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Evelyn Myers, book critic for Runway magazine, is usually not the nervous type. An important quality when one works for Miranda Priestly and is about to be the bearer of unpleasant news. She stares at the book in her hand, and resists the urge to shudder. Now is not the time to succumb to feelings of dread. Better to be the calm before the inevitable storm.
A sigh escapes her lips and she moves with reluctance from her desk chair. A quick glance in her office mirror confirms she’s still looking presentable despite a busy morning. Taking in smooth, blonde hair and green eyes, Evelyn gives thanks for the fact that she in no way resembles...her.
After a quick look at her Cartier watch, she braces herself and heads out of the room. Walking along the corridor to Miranda’s office, Evelyn hopes her boss is in a reasonable mood. Like many of her colleagues, she lives in a constant state of hope.
“Is she ready for me?” Evelyn asks the moment she arrives at the First Assistant’s desk. She adds in a whisper, “How’s her mood, Ava?”
“Bordering on diabolical,” Ava replies in a soft voice. “Oh, hell. Is that what I think it is?”
“Sure is,” she says in the most casual voice she can muster. “An interesting title wouldn’t you agree?”
Ava runs a hand through her hair and then shakes her head. An act that Evelyn knows from experience is one of Ava’s few tells. Unlike Emily, Ava is almost unflappable and rarely yields to nerves or pressure.
“Go on through,” Ava says.
“Wish me luck,” she replies, knowing she’s going to require a year’s supply to make it through the next five minutes.
“Oh, you’ll need it,” Ava says in response, and Evelyn detects the slightest note of glee in her voice.
‘Well,’ she thinks in amusement, making her way into Miranda’s office. ‘Perhaps there’s an element of Emily in her after all.’
******
Miranda taps a finger on pursed lips as she surveys the book on her desk. It’s been sitting in the same spot since Evelyn deposited it there thirty minutes ago. The publishing and fashion industries have been abuzz for months about this book, ever since rumours emerged that an ‘insider’ had dared to skewer the eccentricities and excesses of her beloved profession. She wonders if the public will be as susceptible to all the hype.
The question that friends, colleagues and subordinates have no doubt been asking each other is whether Miranda will allow a review to appear inside the hallowed pages of her magazine. To which the answer is obviously, yes. It amazes her that people think her ego is so fragile she can’t withstand a writer’s debut endeavour. Honestly, anyone of note has seen themselves reflected within the covers of a roman à clef.
She reaches for the book and runs a finger over the letters embossed on the front cover. Aesthetically speaking, the book is appealing. The choice of image, colours and font complement each other and she’s certain it will appeal to those readers who do indeed judge a book by its cover.
As to the name of book, Miranda somehow manages not to roll her eyes in exasperation. ‘The Beast in Blass’ is not a title that would have been deemed appropriate if she ran Broadway Books.
“Whatever,” she mutters in a tone that is reminiscent of her daughters. “Everyone knows the Beast is the true hero of any story.”
******
For most of the afternoon, Miranda is the recipient of hushed whispers and sly glances whenever she leaves her office. She knows without a doubt that Evelyn and Ava can be trusted to be circumspect, so the most likely culprit for spreading the gossip throughout Runway is Emily. The office of her former assistant is right beside Evelyn’s, and Emily’s loyalty to Miranda is common knowledge. Miranda imagines the outrage was just too much for poor Emily to handle.
But if her staff, including a high-strung redhead know what’s good for them, they’ll cease their idle speculation by the end of the day. Miranda understands curiosity and so she grants her clueless employees a reprieve. Come tomorrow though, everyone’s full attention had better be on her Book - the only one that matters at Runway.
A call on her personal phone distracts Miranda from her musings, for which she is grateful. Very few people are aware of this phone’s existence, so she knows without even looking at the display screen that the call will be from someone for whom she has fond feelings.
Miranda smiles when she picks up the phone and spots Cassidy’s name. Once the girls turned fourteen they’d insisted on separate cell phones, which Miranda agreed to after some persuasion. As they now approach their fifteenth birthday their need to be considered individuals, not a dual entity, is even stronger. No more referring to each of them as Bobbsey, a development which Miranda has quietly grieved.
“Mom!” Cassidy exclaims before she even has a chance to utter a greeting.
“That’s no way to begin a conversation, Cassidy,” she gently scolds.
An exasperated huff sounds in her ear and Miranda’s lips quirk a little in response. There’s no doubt Cassidy is reminiscent of her at the same age.
“I know, I know,” her daughter grumbles in her ear. “But this is very, very important!”
“By all means, darling. If it’s very, very important who am I to expect simple manners.”
“Exactly,” says Cassidy, and Miranda’s convinced that her sarcasm was both understood and ignored. “You’ll never guess what Sarah brought to school today.”
As much as Miranda loves her daughter she has no interest in playing guessing games, though she knows better than to reveal this fact.
“Darling, I’m sure you’re right. Why don’t you just tell me what Sarah brought to school?”
Miranda hopes that whatever it is, it’s not another book about sex. Three years may have passed, but she’ll never forget being grilled for an hour about why people like to contort their bodies into weird positions just to have sex.
“Well…” says Cassidy, and Miranda rolls her eyes at her daughter’s attempt at theatrics. “Sarah brought the book to school and asked me to autograph it.”
Of course she doesn’t have to ask what book. By now it seems like all of Manhattan is obsessed with that book. Still, she’s relieved to hear that her daughter has escaped mocking from her peers. Her only fear about the publication of the book was that her girls might once again be the object of hurtful gossip.
