Step Aside, Please...

AN:  This story disregards the novel completely, utilizing only the movie as its base.

AN:  Oceans of thanks to law_nerd  for some excellent beta bounce-back!



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Yearling

By Ruari


 

DECEMBER 2008

“A writer needs loneliness, and he gets his share of it. He needs love, and he gets shared and also unshared love. He needs friendship. In fact, he needs the universe. To be a writer is, in a sense, to be a day-dreamer - to be living a kind of double life.”

~ Jorge Luis Borges

*** *** *** *** ***

I will not throw up. I will not cry. I will not throw up. I will not cry. I will not…the mantra pounded in her head with every step she made away from The Before and continued as she made her way into The What Comes Next… 

*** *** *** *** ***
 

The Before…

Little girls and big dreams. Butterflies and ponies. Barbie and Big Wheels. Hopscotch and Truth or Dare. Actually, not for all little girls. As it had turned out so far, most of her eleven years had been nothing more than a giant game of Truth or Dare. And she always, always chose ‘Truth,’ yet no one ever believed her.

And the Dares were always very, very hard. 

*** *** *** *** ***

“The girls have requested it. Though, had they not, I certainly would have.”

Andy leaned back in her chair, phone tucked between chin and shoulder. “Are you sure?” she absently asked, her attention not fully engaged in her phone call. Butch was standing beside her cube with an expressive mixture of consternation and glee carved into his young face, staring down at a handful of photos.  It was a sight Andy had gotten somewhat accustomed to seeing in the six weeks he’d been at The Mirror.  He held one of the images up for her perusal.

“Andrea.” The tones grew cool enough to temporarily reclaim Andy’s attention. “Have you forgotten with whom you are speaking?”

Andy snorted indelicately. “Are you kidding? Sorry, a momentary distraction came buzzing by my desk.” She grabbed the photos, and then shooed Butch away. “You’re Miranda Priestly so, of course, you’re sure.  And I graciously accept. You’ll tell me later what I can bring, right?”

“Naturally.” Andy heard Miranda suck in a small breath before the older woman continued. “Your distraction…that would be Butch, I presume?”

Unable to control it, Andy just had to laugh out loud at the monstrous level of disdain Miranda was able to express in a single name. “Ah-yeah, one and the same.”

“I refuse to believe that is his real name,” Andy heard Miranda mumble right before her focus completely deserted her. Staring down at the photos Butch had handed to her, which she’d been absently flipping through, she didn’t hear any of what was said next until a curtly spoken “Andrea!” caused her head to jerk up.

“Miranda, sorry.” Andy stood up, phone in one hand while she motioned for Butch to rejoin her at her desk with the other. “I’m really, really sorry, but I really need to run; something’s just come up.”

If there was ever anyone who could understand the distractions one encountered while at work, it was Miranda Priestly. That being said, the editor’s response was a simple, “Understood. And about Christmas? I’ll call you later, Andrea.” And in true Miranda fashion, she then hung up before Andy could utter another word.

As for Andy, she didn’t even seem to notice. She merely dropped her cell phone back on the desk and held the photos aloft as Butch arrived back at her cube. “Where did you get these?”

Butch’s eyes widened as he practically vibrated with excitement. “Well, you know how I told you about my hobby, yeah?”

Andy frowned as she trolled her mind for anything he’d mentioned even remotely resembling a hobby. “You mean the mafia thing?” Her own eyes began to widen as clarity began to dawn, a vague memory of drinks in a hazy bar and the Oregon native’s admission of a fascination with organized crime rising to the fore. “That’s your hobby?”

The young man, so young he could’ve just as well have gone by the name ‘Jimmy Olsen,’ nodded eagerly. “Yeah, dude! So I was, like, hangin’ down at Hunts Point on Saturday. I’ve heard from a couple people that the Damianis use one of the warehouses there as, like, an op. base, you know?”

Andy just shook her head, rolled her eyes, and motioned for him to get to the point.

