Chapter Text
At a small liberal arts college on the outskirts of Manhattan, Andrea Sachs teaches two nights a week: Monday and Friday. She is a fashion journalist as well, but when the college reached out to her. Well, she simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity to teach the next generation, to pass her knowledge on. It’s a small class, only about 30 students. But it’s how she prefers it to be. She likes that she’s able to learn from her students just as much as they learn from her. She likes giving each one the time and attention they deserve.
Which is precisely why she spends so much of her time trying to get good guest speakers or take them around to offices or venues. She wants them to not only enjoy the class and get what they need from it, she wants to go beyond that. So maybe she has spent the last few months sending an ungodly amount of emails to the office of Emily Charlton, an executive at Dior for the last five years. She doesn’t hear back, of course. But her email isn’t blocked and she takes that as a good sign.
That is the case, until one Sunday night Andy receives an email back, from Emily herself. Not an assistant, like she is expecting. The email simply states that Emily prefers the Friday night time slot as opposed to Wednesday. And Andy is quick to rearrange the syllabus so she can have Emily there as soon as possible.
A few more emails are sent between the women, Andy replies nearly instantaneously while Emily’s might take a few hours. The emails stay professional, barely anything to them. Andy did type out a little smiley face emoticon before deciding to delete it. But they have a Friday picked out.
Andy isn’t entirely sure if this is only for her students or for her. She had been wanting to speak with Emily for a while now. Her career and her life seem so intriguing to Andy. A girl, not even 21 left her family, left everything she had come to know, so she could move to New York and work underneath Miranda Priestly. Andy, who always had so many questions and thoughts, wanted to desperately sit down with Emily, who keeps so much of her life private yet somehow, everyone still knows about her.
That special Friday came around, Andy might have spent an extra 40 minutes picking an outfit that she’d hope would impress Emily. For reasons she didn’t know why. She is wearing striped slacks, simple black heeled boots and a matching striped vest. She also has on a gold chain necklace with a small arrow at the center. She hasn’t met Emily, the executive is busy and this is for her students, right?.
The room isn’t too big, it has hardwood floors, seats with velvet lining that leads to a rather large desk in front of a white board. Andy likes keeping her class relaxing. She has candles and warm toned lights. She, herself, hated college. She can still write a long paper comparing her campus to a prison. She does not want her room to be part of that.
About 20 minutes into the class, Andy hears a knock at the door. Andy stops speaking mid sentence, she knows who it is. Of course, because of the time they had agreed upon, no other reason. Totally not because the sound of the knock alone was unmistakably a fashionable British redhead.
“Class, please. Welcome Ms. Emily Charlton.” Then Andy moves, not rushing but she also doesn’t take her time. Her hand finds the doorknob and she pulls it open. Her big brown eyes land on the ocean-like blue of Emily. Her fair skin and red hair soon come into view. “Ms. Charlton, it’s a pleasure. Please.” She then steps to the side for the redhead to enter.
Emily does just that, chin held high. She isn’t entirely sure why she’s here. Her office gets numerous emails a day asking for her to make an appearance. Maybe it is this professor’s stubbornness, maybe it’s just to shut her up. Or maybe, there is a part of Emily that feels honored. This fashion journalist could be attempting to get anyone in her class, but she chose Emily. Maybe there is still a bit of that younger Emily inside, who wanted someone to see her for her. And not just for what she does or her title. But Emily is quick to find that rather large box hidden deep inside her, the same box she rarely opens unless it’s to lock up something else. And she’s sure to lock all of that up.
“Thank you, Professor.” Her British accent rolling off her tongue beautifully, despite living in Manhattan for nearly two decades, the accent hasn’t even ebbed. She gives Andy a quick once over, as she does when she meets anyone. How they dress, how one presents themself to the world, it says everything. She doesn’t give any reaction to the outfit, which is a reaction in itself. Though her eyes narrow just slightly, for a millisecond, on the shape of Andy’s eyebrows before continuing to move forward.
She walks down the center of the room, following Andy. The students are hush, there is a certain atmosphere around Emily. The strength and capability, they are all studying fashion journalism and in that moment, they all realize why.
