Mary's World

 Title: Their Memory a Blessing

Author: Mary Griggs

Fandom: DWP

Pairing: Miranda/Andy

Rating: G 

Summary: Miranda and Andy reflect on those from the fashion industry who died over the course of 2022.

 

Author’s Notes: Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox are the true owners; I'm just letting the ladies play in my sandbox for a while. 
 

After locking the deadbolt, Andy dropped her keys into the cloisonné enamel bowl near the front door. It was after eight o’clock on the final Friday night of the year and she was so very glad to be home. 

 

She just closed her eyes and took a moment to bask in the silence. The week between Christmas and New Year’s was always busy at the paper and she was brain tired from a day of fact checking other, more senior journalists’ work in addition to meeting her own deadlines. 

 

Opening her eyes, Andy cocked her head and focused her awareness on her surroundings. She always swore that she could tell if Miranda was around by the energy level of the place. Miranda just seemed to operate on a higher frequency than anyone else she had ever met.

 

Her gut told her Miranda was home but it felt muted. Andy frowned at the sensation as she shrugged off her jacket. Before hanging it in the closet, she checked to make sure both gloves were in the pockets. Ever since she was a child, she had a tendency to lose multiple hats, gloves and scarves throughout the winter. As the current pair was a Christmas present from Miranda, she definitely didn’t want to misplace them.

 

Stepping out of her heels, she flexed her toes as she tried to pinpoint where Miranda was in the house. Stymied, she gave up on her intuition and padded over on bare feet to peer into the study. Empty. She then climbed up the stairs to their bedroom. No Miranda but, while she was there, she changed into sweats and fuzzy socks.

 

The girls were still at their father’s for the holiday break and their rooms were dark, so she went back downstairs. She checked out the kitchen and saw lights flickering in the rear of the garden. She opened the door and then closed it quickly. The temperature had dropped since she had gotten home.

 

Once she had put her coat and hat back on, Andy walked out to the distant corner. Miranda was sitting on one of the wrought iron chairs in front of a mosaic table top with many different sizes and colors of candles on it. 

 

Miranda stared at the flames, clutching the long charcoal lighter from the grill.

 

“May I join you?” Andy asked.

 

Miranda jumped a little as she whirled to face her wife. “Oh, Andrea. I didn’t realize you were home.”

 

“I only just arrived. What are you doing?”

 

“Something I haven’t had to do in…” Her voice trailed off as she thought.

 

“In?” Andy prompted.

 

“Sorry, I was trying to recall. I think the last time we had the passing of so many fashion icons in a single year was during the worst of the AIDS epidemic.” She blew on her fingers. “It was too many years of too many losses.”

 

“Is that why you’re out here in the cold?”

 

“I’ve been remembering.”

 

“And all this?”

 

“A way of honoring their memory as we mark the end of one year and before we start a new one.”

 

“Will you tell me about them?”

 

“You’ve probably read their obituaries.”

 

“I don’t know your stories, though.”

 

Once Miranda nodded, Andy dragged another chair over. She sat down on the cold metal and was glad she had put on her warmest sweatpants. 

 

Miranda extended her arm and tapped a fingernail to the oversized hurricane globe around the tall, black candle. “André Talley was so big that many didn’t realize how much hurt him. All those sticks and stones and racist stings took their toll.” She rubbed her finger over the top of the glass and murmured, “He was my mentor when I started out as an editor. His knowledge was encyclopedic and helped me place so much of the work in context.”

 

“Like the history of cerulean?”

 

“Exactly.” Miranda winked at her. “He laughed when I told him that story.”

 

“I bet. I’m glad you had him in your life.”

 

“Thank you.” Miranda wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. She pointed at the next candle. It was gold and seemed to glitter.

 

“Pretty.”

 

“Like the man himself. Manfred Thierry Mugler put on some of the best shows to grace fashion week. You never knew what would come down the catwalk next.”

 

“I’m not familiar with the name.”

 

“Oh, you might have known him from his work in the music industry – he made Glamazon an aspirational style long before he dressed Beyonce.”

 

“Queen Bey?” Andy exclaimed.

 

“Indeed. And, she wasn’t his only foray into music. He collaborated on music videos with David Bowie and George Michael and dressed Madonna, Grace Jones, Diana Ross, Cardi B.” She laughed, “Oh, how I hated his inverted silhouette but I will admit it was revolutionary.”

