The Touch Chapter 5.

Nigel Kipling walked from the elevator into the corridors of Runway magazine on the first Monday in December at 8.15 and cheerfully breathed in the air of bustle and activity he enjoyed so much. The hallways and offices were full of young people, talented, enthusiastic young people, who by and large, loved what they did, and worked damn hard to please him, and his Editor in Chief, daunting challenge as that was.

Racks of Summer dresses were blocking the passage ways as the various editors prepared for the next scheduled issue's conception stage, and he saw the usual pile of large brown envelopes in his In-tray, containing no doubt more approaches from young photographers hoping to get a chance to show their wares. Runway was his home, his natural metier, and he loved it.

But today he also wanted to follow up the little soap-opera he had launched before the weekend. How had the "girls" fared? He hadn't dared call either of them to check up.

His assistant art editor Emily wasn't at her desk, which was a worrying sign, but she flew round the door of the art studio within minutes, her heels clattering on the hard floors. Her makeup was in full-on crazy bright turquoise mode.

"Bloody typical! That stupid girl Andrea. I knew she would ruin everything."

"Hey, what's up now?" Nigel hung up his coat and turned a little nervously.

"She hasn't just gone and got herself fired again! Honestly. I could murder her. Just as I was beginning to settle in here, Miranda called me last night and asked me to cover the first assistant's post for the rest of the week. She wants new assistants recruited and fully trained before Christmas. Apparently Miss Sachs is no longer with us, again!"

"Did Miranda give any reasons?"

"Huh, as if I'd dare ask! Some latest fuck-up, no doubt. She might tell you. I thought she might have warned you, because this will affect you as well as me. I just can't manage three jobs!"

Emily's fury prevented her from bursting into tears, as frequently happened. Swearing like a pirate was her go-to stress release. For her it was a more productive way of handling her crazy life than collapsing with a sodden pile of tissues.

"Oh and Miranda did say for you to pop in to her office, when you arrived."

Nigel liked the way Emily said "pop in". It was a British turn of phrase he was sure Miranda had not used.

"I'll go now. Don't worry. H.R. have a bank of hopefuls, just waiting to be called up. You know, ' a million girls would kill for that job . . . ' ." He laughed, but hoped his optimism about the reasons for Andy's disappearance was justified.

Miranda stood with her back to him as he tapped on her office door and entered. She was looking out at the New York skyline, in one of her favorite poses by the plate glass windows. She wore a burgundy knit dress which fitted her body exactly from shoulder to hem. He was as gay as an extended family of jaybirds, but even to him she exuded . . , well, perhaps he should leave it at sex-appeal.

"Dare one enquire?" he began. "Emily informs me we have a vacancy here once more for two assistants."

Miranda turned. Her face told him nothing. She looked like a statue.

"Shut the door," she said.

He obeyed, wondering if his heart was going to sink.

When he returned though, Miranda drew him back with her towards the window, as far from the possibility of being overheard as the office could offer. They looked out at New York together. Whatever Miranda wished to say, it wasn't going to be a trivial matter of page placement or the wrong belt.

"It's going to be OK," she whispered. "You were right. She does love me, really love me. We've had such a wonderful weekend. I can't begin to tell you. And you're the only one who knows."

"I am so happy for you. Miranda, you deserve this. You deserve to know what joy is. I am sure you have found the right one at last. So where is she?"

"We agreed it will be impossible for her to carry on here. Work place relationships, power imbalance, Irv poking his nose in, everything. Besides, I would get no work done!

No, she's setting up an office to write at home. She has a backlog of writing projects she says she hadn't been able to finish in all the time she's been with Runway. She's tucked up in the townhouse, with Cara and the housekeeper to look after her. She's safe."

"And the twins? Have you told them anything?"

"Yes, they know Andrea will be living with us from now on. They are happy, and they could see I am happy. Nigel, she's so good with them. She can even understand their strange vocabulary and text language speak. We all had breakfast together and then she actually walked them to Dalton's.

"She says a morning walk is good for children and they trotted off with her without one complaint. She did a very creditable impersonation of Mary Poppins. Oh Nigel, she is glorious, she truly is."

"My, the weekend must have gone well. Where's our Ms. Cynical gone to? And how will you hide being so happy in front of your cowering workforce?

"You know, I really don't care. I am in a honeymoon period which may just last the rest of my life. Nigel, I owe you an immense debt of gratitude for nudging me along on Friday. I would never have had the courage if you hadn't seen what you did, if you hadn't just pushed me towards her."

Nigel smiled, and squeezed her hand. "Just don't melt too much Miranda. Where would we be without our Dragon, our Ice Queen? We have to keep the show on the road, remember."

