The Guest Editor - Chapter Seven

AN: An update that has been a long time in coming. I hope it's worth it. I'm not sure if it is as consistent as some of the previous chapters, but I try my best. As always, highlighting any errors is appreciated.

Countdown to print: 104:23:21

"And this is some of the best work by our first year students," the teacher at FIT beckoned them into the workshop. Andy thought she was trying just a little too hard. The woman was wearing a flowery pink monstrosity and her make-up and horn-rimmed spectacles made her look like a brightly coloured insect.

Andy and Charlotte were being given a tour of the facilities by the head of the department. If Miranda had been present, no doubt she would have brought an entire entourage. As it happened, Andy took photographs of the things she liked and Charlotte made her own notes. The rest of their entourage were students and staff curious as to the intentions surprise but illustrious guests.

"I've been thinking, we could have some sort of 'Fashion in the Works' section where we showcase draft designs and concept art. Some of this is rather good. It's fresh, new, vibrant, exciting." Andy mused aloud as Charlotte scribbled away. "I love that dress," she murmured. "Charlotte? As the expert, what do you think?"

Charlotte looked up. "Well…it wouldn't suit me, but you'd look great in it. The colour contrast would be good on you. Shame it is just a piece of concept art though."

"Uh…actually ma'am I've nearly finished assembling it," a voice piped up from the back of the crowd which parted so Andy could see the speaker.

"And you are?" asked Andy.

"Dominic Schneider," the tall blond spoke with a hint of a German accent.

"Do you mind if we take a look at it?"

"It would be an honour Ms Sachs but it's in another building on the other side of the city."

"Dominic is one of our-" the teacher began but Andy ignored her.

"How quickly can you bring it to us?"

"Uh…"

"Bring it to the office. Shall we say in two, no, two and a half hours?" Andy didn't wait for a response. "Ask Charlotte for the details."

"Right, thank you," gasped Dominic, "honestly you don't know how much this means to me."

Andy turned. "No I don't, but if it is as good as your drawing, I want to include it in this month's issue. That's all."

Dominic was left looking like a fish out of water before he was given a subtle push by a friend towards Charlotte.

Countdown to print: 104:03:54

"Mesdames et Messieurs , nous approchons maintenant de l'aéroport John F. Kennedy. Il est 10h30. La température extérieure est de 18 Celsius, 65 degress fahrenheit. Le reste de l'équipage et moi-même vous souhaitons un voyage sûr et agréable."

"Ladies and gentlemen we are now on final approach into John F. Kennedy Airport. The time in New York City today is about 10:30. It is 18 degrees centigrade outside, 65 degress fahrenheit. I and the rest of the crew wish you a pleasant and safe onwards journey."

Jacqueline Follet returned her First Class seat to the upright position and drew back the blind. She watched as the plane got ever closer to the ground. She stretched, contemplating the day to come. The undercarriage locked into place with a thump as the ailerons extended. She was knocked back into her seat as the plane encountered a little turbulence before bouncing down onto the runway.

As soon as she was able, Jacqueline unclipped her seatbelt and powered up her phone. To hell with data roaming. She called her Paris office.

"Marguerite, get me the name of the hospital Miranda Priestly is staying in and text me the details of my hotel," she rattled off in French. "Then send me the-"

"Madame, you must not use your phone until you enter the terminal. It's against regulations," a harried American stewardess hurried over. Jacqueline waved her off. "Madame!"

"Can't you see I'm busy?" she nearly screeched.

"I must insist."

"Do you know who I am?"

"No Madame, but I know the rules. Please put away your phone."

Jacqueline ended the call with a huff.

Americans. Why did every day involve a fight with an American and their culture, or lack of one?

"We were told by your office that you wanted to see some potential modelling candidates," said the woman from FIT, leading the group into another room.

"Yes that is correct," replied Andy. "What have you got for me?"

"Well, I hope you find some to your liking," she said opening the door.

"Oookaaayyy…" Andy winced as her eyes fell on two dozen, scantily clad, fit, beautiful women, in nothing but their underwear.

"Will they do?" asked the woman from FIT.

"One moment please," Andy blinked rapidly, remembering the time she had to collect stills from a lingerie shoot. "Charlotte, a word," she beckoned her assistant over.

"Yes, Ms Sachs?"

"When whoever it was called FIT, did they made clear that it was for potential modelling contracts not softcore pornography?" Andy hissed the last four words.