“So how stoked was I when I catch Francesca Damiani coming out of one of ‘em?!!” he gestured wildly, arms flung wide.  “It was, like, so incredibly sweet!” Butch let loose with his typically over-effusive grin and shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets, rocking back on his heels.

Andy’s jaw dropped. “You mean this is Francesca Damiani in this photo?” She held up an image of an olive-skinned brunette standing under the arm of a slightly older man as they appeared to be walking through the Hunts Point market. At Butch’s enthusiastic nod, she waved the photo in his face. “Do you know who this is with her?” she asked in disbelief.

Butch just shrugged. “Nah, didn’t recognize the dude…just figured it was someone from Damiani’s operation; thought I could scope it out later.”

Shaking her head and practically salivating as she sensed a potentially huge story in the offing, Andy sank back into her chair. She grabbed Butch’s arm and dragged him closer. In a much quieter voice, she pointed to the man in the photo and murmured, “That’s Teddy Rhodes, Butch.” She looked up at him and stressed it again. “Teddy.  Rhodes.”

“No way.” Butch looked at the picture, and then pulled out another from the stack. He whistled through his teeth as he and Andy stared down at the captured image of two people wrapped up in what could not be mistaken for anything other than exactly what it appeared to be: a decidedly romantic clinch. A brief moment later found Butch’s face twisting in bewilderment. “Ok, I get that it’s kinda eye-popping, but you’re actually dancin’ the freak-out jig over it. It’s not that big a deal, yeah?”

Andy looked up at him and sighed in mild exasperation. Occasionally, typically at moments such as this one, Andy wondered if Miranda ever felt similarly about her as Andy did Butch. Most notably with regards to the fact that Andy was just beginning to realize having had more life experiences was the actual dividing force amongst those of a different age, not merely the numbers themselves. She often theorized to herself that had her soul not been so much older than her actual number of years on Earth, she and Miranda would never have gotten to the point they were in their relationship. Life experiences were, indeed, a great equalizer.

Ironically—and aptly—enough, it was usually her ruminations on the parallels between those two relationships which gave her the vast amounts of patience needed when dealing with Butch on a daily basis. That being said, she only stared him down for a brief moment. “For someone so smart and who pays so much attention to city politics, you’re being remarkably obtuse.”

Butch gifted her with what has now become a ‘signature’ blank stare, complete with wide, slow-blinking eyes. Andy could practically see his mental gears churning with every blink as the rookie made every effort to catch up. By now, she had come to realize Butch used that stare as a shield to hide behind while he struggled for answers or come-backs to questions or thoughts directed his way. She wondered if he realized it often gave folks the erroneous impression that he lacked intelligence and made a mental note to speak with him about it later. 

Andy could only shake her head in bemusement at the dichotomous personality of her newest co-worker.  For someone so brilliant and gifted, he was equally a ridiculously goofy buffoon. “Surely you know who Weldon Michaels is?”

His response was immediate. “Council Majority Leader.”

“Right,” Andy nodded. “Know his wife’s name?”

Butch’s brows came together as he probed his memory. “Tracy?”

“Uh huh.” Andy quirked her own brow. “Tracy Rhodes Michaels whose brother is…that’s right…Teddy Rhodes.  Teddy Rhodes, the...

…Executive Editor of The New York Times,” they both finished in unison.

“Oh, yes,” Butch hissed, finally seeing the potential story Andy had ‘jigged’ over.

Grasping the much larger picture, Andy just continued shaking her head. “Oh, no.”

*** *** *** *** ***

“So we’re in Mike’s office,” Andy grunted as she threw another log on the fire in Miranda’s den, absently tossing in a handful of shredded gift-wrapping paper with it. “Telling him what Butch captured, right?”

Miranda hummed in understanding and continued gathering the rest of the scattered remnants of her children’s enthusiasm into a plastic trash bag.

“So he starts making noises about bringing in Oscar D’Agostino to finish the investigation and write the articles!”