 

“May peace be upon him.”

 

“Thank you.” Miranda shivered and then smiled when she saw the gloves Andy pulled out of her coat.

 

“Oh, you still have these? I was planning to safety pin them to the end of your sleeves.”

 

“Now, stop!” Andy slapped her arm. “I could take them back, you know?”

 

Miranda quickly slid them on. “No, no! I do appreciate their warmth.”

 

“Have you been out here a while?”

 

“An hour or so. I left work early as I had to go out for the candles.” She side-eyed Andy. “Not something I wanted to send an assistant out to get.”

 

Andy rolled her eyes. “God forbid you show your feelings to those who work for you.”

 

Sniffing, Miranda tossed her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

With another eye roll, Andy replied, “You don’t fool me, Priestly. You have many layers and, it has been my pleasure to plumb your hidden depths.”

 

“Mmm, hmmm,” Miranda moaned before licking her lips.

 

“Keep your mind out of the gutter, missy.” Andy smiled fondly at her and waved her hand at one candle that was different from the others. It was a narrow pillar like those used for prayer candles. Instead of a saint on it, there was a taped picture. 

 

“Who is that?”

 

“Roxanne Lowit.”

 

“And the picture?” 

 

“I took it of her many years ago. She took a candid photo of me and I took a photo of her in return.” Miranda smiled. “I had just learned how to use my phone to take pictures.”

 

Andy cocked her head. “I remember now. You used some of her work in that spread on the body issue.”

 

“Yes, she was a witness to the evolution of beauty. She made her name by focusing on the models themselves. She went backstage and focused attention on the many people behind the scenes.”

 

“Cool.”

 

“She was also incredibly nice.”

 

“And you were still friends?”

 

“Did you want to hear this?”

 

“Yes, I’m sorry. I was only joking.”

 

“I know. I’m just a little sensitive tonight.”

 

“Did you want me to go?” Andy half stood up but was stopped by Miranda’s hand on her arm.

 

“No, please stay. You are my comfort and my strength.”

 

Even by the light of the candles, Andy’s blush was obvious.  “Thank you.” She squeezed the hand on her arm. “My midwestern roots are making me itch to make you a casserole, though.”

 

Shuddering, Miranda laughed. “No hot dish!”

 

They smiled at one another in memory of the last trip they had made to Ohio together following the death of Andy’s father. The kitchen, dining room and part of the living room of her childhood home had been filled with a multitude of dishes brought be neighbors, friends, colleagues and assorted other mourners. They had spent hours labeling the food and trying to find places to put it in her mother’s freezer.

 

“Okay, I’ll restrain myself.” 

 

Miranda snorted. “That’ll be the day.” 

 

A gust a wind tore through the garden and sent the flames dancing. Miranda reached forward and adjusted the glass protecting the black and white candle from the draft. There was a beautiful butterfly etched on the glass.

 

“Who is that for?”

 

“Hanae Mori.”

 

Andy furrowed her brow. “Didn’t she dress Hillary?”

 

“Very good. There may be hope for you yet.”

 

Andy mockingly brushed the insult off her shoulders and asked, “Will you tell me about her?”

 

“She also dressed Princesses Grace and Masako and American royalty like Lady Bird Johnson, Martha Graham and Nancy Regan. Every woman who wore her, was given confidence and dignity from the elegance of her designs.” Miranda rubbed her fingertips over the etched butterfly. “She gave many the courage to spread their wings.”

 

The candle next to that one was a silver grey. The flame kept guttering and was giving off an inky black smoke.

 

“I think I know who this one is for.”

 

Miranda nodded. “Yes, it is for Patrick Demarchelier.” She sighed. “Dear Patrick.”

 

“You relied on him a lot.”

 

“I did. He could sense my vision and bring it out with his photographs.”

 

“May his memory be a blessing.”

 

“With some of the allegations of misconduct out there, I’m hoping all who suffered find peace.”

 

The journalist in Andy wanted to press her for more but knew this evening wasn’t the right time. She turned her attention to a group of three candles under one large hurricane globe.

 

“And these?”

