusing to see me, but generously sending me bills for art supplies and booze. God, so much booze.
Miranda bit her lip to stop from crying, she knew that if she started, she would be powerless to stop and she didn’t want to give the taxi driver a show. She could have called Roy, but she didn’t want to disturb him on a Sunday at dawn. Just because she didn’t have a partner or a family didn’t mean no one else did. No, it just meant that Miranda Priestly was doomed. Everything she touched in her personal life turned to ash. They all left her. It seemed that the more success she achieved professionally, the more she paid privately. I am growing old and turning into a bitter old lady. They won’t even know when I am gone.
The taxi stopped, and she handed over a bill, stopping the driver from giving her change. At least I made someone’s Sunday. The building that housed the art studios was smaller than she imagined. Older, and not in a good way. Still, it cost a fortune. Location, she sighed. She tried the main door and it was unlocked. Who leaves their front door unlocked in New York? There was no concierge, so she went on, stopping a moment to locate Cassidy’s studio: second floor, 4B. From the overflowing mail box, she retrieved a postcard. From Caroline. Her heart jolted. She never writes to me. She knew she shouldn’t read it, but she did nevertheless, taking a second to admire the beautiful Vietnamese landscape.
“Hey Sid,
Hope you finished the painting, even though I still think it’s the wrong subject. All my love from Vietnam, it’s so beautiful here, you wouldn’t believe it, the people are kind and welcoming, even though very few speak English. I wish you were here with me, maybe next time!
Love,
Caro.”
Miranda leaned against the wall, caught in the tide of emotion. My Bobbseys. How did they drift so far? It’s as if I didn’t exist for them anymore. The front door swung open and a group of four young men and women entered boisterously, chatting and laughing, brushing past her without a glance, before disappearing upstairs. Invisible. I am invisible to those I care about the most. Far from the catwalks and the paparazzi, she was just an old woman in a world that she no longer understood.
She slid the postcard back in the mailbox and hesitantly climbed to the second floor. 2B, 3B… 4B. The door had seen better days but at least it closed. 2B was ajar and 3B barely hanging on its hinges. Miranda knocked quietly, suddenly questioning herself on her impulse to come and see her daughter. When did I see her last? She didn’t come home for Christmas… was it in November that we crossed paths at that vernissage?
No one answered, so Miranda tried the doorknob before knocking again. Surprise, or was it, the door opened and she stepped in. A grand room with high ceilings, flooded in light, welcomed her. Paintings were on easels everywhere, some propped against the walls, a few covered. In the center of the room, a large painting was also covered with a white sheet, a table beside it littered with paintbrushes of several sizes, a palette and tubes of color.
Miranda’s breath caught. Cassidy painted these? They were extraordinary. Even without knowing their creator, Miranda would have bought several for the townhouse. She saw Cassidy’s voice in them, her themes. Fascinating, from her use of colors to the lines, the strokes. Old and new at the same time.
A soft snore reached her ears from somewhere on the left and Miranda turned her head to see an open door, to the bedroom perhaps. On its way, the ground was littered with empty bottles of champagne, crushed Snickers and Oreos wrappers and… Cassidy is wearing La Perla? Both of her daughters had always expressed their disdain for fashion—what was supposed to be a teenage phase, but which never passed. And now, she was wearing a La Perla bra? From this winter’s collection?
Miranda took the few steps to the other room, then froze. On a low bed taking half of the room, her daughter, in her underwear, lay sprawled across the back of a woman wearing only panties. La Perla, too. Not relevant. Cassidy likes women? Her gasp echoed in the silent room and Cassidy raised a groggy head, then bolted upright.
“Mom? What are you doing here?”
A moan from underneath her, then a groan:
“Sid, not so loud, my head is splitting...”
I know that voice, I would recognize it anywhere… It can’t be!
But it was. A sleepy Andrea Sachs lifted her head, hair a complete mess, blinking into the light, then she turned around revealing two magnificent breasts – again, not relevant – and then had the same reaction as Cassidy upon seeing Miranda. There is never joy in their eyes when they see me, only fear.
“Miranda?”