Miranda’s lips twitched in amusement. “To which you, no doubt, calmly and rationally stated yours and Butch’s claim upon the story,” she wryly drawled.

“You think?” came Andy’s indignant retort. She shook her head vigorously and took the bag of wrapping paper from Miranda to set it near the fireplace for later use. “There was absolutely no way he was ever going to let Butch write it, which I’d already told the little Goober was likely to happen before we ever stepped in there with it. But we thought he’d at least let Butch and I finish the investigation before having me write the actual story.”

“From an editor’s perspective,” Miranda said over her shoulder, heading toward the kitchen and more coffee, “You are a major award-winning journalist. That’s why I would’ve allowed you to continue with it.” She headed straight for an upper cupboard and reached in for clean mugs.

Andy followed said Editor into the kitchen and headed for the refrigerator, tugging the massive appliance open with one hand planted on the freezer door and a hard jerk of her opposing arm. “That Teardrop, I’ll have you know, is the only reason he ended up allowing us to keep it,” Andy acknowledged grumpily, her voice muffled as she bent down for the cream. “Butch is ecstatic, of course. Crazy idiot doesn’t realize all he’ll be doing is research, research, and…wait for it…yet more research.” She turned back toward the center island and handed Miranda the container she’d unearthed.

With a smirk on her lips, Miranda wasted no time in muttering, “With a byline such as his, he can hardly be surprised.”

Andy chuckled at the now-familiar refrain. “Well, try to keep in mind that it was he who penned that lovely, little piece on the City Council’s more unusual irregularities. The one you so enjoyed.”

Miranda rolled her eyes. “So you keep reminding me. Regardless, what’s not to like about an article exposing the more bizarre, yet borderline legal, proclivities of this city’s politicians?”

“Oh, please.” Andy snorted. “You’re more likely to praise Patricia’s groomer for a job well done than you are the writer of the next Pulitzer Prize. Don’t act like we just met.”

“I have no idea to what you are referring.” Her air of innocence significantly less than believable, Miranda just waved a hand in Andrea’s general direction. “Yes, yes. You’ve made your point. Now hike back into the refrigerator and start pulling out Christmas dinner, please.”

Andy giggled and turned back to the stainless steel behemoth. “Why am I the laborer?” she queried.

“The Glory of Youth, Andrea.”

“Uh huh, right.” Muffled thumps could be heard prior to Andy’s echoing voice, “You ever worry about losing Cassidy in here when she was smaller?”

*** *** *** *** ***

“Where will you go with it now?” Miranda prompted several hours later as she made her way back into the den, easily picking up their previous conversation as though no time had passed.

“Well,” Andy watched Miranda sink gracefully into one corner of what Andy privately called their “gabbing couch” before she joined her by collapsing onto the opposite side, in a much less elegant manner. “We aren’t going anywhere with it until we find out whether or not Michaels has had any direct contact with the Damianis. There’s really no story otherwise.” While shifting pillows and situating herself for maximum comfort, Andy failed to notice the older woman’s expression of fond amusement at all the maneuvering. “And knowing Butch and his hobby,” Andy rolled her eyes. “He’ll have a contact or ten who’ll have something to say about it.”

Miranda only nodded, knowing her opinion of Butch and his hobby were clearly written across her face and quite visible to Andrea. It amused her greatly to belabor her derision in front of her journalist friend even though she did truthfully enjoy the young man’s writing.

That didn’t mean she wouldn’t snap off her own pinky finger before admitting it, however.

Andy narrowed her gaze and parsed out Miranda’s feelings exactly as the older woman intended and tried not to laugh. She knew that Miranda knew she could see all the evil thoughts the woman was having about Butch. And Andy found the game too amusing to hold her pique. “You’re so bad,” she chastised. “How am I going to introduce him to you now?”

“Mmm,” Miranda hummed in amusement. “That could be rather fun, couldn’t it?”

Andy snorted. “Sure, if you’re the lion and not the Christian.” 