 

“Peter Hidalgo, Nino Cerruti and Issey Miyake. There were all designers who brought life to fashion - Issey with his pleats and fabrics, Peter with his paintbrush and windows and Nino’s efforts to bring genderless garments to the masses.”  

 

“Do they know how Peter died?”

“I don’t believe so. It was a true shame that he went from the International Rising Star in 2010 to being found dead in a homeless shelter.”

 

“It was heartbreaking to hear of his passing like that.”

 

“I know,” Miranda replied. She shook her head and tapped the next candle. The glass holder had a skyline scene of New York.

 

“This one is for Katie Gallager. She reminded me a little of myself. Like so many New Yorkers, she came here from somewhere else with nothing and gave everything. The grit and creativity of entrepreneurs like her, help make so much of the beauty of this city.”

 

“Didn’t she tend bar with AOC?”

 

“Yes, before Ocasio-Cortez was elected to Congress.”

 

“Neat.” Andy pointed at the next candle, a bright, garish orange. “I think I can guess who this one is for.”

 

“Vivienne Westwood.”

 

“Isn’t she the one who flashed the paparazzi after getting her Order of the British Empire?”

 

“Indeed. She spent decades putting her thumb in the eye of propriety and tradition. She took bustles and corsets and frock coats and made them commentary and then took t-shirts and artworks and made them fashionable.”

 

“Quite the character.”

 

“You said a mouthful.”

 

The final candle was a little separate from the others on the table. It was a soft yellow and gave a lovely glow.

 

“Who is that one for?”

 

“For Barbara Walters. She might not have been strictly fashion but she was a shining example of possibility for women.”

 

They sat and watched the flames flicker for a while. It was strange to seem them move in all directions, even when there was no wind.

 

Andy saw a couple of other unlit candles on the ground. “What are those for?”

 

“There are others who died, photographers and models. I was going to light them next.”

 

“Could I do it?”

 

Miranda nodded as she handed over the lighter. “I would like that.”

 

Reverently, Andy put the candles on the table and lit them. She closed her eyes and offered up a prayer of peace. Opening her eyes, she stared for a moment at Miranda, lit by candlelight. “Beautiful,” she whispered.

 

“Pardon?”

 

Blinking back tears, Andy said, “Thank you. I’m so grateful for you letting me in.” 

 

Miranda blinked back her own tears. “I’m glad I was able to share them with you.”

 

She reached out and took Miranda’s hand. “Are there any other rituals you’d like to observe?”

 

“Just a few words.”

 

“I’m listening.”

“Okay.” Miranda stood up and pulled Andy into her arms. “We have lit these candles to honor our grief and give thanks for the lives of our loved ones. May their light guide us toward healing.”

“Amen,” Andy answered.

“Their legacy shines in the darkness and chases away grief. We cherish the gift of their lives and promise to keep their memory safe in our hearts.”

Andy responded, “Thank you for sharing your light.”

Miranda squeezed her tightly. They stood there, rocking slightly until Andy shivered from the cold.

Miranda released her hug and took Andy’s hand. “Come, my little icicle. Let us go inside and get you warm.”

“Sounds good. Are you going to blow out the candles?”

“No, I will let their light burn on against the darkness.”

“That’s a lovely thought.” Andy opened up the back door and unzipped her coat. Moving over to the cabinet, she asked, “Would you like a cup of decaf coffee? Or maybe some decaf tea?”

“Just warm up a mug of water and I will drink the sadness from the cup.”

“My, you are morose tonight.”

“Only because you are denying me my caffeine.”

“Me and your doctor and your children. I’m not alone in wishing to have you around for a lot longer.” Andy pointed back out the way they’d come. “I don’t want to be doing this for you any time soon.”

“All right, my love. I will drink the grass clippings.” Miranda smirked. “Of course, a shot of Maker’s Mark will help me smile while I sip the tea.”

Andy laughed and went into the study to grab the bottle of whiskey. “Anything for one of your smiles.”

Turning back toward the garden, Miranda kissed her fingertips and touched her heart. She spoke into the night, “Go, my dears, and know no further sorrow.” 

 

 

 Title: I had hope

Author: Mary Griggs

Fandom: DWP
Characters: Miranda, Andy

Pairing: Miranda/Andy

Rating: PG 

Word Count: 1000

Summary: Miranda and Andy watch the newscast on Wednesday, January 20, 2021.