"It's industry practice."

"Really?" Andy sighed and rolled her eyes. "So what is the common procedure here?"

"You pick the girls you like the look of, then the magazine deals with a contract. Vogue occasionally did it at NYU. The agencies do it all of the time."

"So it's like looking at cows at market…"

"I wouldn't quite put it like that."

"Well that is exactly what it is." Andy put her hands on her hips, her Louboutins beating a rapid tattoo as she stalked towards her potential new employees.

"You guys are all fashion students?"

"We are Ms Sachs," said a tall, statuesque blonde.

Andy had to take care where she was looking. She didn't want to give anybody wrong ideas.

"So you think you have some idea of what you are getting into."

"I'll tell you right now, that you don't," Charlotte cut in.

Andy turned. "And you've only had a day in the job," she smirked. "As you have obviously been told, I'm Andrea Sachs of the New York Times filling in for Miranda Priestly at Runway. I was once told by a good friend that a million girls would kill for a job at Runway. Judging by the level of talent at the magazine, and the fact that they continue to produce the highest level of content, I don't think my friend was lying. I'll be honest, I'm looking for the best. If not better than the best. Primarily, I'm here looking for models that we can use on an ad hoc basis. I'm not going to promise you a small fortune but you will be paid fairly and we want to cut out the middle-man. I'm not interested in dealing with a modelling agency but I do want to deal with interesting and dynamic people. What I don't want are airheaded, glorified coat hangers. I'm not looking for the next Kate Moss or Cara Delevingne. I'm looking for people who are impressive and successful beyond looking good on the pages of a glossy magazine. Is everybody still interested?"

"Yes ma'am," came the universal response.

'I got ma'amed again!' trilled a voice inside Andy's head. She smiled, going ever so slightly pink. "I'm also looking for people who also might be interested in helping to staff the Runway operation over the four fashion weeks whether that be from New York or joining us in Paris, London and Milan. I'm looking to cultivate talent. Still keen?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. To that end, I'm going to set you all a task. I want a single A4 handwritten biography from each of you. Charlotte and I will be coming around and photographing each of you and maybe asking a few questions. Include everything important that we should know about you and why you deserve to join Runway. Have we got some pens and paper?"

"I think we can get some," replied the woman from FIT, surprised at the course of events. Andy Sachs was certainly something new.

"Well, do that, we should only be a few hours. You can go do whatever it is you have to do. I'm sure we will be alright, the students can look after themselves. We can meet in the lobby in 2 and a half hours. That's all," said Andy turning away.

The woman from FIT was rather shocked that she was being dismissed.

"But my students-"

"Can look after themselves," Andy's shoes rang out a staccato beat as she marched away across the room. "Guys, feel free to dress. Wear whatever is comfortable. This is not a lingerie shoot!"

"Thank you, we'll meet you in the lobby when she said," said Charlotte, "excuse me but we've got a job to do."

"Miranda was never like this," said the woman from FIT to nobody in particular.

Countdown to print: 103:32:34

"I'm looking for Miranda Priestly," said the woman with carrying a huge bunch of freesias.

"Are you family member?"

"No a close colleague."

"I'm afraid that unless your name is on the approved list then we can't let you through."

"My name is Jacqueline Follet."

"Can I see some ID?"

"Of course," she produced her French driving license.

"I'm afraid I don't see your name here ma'am."

"Well then I fear there must have been some kind of mistake. I've been told that I'm temporarily stepping in for Miranda while she is ill. I need to see her."

"I'm sorry ma'am, hospital policy says that I can't let you through."

"Can you tell me how long she will be in for?"

"I'm afraid that even if I knew, I couldn't tell you."

Jacqueline wanted to scream at the nurse on the desk. It was not like this in France! She was so focussed on the desk that she didn't see the two young women come through the main doors behind her.

"What is she doing here?" said Cassidy to Caroline.

"I don't know, but it can't be good. Mom won't want to see her," she answered her twin.

"Well, let's go up before she sees us."

"Too late…" Caroline sighed.

"Girls," the Frenchwoman called, "when I heard about your mother I came as soon as I could. I suppose you've heard that I am taking over Runway in her absence. I'll do her proud."

The twins let their mouths drop open almost simultaneously. The gall of that woman! Both were suppressing their smirks of amusement. Did she really think that she came across as genuinely caring?