Miranda chuckled in delight and was so busy visualizing the delicious scene she nearly missed Andrea’s next statement. Unfortunately, it would turn out she’d wish she had. 

“I mean, he’s going to be even more clueless than I was when I first met you,” Andy joked. “And there won’t be any way to avoid it since he’s gonna want to meet my big source. Oh, God, I can picture it now. There won’t be enough preparation on Earth to make that go well.”

So quick were the twin expressions of insult and hurt on Miranda’s face, there was no chance for the other woman to catch them. It was a completely blank facade she turned toward Andrea. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Andy shot a perplexed frown toward her companion, having not been the recipient of that particular mask for the last few months. “What was what? The meeting with Butch not going well?”

A sharp shake of a snow-white head was Miranda’s response. In a tone as chilled as the Arctic, she clarified the nature of her confusion. “What was that about your ‘big’ source?”

“Oh, that.” Andy laughed lightly and ran a hand absently through her hair. “Well, you are the only person I know who runs in the elite circles—with Rhodes and Michaels, I mean.”

“I see.”

Andy took a closer look at Miranda’s features. “What’s wrong?” She ran over the entire conversation quickly through her head. “I’d keep you anonymous, of course. I’d never jeopardize your position that way.”

“And yet you think nothing of taking for granted your highly unique position in my life?” Miranda looked away, this time unable to completely mask the hint of dejection in her tone.

“What!?” Andy’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “That’s n—Miranda, no.”

“I thought you were different, Andrea. I truly did.” Miranda focused on picking at non-existent lint on her woolen trousers. “I practically dared you to be when I first met your overture of friendship. I thought…finally,” she waved a hand absently in the air. “Here was someone who only cared who I was, rather than what.”

Andy bounded up off the sofa, hands clenched tightly by her sides. “I am different! I don’t look at you and automatically think ‘Ah, Editor of Runway, wonder what she can do for me now?’!”

“You are correct.” Miranda also rose to her feet. “You don’t look at me and instantly think of me in regards to what I can do for you. But you do tend to just see the icon—and those are your words, Andrea. Not mine.”

Andy rubbed at her forehead in agitation. “Not true, and you know it. That same article you’re referencing even mentioned what I learned from Miranda, ‘the person.’ I know there’s more to you than the glitz, and I’ve never treated you as though there wasn’t. And that’s the truth.”

Miranda slowly made her way to the window and stared out at the pristine snow. “You may know,” she murmured sadly, her voice whisper-soft. “But you just don’t see.”

“See what?” Andy threw her hands up in exasperation.

Miranda just shook her head and kept staring outside. She puzzled over the unfamiliar physical sensations she was experiencing in tandem with her mental upset. Just because she’d discovered her closest friend was no different than anyone else didn’t mean she should feel as though a hole had opened up inside of her. Should she?

For several long minutes, Andy watched Miranda in silence. She was unsure as to what was happening exactly but had the uncomfortable sensation that bricks were being laid which had the potential to become very thick, very tall walls. 

And she had no idea how to stop it.

After several more minutes passed with neither motion nor emotion from Miranda, Andy quietly left the room and went upstairs. She said her goodbyes to Caroline and Cassidy—voicing a vague excuse as to why she wasn’t staying overnight as originally planned—and then returned to the den to find Miranda unmoved from her vigil at the window.

“I’m going to take off,” she stated softly. She waited for a reaction and sighed in frustration at the lack of one. “I’ve spoken to the girls, told ‘em I wasn’t feeling well and was going home.”

That managed to garner a nod. With nothing more forthcoming, Andy turned on her heel and headed for the door. She was standing in the foyer, pulling on her coat when she heard her name spoken. She turned to find Miranda in the doorway to the den, leaning against the jamb with her arms crossed.

“I dare you to see only what Miriam has become,” the older woman challenged. “Not what Miranda is or isn’t.” Her gaze was sad but determined. “I dare you.”