The whole point of Emily being here is simply for the students to get used to interviewing, what kind of questions to ask, the spoken and unspoken way a person could answer and especially, the way a journalist can carry an interview yet make it feel more like an easy conversation between friends.
Andy and Emily stand at the front of the class now, both in front of the large desk. Andy had assigned the students to do some prior research on Emily. She is not one to let her students embarrass themselves.
Emily clears her throat, quietly, as she looks around the room. As she analyzes the students in front of her. “Good evening, everyone. I realize you’ve done your research. Don’t be nervous, I’m sure you’ll ask more thrilling questions than my time with Vanity Fair.” She doesn’t speak in a teasing tone, she is rather cut and dry. But these college level children seem excited. And Emily can connect with any child who dreams of a career in the fashion industry.
A hand shoots up, the professor and fashion executives' heads both turn. A girl in the front row, whom Emily surmises to be quite the teacher's pet. “Jessica.” Comes Andy’s voice, giving the girl permission to ask whatever is going on in her head. Emily doesn’t take her eyes off the girl - or well Jessica. She is, for some reason, intrigued to find out the questions she’ll be asked. She did get the assurance that it would all be off the record, after all.
“How much of fashion is actually about clothing?” The young girl asks, a bit apprehensively, being the first to ask but she wants a good grade and Professor Sachs does not want easy questions in her room.
Emily tilts her head, just slightly as she waits exactly eight seconds before answering. “Clothing is at fashion's core but if you’re not confident in what you’re wearing then you might as well be wearing a potato sack with a designer's name on it. Albeit, a rather nice potato sack.”
“Bloody hell, that answer is tacky.” Emily mutters to nobody but Andy hears and a small, soft smile curves on the Professor's mouth.
That little question and answer seem to strike inspiration in the rest of the students, to allow them to let go of some of their fear and ask the questions they’ve been preparing for.
There are a good chunk of questions based around Emily’s Runway days. Emily understands that it is difficult not to bring up Miranda Priestly while her career is the topic. The ex - first assistants answers are refined and professional. She didn’t leave Runway on bad terms, Miranda had helped her with this job at Dior. Which Emily takes as that final sign of approval, despite the silence of it all. And Emily makes a point not to mention any of that in this room.
Then the questions seem to take a turn, less on Emily’s life and more about her opinions on things, like the first question. Andy is now sitting down in her chair, a bit behind and to the side of Emily. She isn’t taking notes like she is supposed to be, she is paying more attention to the way Emily answers than she had expected.
She is also quite proud of her students with the questions they came up with.
Emily’s posture does not change. She is still standing tall, her chin held high and her hands relaxed in the pockets of her blue denim Dior jumpsuit. She receives questions about if luxury fashion contributes to unrealistic beauty and wealth standards. Which, of course, Emily danced around that answer perfectly. She is asked about sustainability in a fashion house and Emily explained how long high fashion pieces can last if properly taken care of.
Andy would make little comments. A “good answer” here and an “interesting point of view” there. Emily realized, when there isn’t a comment, that she is a little disappointed. Her left ear had tuned into the professor, for a reason she wouldn’t let herself think about until she is in bed with a glass of wine.
Before the next question could land, Andy announces that there’s only time for one more. Multiple arms shoot up, Emily takes a moment before her eyes land on Jessica again. She finds it a little poetic to end with the person who started it, so she simply makes eye contact and nods at the girl.
“Professor Sachs once said that one of the most important things a fashion journalist can do is make fashion understandable to people who aren’t already familiar with it. Do you agree?” Of course, the teacher's pet would quote the teacher.
Emily didn’t have to think for a moment. “No, I don’t agree.” She simply replies, not giving more of an explanation. Even if she were to continue her answer, the sound of a chair scraping back and a woman standing makes Emily pause.
Andy is standing, not mad. More shocked than anything. “Why don’t you agree?” She didn’t give her students a chance for that quick follow up question.
Emily turns to face the professor, a tiny arch with one of her eyebrows. That isn’t like her earlier and quieter comments. “Because, Professor, I don’t believe fashion owes people an explanation.”