"Madame Follet," Cassidy replied, "I'm sure Mom would appreciate your concern."

"How is she?"

"On the mend."

"Can I see her?"

"I don't think that would be a good idea. She needs to rest."

"Of course. Please give her my regards and these wonderful flowers," she said, handing over the freesias. "I will be at the office if she needs anything."

"The office?"

"Why the Runway office of course. Monsieur Ravitz called me personally. I was specially requested."

Caroline hid her smirk behind her hand. "Well a wire must have got crossed somewhere," she murmured.

"We'll be sure to tell the office to expect your arrival," Cassidy said a little too loudly with a false smile.

"We'd better go up," continued Caroline.

"Yeah, it was nice to see you Madame," echoed Cassidy.

"I'll go to the office them. Call me if you need anything," the Frenchwoman stalked away.

"Oh I'll be sure to warn them of her arrival," Caroline whipped out her phone. "Doesn't she know that Mom hates freesias?"

"I'll call Nigel, you call Andy. I doubt she is aware that the French Skunk is in town," said Cassidy.

"She'll smell her before she sees her. That woman needs to sort out her perfume!"

"Mom wouldn't let the woman near the office."

"If she finds her way there, Mom will probably have the place disinfected afterwards." Caroline giggled.

"She is going to barbeque Irv for this. I do not want to be him right now."

"Me neither," her twin replied as Cassidy unceremoniously disposed the bouquet of freesias in the nearest litter bin.

Nigel Kipling was sat back in his office. Trying to arrange and rearrange a few things that Miranda would have ordinarily done. There were some viewings of collections pre-fashion week, a film premiere and a couple of private parties and charity benefits. At some of these events, Runway would have to make an appearance but whether Miranda would allow Andy to go in her place or whether Andy would even want to go to these things was yet to be established. His office phone bleeped.

"It's Cassidy Priestly on line one for you Nigel," called his assistant Olivia from the ante office through the open door.

"Thanks Olivia." Nigel picked up the handset. "Cassidy, how is your mother?"

"Recovering. Listen Nigel, we might have a problem."

"Uh- they are out at the moment Miss Priestly. Can I take a message?"

"No that's OK Eleanor. I've got her cell."

"Do you want Charlotte's number as well?"

"Charlotte?"

"Ms Sachs's new assistant."

"Yeah sure. I'll take it.

Andy was currently photographing the statuesque blonde who had first talked back to her. Maria was a sophomore from California with a twin at UCLA studying geochemistry.

"Lisa doesn't think much of my work."

"Each to their own. I'll be honest, 10 years ago, I had never even heard of Runway and had, I'll admit, no sense of fashion whatsoever. I came to respect it. I'm not an expert, just an admirer."

Her phone bleeped in her pocket. Pulling it out, she looked at the screen and read Caroline's name.

"I'm going to have to take this," Andy said, stepping away. "Hey Caroline. Is everything OK?"

"Mom is fine. Don't worry."

"Is she awake?"

"We haven't seen her yet."

"Oh…"

"Yeah, we were stopped by Jacqueline Follet in the lobby. She's on her way to the office now. Cassidy has called Nigel."

"Whoa…wait a minute. She's already here?"

"Ravitz called her."

"He might have mentioned to me that she was coming. Thanks for the heads up."

"I hope she doesn't cause too much trouble. Mom wanted her nowhere near New York."

"I know. Listen, I'm at FIT at the moment, I'll drop by the hospital at lunch time before I deal with Jacqueline. Do you want me to bring you guys anything?"

"Decent coffee? The hospital restaurant isn't that bad but the coffee is abysmal. You sure you can deal with the French Skunk?"

"Is her perfume still that overpowering?"

"Yeah, don't let her anywhere near the office unless you can get it aired out afterwards."

"I'll bear it in mind. I can deal with her. I've already dealt with Irv."

"Dealt with? Christ you sound like Mom. What did you do to him?"

"Well he shouldn't be bothering me again. If he knows what is good for him."

"Who are you and what have you done with Harry Potter girl?" Caroline giggled.

"That girl doesn't exist anymore. She grew up." Andy said sombrely.

"Well…"

"Anyway, thanks for calling. I'll see you at about one o'clock with Starbucks."

"Yeah."

"I'll call Nigel and Emily and get Jacqueline tidied away somewhere until I can talk to her. Thanks for the heads up."

"See you later."