Andy laughed humorlessly at the irony, her eyes filling with tears. “Got it.” She spun toward the door and tugged it open, the bitter cold wind immediately slicing into her soul. “Merry Christmas, Miranda,” she wished softly over her shoulder as she pulled the heavy door closed behind her.

“Yes,” Miranda murmured to no one. “It tried to be, didn’t it?” 

*** *** *** *** ***

I will not throw up. I will not cry. I will not throw up. I will not cry. I will not…the mantra pounded in her head with every step she made away from The Before and continued as she made her way into The What Comes Next…

*** *** *** *** ***

The What Comes Next…

Being alone was not new. The truth being that ‘alone’ was often a very good place to be.

Yet even at her young age, she knew the painful difference between being ‘alone’ and being ‘lonely.’ 

‘Alone’ was hiding under the bed in her room or catching lightning bugs by herself in the total darkness of her backyard. It was sneaking into the crawl-space under the stairs, flashlight in hand, so she could read about The Hardy Boys instead of Nancy Drew.

‘Lonely’ was altogether different. It was long hallways and cold rooms.  Tiny, yellow and gray pills. Bored nurses and creepy doctors. It was ignorance and not caring.

Speaking and not being heard. 

‘Lonely’ was a very, very hard Dare.

*** *** *** *** ***

Andy looked at the clock on her computer and shot a glance over the top of her cube wall. She stared at a head full of shaggy, blonde curls for a minute before calling out, “Hey.”

Butch lifted his head and took in the features of the woman addressing him. He was a bit concerned by the listless expression on a typically cheerful face. “Yeah?”

“What are you still doing here?” Andy shook her head. “You aren’t going to be able to follow any more leads at eight o’clock on New Year’s Eve.”

Butch shrugged. “I know.” He leaned back in his chair and stared at her, unwilling to admit to not wanting to leave before she did. “A better question would be to ask why you’re still here.”

Andy frowned and looked away. “Nowhere I had to be, I guess,” she mumbled. She went back to proofing a trivial, lackluster article. She wondered how she could expect others to care about how a women’s shelter in Brooklyn celebrated Christmas if she didn’t. She considered how best to make her article at least appear like she gave a damn. A few moments passed before she felt inquisitive eyes scrutinizing her person. “What?” she asked without looking up.

Butch shut down his PC, locked his desk drawers, and stood up. “Come on,” he enticed while pulling on his coat. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Where to?” Andy challenged quietly, open to being coerced but unwilling to commit.

“Dude, somewhere infinitely better than here. Let’s go.”

Thirty minutes later found the duo in a semi-crowded brewpub, holed up at the end of the bar, and pulling at a couple House Specials. Being far enough away from Times Square meant they didn’t have to fight for airspace or scream to hear each other.

Butch thanked the barkeep as he set two baskets of hot wings and fries in front of the pair. He then wasted no time diving in. As Butch tore in to one, he shoved the other basket closer to his last-minute dinner companion. “Eat something, Andy. I know you skipped lunch.”

Andy shrugged but did as commanded. She was glad Butch talked her into leaving the newsroom but equally glad he wasn’t pressing her for conversation. As she turned out to actually be rather hungry, she and Butch polished off the servings quickly, trading random bits of conversation as they took in the New Year’s Eve revelers filling the rest of the room.

Sometime during their fourth round of beer, Butch turned on his stool and stared at Andy curiously.

 “What?” Andy stared back over the top of her glass as she tipped it back. She took a healthy gulp, set the glass back down, and then swiped her sleeve across the foam on her lip.

“I’ve been wonderin’ something.”

Andy raised an eyebrow. “Ok.”

Butch rested an elbow on the bar so his arm could support his head. “What was it like?”

“What was what like?”

The fair-haired kid leaned in and quietly expounded on his question. “Being told your mind was messed up when you just knew it wasn’t. When no one would believe you or even listen to you.”

Her head tipped slightly as she studied her drinking buddy, pondering what could’ve prompted his query.

Easily catching the stare, Butch shrugged and casually admitted, “I read your piece a couple weeks ago. Just hadn’t gotten around to asking about it.”