"Yes. About that, I'm sorry I have had to call up Emily again. She is the only one here who can run my diary. You can have her back soon I promise."

"Emily is highly motivated to return to the Art department, so she'll train some new assistants for you as soon as possible, I'm sure. I presume she can stay on her present salary at least."

"Oh, yes, give the girl a bonus. She can draw three salaries for that matter! Maybe you should tell her Andrea has been seconded to other duties, not sacked. But I don't trust her not to spread word of this all through the whole building if she knows the truth. The girl loves to gossip at the best of times."

"When will you make the big reveal? Come out at the Christmas party maybe?"

"I'll agree to whatever makes Andrea comfortable. It is her reputation I want to protect, and the minimizing any upset for my girls of course. Andy has to tell her parents first, and I am sure they will send men in white coats round to collect her if I'm not careful. They must think I am mad, bad and dangerous to know. I'm not at all sure I approve of myself, so why would they?"

"Stop beating yourself up. I know Andy has excellent taste in lovers, well, apart from cook-boy anyway. You'll make a stylish couple. I can't wait to dress you in matching outfits for your wedding!"

Miranda's eyebrows rose. "Such shallow ideas, Nigel, so disappointing." She couldn't resist a dig. "But, you can start helping me improve Andrea's wardrobe. She virtually only has the clothes she stands up in, and I'll have to release her from house arrest into the public arena before long. I so badly want to spoil her, but I can see I'll have to fight her into anything over $50 or other than Target. You will do it better than I"

"Leave it with me. The clothes she looked so good in before are still hanging together in the Closet."

"No, I don't want her to wear Runway cast-offs. Start with a 50K budget and choose a new wardrobe. I'm funding this."

"Shouldn't Andy have a say? She'll be cross if you don't let her feel she's involved in the decisions."

Miranda paused. "Yes, you're right. I'll call her and ask her which designers she prefers. "

Nigel skipped back to the Art Department. Their little conversation had made him so happy. He chuckled at Miranda's last comment. How things had moved on in the last year. That she should ask Andy the question about preferred designers at all was remarkable, and that Andy would know an answer to give, even more.

By Christmas, more and more of the staff had absorbed the new situation at Runway. Whispers round the building were that Miranda had a secret lover. Miranda was happy. Miranda was still horribly unpredictable at times, but she was actually behaving like a human being. Two new assistants began working together in the outer office, and found her a rational and informative boss. She arrived at 9am and left at 6pm. She arranged a courier service for the Book, so no-one apart from her worked until the small hours, or braved the streets at 11pm. A state of the art coffee machine was installed in the office suite, so wasted hours and broken heels running for Starbucks were a thing of the past. Word slowly got out that these innovations might have come from the influence of said secret lover.

By pure chance Emily discovered who this lover was, three days before Christmas. She remembered she'd promised Andy a drink, and felt a glimmer of seasonal affection for her. Heaven knew what the poor fool was doing for a living now, whether she had starved to death, or returned to Ohio. Emily thought she should find out.

She dialled Andy's personal cell phone. It was picked up at once, but there seemed to be a lot of noise in the background.

"Hi Emily, how's it going?" Andy obviously saw her name on the contact list as she answered.

"Would you like to meet up for a drink?"

"Sure, not tonight, it's the twins' school play. How about tomorrow?"

"Twins?"

"Oh, shoot." Then she was obviously turning her face away from the phone. "Cass, stop doing that to your sister. ! "

"Where are you? Are you at the town house? Are you working for Miranda there?" Emily's voice rose higher and higher with each question.

"Hmm. In a way. Oh well, meet me for a drink and I'll explain."

Emily was wracked with curiosity but refused to show it. She named their favorite bar near the Runway offices. "Tomorrow at seven."

Then she heard Andy murmur to someone else in the room. "Our kitten is about to escape from its little bag, darling. I'm so sorry." And the phone call ended.

It was like a scene from an old Bob Newhart comedy sketch as Andrea repeated her much rehearsed explanation to Emily of where she had been for the last two and a half weeks. Andy, dressed in a new sapphire blue winter coat from the current catalogue, and wrapping long legs round a bar stool, tried to keep them both on track as she confirmed, that yes she was living with Miranda and the twins, that no, she wasn't the cleaner but was indeed Miranda's significant other, and that yes, the ring on her left hand was an engagement ring. They planned to get married in May, 2005, in Massachusetts. Miranda had already bought a property in Provincetown where they could take quiet vacations in a gay-friendly environment.

Emily was an intelligent girl with two Master's degrees, but her brain refused to process the information. When it finally sank in, the swearing which came from her was most unladylike. She sounded like a squawking parrot rescued from a most unsavoury pirate ship. Andy let the storm ride out.