“Dangerous hill to land on in a room full of journalism students.” Andy replies fast, she isn’t backing down like Emily is so used to with others doing. She can hear a few students laugh at that rebuttal but she doesn’t pay it much mind.
“Sometimes the point of fashion, much like any other art form, is to make someone stop and wonder why they’re looking at something. Without someone spelling it out for them.” Emily eyes Andy, she’s enjoying this despite the annoyance written nearly all over her face.
A rather brave student cuts in, not realizing what’s happening in front of them. “So who’s right then?”
“We’re both convinced we’re right.” Andy answers first, it’s easy. It gives that small debate a nice end. But Emily is never one to let go that quickly. She can’t help but butt in. “I’m certainly convinced that I’m right.”
“There it is.” Andy lets out a huff before dismissing the class. Some students came up to Emily to personally thank her for her time and insight.
But soon enough, with Andy packing up her things and the final student leaving the room, Emily steps up to her. “You still disagree with me.” It is easy to tell, there isn’t a clear end. There isn’t someone waving a white flag in surrender.
“I do.” Andy answers rather confidentially as she lifts her black leather briefcase and raises her eyes to meet the redheads.
“I’d like to change your mind. If you’re free for a quick drink that is.” Is it truly because Emily wanted to win this debate? It’s what she tells herself and she isn’t about to let herself think too much about this.
Andy smiled at that, quickly blowing out the last burning candle in the room before nodding. “Alright then. Show me.”
They leave the campus, agreeing to meet up at a bar where there would be no chance of a student seeing them. And for the first time while sitting across from a fashion executive, Andy isn’t thinking about her next question. She is thinking about the curve of Emily’s lips and how to turn the upcoming conversation into something that isn’t about their career.
And Emily finds herself to actually be looking forward to sitting down with a journalist. Like Andy said, Emily would just have to show her how wrong she is.
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The bar is dark, it’s relatively quiet with the soft hum of conversation and music that’s barely playing through the speaker system. Andy arrives before Emily, already picking out a secluded booth for them. When Emily enters the bar, they make direct eye contact and it causes the redhead to feel a slight pause in her steps but she carries on.
She slides into the booth, across from the professor and sets her bag down beside her. “As I was saying, Professor-”
“Call me Andy.” She interrupts, they aren’t in the classroom anymore. Then she nods, as if to let the redhead know she can continue.
Emily’s eyes narrow once again but she concedes, in her own Emily Charlton way. “Andrea. You must understand that journalists are not fashion translators. You’ve been doing this for how long?” But Emily knows, Emily has done her own research as well.
“Or call me Andrea, that works too.” But Andy’s smiling, her ears did in fact flick back underneath her long dark hair when she heard her name with that British lilt.
She looks up as a waiter appears, ordering herself a whiskey and being followed by Emily ordering a martini. Then her eyes find the blue ones again. “I’ve been doing this for fifteen years. And I understand for people to engage with art, it helps if they understand it.”
Emily slides the drinks menu towards the end of the table as she fixes Andy with a look. It has been a while since someone held their own like this against her. She’s liking it. “Right, and you believe you’re qualified to interpret what the pieces are trying to convey?” Her eyes drift down Andy, assessing her again. The stripes are working, she can tell it’s most likely not how this woman dresses usually.
But she continues, not letting Andy get a word in. “Your work is substantial, I will give you that. But fashion is not something people need help getting into or understanding.” She gives a slight nod in appreciation while their drinks are settling on the table.
Andy pauses, something she hasn’t done all evening. “You’ve read my work?” She ignores everything else said, it’s all pointless while being compared to that one confession anyway. Andy knows her work is read, she has followers and people care about what she has to report on.
She knows that Emily Charlton is not one to go searching to find out what journalists are saying. She is still, after all this time, somewhat taken off guard when someone compliments her work to her face. “And you think it’s good?”
“I said substantial, there is a difference.” Emily lets out with a quiet sigh before she takes a sip of her martini. Her eyes find Andy’s over the rim of the glass and she sets it down. She can feel the mood shifting just a little, the earlier debate forgotten about for a moment. Emily does not like a shifting mood, she needs control. She is the leader in conversation.