"Goodbye," Andy rang off, standing, phone in hand, in quiet contemplation. "Charlotte, get me Emily or Nigel – oh speak of the devil." Her phone bleeped again. "Nigel, I just heard."

"Well we were expecting it."

"Listen, get somebody to greet her in the lobby and show her up to the executive floor. She's not to go into Runway. I won't be back until two-thirty at the earliest. I'm seeing Miranda."

"Send her our regards."

"Can you send a second car out here to take Charlotte back to the office when we are done here?"

"Yes boss."

"I would have taken an Uber but my card is playing up."

"I can get somebody to look into it. Use the company card."

"I'd like access to my own money too you know."

"Give it to Charlotte to give to me and I'll see if I can get it fixed."

"You would? That would be very helpful. Are you sure you are ok to deal with Jacqueline?"

"Well," Nigel mused, "Emily hates her as much as Miranda. They will get on fabulously!"

"Or I will return to find a warzone."

"That's true. Everything OK at FIT?"

"Well, the students seem alright. Not much of a fan of the staff. There is the potential for some interesting content for the magazine. I'm think of a 'Fashion in the Works' section for this edition. How is the office?"

"Busy, hectic, stressed. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Well I'll be back by two-thirty."

"I look forward to it."

"Follet is a headache I neither need nor want. Just keep her from meddling. That's all."

Countdown to print: 102:41:57

"Emily," Nigel called down the line, "I need you to go and meet somebody in the lobby."

"Get your assistant to do it," Emily said caustically.

"Jacqueline Follet is going to appear in any moment. Six wants her kept out of the office."

"Forget Little Miss Perfect, I don't want her anywhere near the office! We'd have to get the place deep cleaned. Her perfume stinks!"

"Well we'd all be obliged if you got your gas mask and diverted her up to the executive floor."

"When is she meant to be back?"

"Two thirty."

"So I've got to entertain Jacqueline for nearly two hours. I may as well tell her to come back later."

"Just keep her out of the office."

"Well the cleaning isn't on me if she somehow finds her way to it."

"None of us want her here."

"Is that in the office, in the city or in the country?"

"I'm sure Miranda would be quite content if she stayed in that dingy hole that we are forced to call Runway France."

"I'll deal with it. I'll try not to throw her out of a window, but I can't promise. You and Her Royal Highness owe me for this one Nigel."

"Ms Charlton, reception called, Jacqueline Follet is downstairs," a clacker poked her head around the door.

"Thank you, I'll be down shortly." 'Time to do battle.' Emily smoothed down her skirt, checked her appearance and headed for the elevator bank.

"Emily!" 'How did she crawl back to Runway France after the James Holt fiasco?' Emily wondered. She shuddered as Jacqueline gave what the Frenchwoman must have considered to be a friendly hug. The exchanged the standard cheek kisses before Emily broke the bad news.

"Jacqueline, unfortunately the editor won't be back until after lunch. I can either take you up to wait in a board room or I suggest you check in to your hotel."

"There must have been some kind of mistake, Miranda is in hospital and I was asked to fill in."

"I'm afraid you must be mistaken," Emily simpered.

"Who is the new editor?"

"Google her." Emily said unhelpfully.

"Emily, why do I think you are trying to waste my time?"

"I'm not, I assure you. But as you will see on the website, we've already announced things. Now, shall I call you a cab back to your hotel or do you want to head up?"

"I'll follow you. I want to speak to Irving."

"I'm afraid Mr Ravitz is unavailable."

"Really?" Jacqueline raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"We are, as I'm sure you are aware, very busy people."

"Indeed. I must call the Paris office when we get up there."

The elevator ride passed in silence, it sped silently up on past the Runway offices and opened out on a nearly deserted executive level.

"I've got to get back to work, if you need anything, use the desk phone to get it."

"When will somebody be available to meet me?"

"Not until after lunch. Sorry. Busy day," Emily said unsympathetically before marching out.

Jacqueline was seething. She opened her phone.

"Marguerite, get me Irving Ravitz's personal line and find out who is editing Runway. Then see that my bags are sent to the Marriott and have somebody send me some edible food, not this American trash. D'accord?"

"Oui madame."

"C'est tout!"

A/N: Pardon my French, but I used Google translate for it! I hope you enjoyed. Please tell me what you thought. All feedback welcome – praise, criticism, plot ideas, jokes, even typo corrections. Until the next time…