"Be happy for us, Em. I'm hoping you'll be my bridesmaid, if not Miranda's." The squawking eventually subsided into mutterings and teeth grinding. "You can even organise the wedding. Miranda was impressing on me how good you are at events management." The magic words worked like a charm.

Calm was eventually restored and Emily began to talk of the best way to manage the press release and inevitable fallout from the news. She admitted to herself how Andrea seemed well, scandalously well. In fact she no longer looked at all like the sleep deprived wraith she had been after Paris. She positively glowed with good health and happiness.

Then, as they stirred their Manhattans, in Manhattan, Andrea couldn't resist. "Do you remember when you asked if I expected Miranda to tuck me up in bed and read me a bed-time story? Well, we are both seriously running out of good books. Any suggestions?"

The ensuing swear words she heard in reply made her laugh out loud.

Epilogue.

The Met Gala in May 2019 was one of the most extravagant displays of New York fashion in years. The stars were out in force, and the celebrities were wowing the crowds on the red carpet as they went past the banks of TV cameras, and blossom filled piles of pink roses.

Miranda Priestly was there as always, her iconic silver hair copied but never quite matched by many of the younger women whose admiration kept her firmly on the A list. It was her final year as Editor of Runway, but she looked as young and almost as fit as she had fifteen years before. She carried a little more weight that she had in middle-age, but it suited her and stopped her face showing any wrinkles. Her ankles were as slim and her posture as erect as ever. She had such an innate sense of style that her dress, her jewellery and her make-up always perfectly complemented each other. Tonight she wore a shimmering gold gown, with off the shoulder bodice, covered in part by a gold and silver stole. It was distinctive and several people asked her who the designer was.

Her hand, as she exited the car, and climbed the steps to the Gala, remained firmly in the grasp of her companion, life partner and wife, a brunette beauty whose smile remained as wide, and with hair as luxuriant, as the day they had first met. It was still untamed, already slipping out of its supposedly formal designer look, despite the hairdresser's best efforts with hair spray and bobby pins.

Andrea tonight wore a multi coloured, sequinned dress, chosen for her as usual by Miranda, who took her responsibilities as family wardrobe mistress very seriously. Andrea happily relinquished all responsibility for what she wore in public to her wife. Her mind was usually on other things after all.

She had produced books and babies in alternate years over the last decade, but neither showed on her face or figure. She was now on the fiction best-seller list, and still managed to run their family of five children.

At least Cassidy and Caroline were both now grown and launched into professions, the former working at NASA, as a junior scientist, while she also completed her PhD, having developed an unusual passion for Astro-physics before she finished high school.

"Remember the ping-pong ball planetarium you made for us when we were ten?" she had teased Andy. "It started me off. I owe everything to you!"

Caroline had followed her Mom into art and fashion, and after graduating was now apprenticed to a designer in Milan. She came home regularly with ever increasing prowess in Italian swearwords, and a growing confidence in her own designs. Her mother wore one of Caroline's designs tonight, quietly bursting with pride, whenever she was complimented on it.

Their three younger children, two sisters and little brother, were home, hopefully already fast asleep in bed. Andrea kept her Iphone on vibration in her bag just in case, but she didn't anticipate any domestic crisis. Cara, the Nanny, was rock solidly reliable, and had been with the family now for twenty-five years.

Having two Moms instead of a Dad never fazed any of the children. They all still called the town-house home. It was so convenient for Dalton's, the Manhattan fashion quarter, and the park in which to walk the dogs.

Patricia had eventually been replaced as the family pet by two Bichon Frieze bitches, which Andrea said reminded her of little Mirandas, both in the manic way they rushed around and ordered everyone about, and in the hours they spent at the doggy hairdressers to remain immaculate. Unlike Patricia, they were small enough to sit on the sofa in the family room, watching "It's me or the dog," and hopefully learning something.

Tonight was very special because Miranda and Andrea were celebrating their fourteenth year of marriage the same weekend, and the Gala gave them an opportunity to show the world just how stable and contented their partnership remained.

They wanted to stress this, for they were icons of New York's gay community and exemplified such a happy union, that they'd charmed many of the most truculent conservatives in public life. Even Andy's folks back home in Ohio had eventually grown very fond of Miranda, and attended their wedding in force. Her parents adored all the children so much, they braved the New York traffic regularly in order to stay with them there and up in Provincetown.

Nigel, already ensconced at the Runway table with his friends, watched them enter and approach with familiar pride. As he saw Miranda seat Andrea first, and then gently touch her cheek in order to smooth back a curl, he remembered how it had all started. Miranda dropped a kiss on Andrea's neck. Nigel smiled a small secret smile, and offered them the wine list. "2004 was a very good year," he murmured. Miranda smiled back at him. "It was, it most certainly was, Nigel."

The End.