But here’s Andrea, somehow throwing her off course.
“And yes, I’ve read your work. Don’t be daft.” The redhead rolls her eyes just barely, this professor is infuriating. Why would she ever make arrangements with somebody without doing her own research on them?
Andy drinks some of the whiskey in front of her. It makes sense, of course it does. Yet she just wants to hear more opinions on her work that Emily has. Or she just wants to keep her talking.
Andy, always the one wearing her heart on her sleeve, the one who can never hide a feeling. She knows what having her in front of her students means to them. “I didn’t get a chance earlier, but thank you for coming in today. I know the kids had fun and learned a lot from you.”
Emily made a face, her eyebrows furrowing for a brief second and a quiet “tsh” leaving her mouth. “Oh, a gooey thing aren’t you? Let’s not make a big deal out of it. As long as my inbox stops being flooded, yes?” She asks as she lifts her drink back to her lips.
Andy can’t help but watch the motion. “Yes, I’ll stop sending emails. Until next term and I have new students.” She smiles, her eyes finally moving from Emily’s lips to her eyes. “Or you could just give me your phone number.” Out on a limb, said before Andy could even think about it. But now, oh she’s thinking about it.
Emily’s eyes shoot up to the professor. “Did you just ask for my phone number?” She’s not sure how to respond, she wasn’t thinking that tonight would lead anywhere.
“I did. We could make this a regular thing, God knows that I need it after the weeks I have.” Andy isn’t worried. The worst she can say is no and walk out of the bar. Andy is testing her luck.
Andy has always liked girls, she can sense something with Emily. But no matter what, Andy likes being in her presence.
Emily rolls her eyes for the second time tonight but this time, she has a barely there smile. “If you so much as double text me, I will block you.” Because Emily can use this too, something to get her out of the office earlier on Fridays. She won’t have to take work home with her for the weekends. She will never admit it but it has been a long time since she did something other than eat, sleep and work.
She pulls her cell phone out of her bag and unlocks it, ignoring the notifications that are piling up already. She clicks through it, opening the screen to create a new contract and that slides the phone over to Andrea.
Andy grins, quickly setting her glass down. “No double texting, got it.” She replies as she begins typing her name and number into the cell phone. She already knows that double texts are inevitable. And she’s willing to bet that Emily doesn’t mean that threat.
The phone is slid back to its owner, Emily calls the number before hanging up so Andrea now has hers.
A silence falls over them, the two drinks are finished and the waiter comes over, asking if they’re ready for the bill.
Emily nods, it’s late and she is quite ready to go home and do her best not to unpack anything that occurred tonight.
The waiter leaves only to return a few minutes later. An easy conversation happening between Emily and Andy about weekend plans. Andy will be grading and Emily will continue working on getting the fall collection finalized.
They both reach for the bill but Andy is faster. “I insist. You can get next week.” She drops her attention from the redhead as she opens it and pays thirty dollars in cash. She knows the tipping culture has really diminished as of late.
“Thank you.” Emily says, already taking hold of her purse. And Andy shakes her head, shaking the thanks off. They both slide out of the booth and walk side by side out of the bar.
It’s dark outside, the moon and streetlights being the only things shining down. Emily turns to Andy, pointing to the East. “I’m this way.”
Andy points to the West with a smile. “I’m that way. You have a good rest of your night, Emily. I’ll be texting you.” And then she’s stepping away, in the direction of her apartment.
Andy is sure about one thing, she just had a rather very important night. Something she thought she was doing just for her students has made it possible for her to have a routine meet-up with a beautiful woman. A woman Andy couldn’t wait to learn more about.
And as Emily is heading home, that box she keeps locked and deep inside of her is begging to be looked through. Emily is not used to people being interested in her, not her career but herself. As a person. She isn’t sure how Andy seemed to steamroll that entire conversation but Emily can’t find it in herself to fully complain about it.
They walk in the opposite direction with the knowledge that they’re just a little bit less alone in the world than they used to be.