“Ah.” Andy turned to gaze blankly into the crowd, her thoughts focusing inward as she gave serious consideration to the young man’s question. She turned back to Butch a couple of minutes later, her eyes holding a wealth of heartbreaking memories and lessons.

Butch, in a surprisingly intuitive gesture, interpreted the silent language her eyes were speaking and wordlessly pushed her beer into her hand.

Andy offered a cheerless smile and downed the contents of the glass. As she slowly and deliberately set it back down on the bar, she cocked her head to the side and answered Butch’s original question. “It was lonely. Very, very…lonely.”

Butch nodded in comprehension and then watched Andy’s eyes widen. It appeared to him as though she’d just come to a sudden realization. When she jumped off the stool and began fumbling for money while simultaneously attempting to pull on her coat, Butch reached over to assist. “Somewhere you have to be after all?” he guessed.

Andy jerked her head up. She took in his perceptive understanding and smiled softly at the sweet, typically silly clown—turned sudden gentleman. “I’m usually a terrible judge of character,” she informed him softly. She then leaned in to press a friendly kiss to his cheek. “Prove me wrong, ok?”

As she should’ve expected, she was gifted with his bright, goofy grin when she pulled away. In what was becoming the norm when dealing with Butch Keebler, Andy could only roll her eyes. “Happy New Year, Butch.”

“Happy New Year, dude.”

*** *** *** *** ***

Andy knew the twins had the New Year’s holiday with their dad, so she felt not an ounce of guilt at leaning on the doorbell. She smiled in satisfaction as she heard the muffled peal sounding over and over again inside the townhouse. She didn’t have to wait long, as Miranda appeared after what seemed like only seconds.

“What the hell are you doing, Andrea?” Miranda scowled as she took in the shivering woman standing on her doorstep. “Have you no concept of time?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Andy huffed as she rocked lightly in place, attempting to stay warm. “But I also know you had a thing tonight and that you wouldn’t be asleep.” She stared at her friend with mixed expressions of sadness, frustration, and resolution evident across her features. 

They had previously gone a week or more without contact, but that was early on in their friendship…well before they’d grown close. The truth was that Andy had missed Miranda more than she’d thought she would these past six days. And that was completely unacceptable to her.

She nervously rubbed her hands together and took a deep breath as she gathered courage. “Look, it may make me seem ridiculous and really, really pathetic, but the fact remains that this Friendship is the most important personal relationship I have in my life right now.” Andy looked away, rapidly blinking back tears. She was unable, however, to disguise the emotion in her voice as she choked, “I just can’t lose that. So…yeah. I’m not going to use you. I’m not, Miranda. Ok?”

In the silence that followed, Miranda gazed intently into large, brown eyes, trying to discern the level of Andrea’s sincerity and understanding. 

“You dared me,” Andy pointed out.

Miranda continued to appraise the brunette. “I did,” she admitted. And Andy read in Miranda’s eyes the knowledge that the woman knew exactly what doing so would do to Andrea. 

Andy frowned. “I’ve had some experience with those, you know.”

“I do know.” Miranda raised a brow. “Because I see you.”

“I get it,” Andy whispered. “And whether you trust in it or not, I see you, too.”

She withstood another minute of scrutiny before leaning in to bestow her second kiss of the evening. “Happy New Year, Miranda,” she murmured against the soft, smooth skin of the older woman’s cheek. She stepped back and took in Miranda’s cautious demeanor, it being one of neither acceptance nor rejection, neither forgiveness nor condemnation. Figuring it was the best response she could hope for at the moment, Andy just nodded, turned, and walked away.

*** *** *** *** ***

DECEMBER 2008

“A writer needs loneliness, and he gets his share of it. He needs love, and he gets shared and also unshared love. He needs friendship. In fact, he needs the universe. To be a writer is, in a sense, to be a day-dreamer - to be living a kind of double life.”

~ Jorge Luis Borges

January 2009