“I’m assuming you indulged her?” Miranda asks, knowing full well the answer.
“Of course!” Cassidy says in excitement. “Sarah said it would be worth more if the daughter of one of the characters in the book signed it.” A pause follows and then come the words that are no surprise to Miranda, “See, we told you it would be fine.”
“So you did,” Miranda agrees. “Speaking of we, what about your sister? Didn’t Sarah want Caroline’s autograph, too?”
“Oh, Mom,” Cassidy says with a huff. “Sarah isn’t Caroline’s friend, anymore. She’s only mine.”
Miranda clears her throat, “Of course, darling. It’s been a long day, it slipped my mind for a moment.” She rarely lies to her daughters but frankly the social intricacies at Dalton are ever-changing. Who can keep up?
“Sure thing, Mom,” Cassidy says without any discernible trace of sarcasm. “Gotta go, now. Love you!”
“Love you, too,” Miranda replies, ignoring Cassidy’s poor grammar. Her daughter’s almost fifteen and is still willing to express affection. She’ll take her wins where she can get them.
******
Evelyn is settled on her sofa, a glass of wine in hand as she devours the book that’s been the topic of conversation all day at work. She’s not certain, but she’d lay good money on the odds that Nigel was the one that alerted everyone to its arrival. He’s both a gossip and an incorrigible trouble maker, so in this instance, he’s the most likely suspect.
She’s still a little surprised that Miranda’s given her approval for a review. Before Evelyn left for the day, Ava returned the book to her along with instructions from Miranda - eight hundred words. No mention of the author’s experiences in the world of fashion. Just the book, nothing else.
Evelyn knows from experience that the review will be cut to, at most, five hundred words so she needs to ensure she does the book justice, without compromising Miranda. An almost impossible task when the book is called ‘The Beast in Blass’ and the Beast in question is a fictionalised version of one’s boss.
Though, to be honest, she rather enjoys this fictional version of the Queen of Fashion. The Beast - otherwise known as Addison Smith - is cutting and abrupt, in a compelling and amusing way. Her demands, as absurd as some of them are, almost seem reasonable. Without a doubt, the author is not only blessed with a gift for writing, but an acute sense of determining what qualities a woman needs to successfully run an empire. If anything, it’s the self righteous assistant who is the villain of this story.
“Oh, my God,” she murmurs, as reality finally dawns on her halfway through. This book is no exposé of a ruthless boss mistreating her poor assistant. It’s an admission of guilt. In this book, the assistant - Maddie Jones - is quite clearly the one in the wrong. But, why would anyone go to all this trouble?
And then it finally hits her. Andrea freakin’ Sachs is in love with Miranda Priestly and this entire story is an act of contrition. Evelyn supposes the sentiment is admirable. But, really? The girl is misguided at best. How on earth is Miranda going to react when she finds out?
******
“‘The Beast in Blass’,” Emily says in an agitated voice,“it’s just so bloody insulting! And that stupid book was all anyone could talk about today! Honestly, they’re all lucky Miranda didn’t fire them on the spot.”
Serena hides her smile behind a yawn and strategically placed hand. Another day; another reason for Emily to be outraged on Miranda’s behalf.
“Perhaps it’s not as bad as it seems,” Serena says, patting Emily’s shoulder. “None of us have even read the book, yet.”
Emily turns to look at her and the skepticism is almost palpable.“How could a book with beast in the title possibly be good, Serena?”
“Ever heard of Beauty and the Beast?”
“Don’t you dare compare that masterpiece to this...this,” Emily says with disdain, flicking her hands in an all-too-familiar fashion.
“Okay, Em. No more inane comparisons. Now, did I tell you what happened with Heidi this afternoon?”
Emily’s eyes light up with glee and Serena knows the topic of the book is closed for the rest of the night. Tales about imperfect models are the perfect anecdote whenever Emily’s in a snit.
Drawing breath to regale Emily with a story that’s mostly true, Serena feels a sense of relief. Honestly, she didn’t even mean to start the rumour mill at Runway, but she’s definitely learned her lesson. No more sharing confidences with Jocelyn. The woman clearly can’t be trusted with juicy gossip.
******
Andy stares in the bathroom mirror, relieved that the day is at an end. She may have a novel about to be released, but her day job at the Mirror still keeps her busy. Despite the predicted success of her first book, and the contract for a sequel, Andy is reluctant to give up the security of full time employment.
“Tell me again how Maddie apologises for her abysmal behaviour,” Miranda calls out.
Andy laughs and emerges from the bathroom, a smile breaking out when she takes in Miranda’s position and attire. On their bed, reclining on her back. Naked.
“Again? Don’t you have it memorised by now?”
“Oh, I could never tire of hearing it,” Miranda replies, and Andy is happy to see the playful smile on her lover’s face. Two years together and still the sight of a carefree Miranda fills her with joy.
“How about I show you how very sorry she is?” Andy asks, walking towards the bed, her fingers starting to unbutton her pyjama top.
“No, let me,” Miranda says, sitting up with haste.“You know how much I love undressing you.”
“I do,” Andy says fondly, as she sits down on the bed and slides a hand up Miranda’s thigh.
“That’s why we work so well together, Andréa. I make reasonable demands and you’re happy to comply.”
“Yes, Miranda,” she teases. “Now, stop gloating and love me.”