 

Author’s Notes: Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox are the owners; I'm just letting the ladies play in my sandbox for a while. 

 

The title comes from a line from the film – “I had hope. My God, I live on it.”

***

 

 

Andy stumbled over the fringe of the antique Persian carpet as she came into the entertainment room. The mugs and glasses on the tray she carried teetered precariously but nothing spilled and she grinned at herself. 

 

Looking up she saw Miranda sitting in the middle of the Chesterfield sofa, wearing her soft gray bathrobe and no makeup. Her smile deepening at the casual image, Andy set the tray on the coffee table and handed Miranda a crystal flute filled with an orange liquid.

 

Miranda took a sip and choked. She gasped, “This is so not a mimosa. What is in this thing?”

 

“Well, I was originally going to make mimosas as it is so early but then I thought a screwdriver would be more appropriate for the day. I didn’t want to lose the celebration part so I put some champagne in, too.” She took her own sip and grimaced while blinking her watering eyes. “I’m calling it an Absolute Screw You.”

 

Miranda took another sip. “It does fit the final hours of his presidency.”

 

“I know, right?” Andy threw herself beside Miranda on the couch. The leather was cold on her skin and she smiled softly when Miranda handed her the cashmere throw blanket. She shook it out over both their laps and tipped her face up for a kiss when they were snugged together.

 

“I also brought up mugs of celebration tea.”

 

“Oh? Which one?”

 

“That black tea with blue and white flower petals.”

 

“Ah, from Republic of Tea.”

 

“Yes. It won’t be as hot as your coffee but I figured the coffee will get cold anyway while we watch.”

 

“Indeed. I may drink lukewarm tea but I won’t tolerate anything but…” 

 

“Center of the sun hot coffee,” Andy interrupted. “I know.” In a sotto voce she said, “God knows, I know.”

 

“It is good to know some lessons stuck.” Miranda raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow when Andy stuck out her tongue. “Careful - your face might freeze that way.”

 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Andy leered and chortled and then looked at her half empty glass. “Maybe vodka and champagne was a little much before breakfast.”

 

“Possibly but it isn’t like this happens every Wednesday.” Miranda freed her arm from under the blanket and clicked the remote to turn on the television. “Any station choice?”

 

“CNN.”

 

They watched and giggled to themselves as the newscasters couldn’t contain their laughter to hear “Don’t Stop Believing” blasting from speakers set up on the south lawn as everyone waited for the 45th President of the United States to exit the White House. There were a number of press and reporters standing to the side but the rest of the lawn was empty.

 

“Where is everyone?”

 

“Hmmm?”

 

“You’d think his staff and the rats who didn’t desert the sinking ship would be there,” Andy said.

 

“Maybe they’re at the airport.”

 

“You suppose there are others like us, just morbidly watching to make sure they actually leave?”

 

“Most likely. After January 6th, I know I won’t be able to relax until I’m sure he’s gone and the other oaths are administered.”

 

Andy suddenly leaned forward as Melania and Donald headed to the waiting helicopter. “Hey, where’s Barron? You don’t think they forgot him?”

 

“Or, worse, left him Home Alone!” Miranda replied.

 

They giggled again and continued to watch as the scene moved to Joint Base Andrews. 

 

“So few,” Miranda murmured at the small number of people gathered before the podium.

 

“It mainly looks like family.”

 

As he smiled and waved to the sparse hangers-on, Andy muttered, “Just fucking leave already.”

 

Miranda laughed and patted her knee. “Soon, my darling.”

 

They kept their eyes on the television, even though they rolled them a few times during his remarks. Winding down, Trump said, “We will be back in some form” and Miranda snorted. “As Defendant One, maybe.”

 

“You think they’ll bring him up on charges?”

 

“Cities he stiffed and even private citizens will sue him. I’m going to enjoy watching Roberta Kaplan put him through the wringer while representing Mary and Jean.”

 

“And Congress?”

 

“It is a fine line. Many want to get to the business of fixing things and addressing the pandemic. A protracted hearing won’t give anything but oxygen to his enablers. However, the establishment wants to ensure he can’t run again in 2024 and that can only be guaranteed with an impeachment.” 

 

“Yeah, I just want to get over it.”

 

“We won’t if we don’t address things. Joe was so right when he said last night at the Reflecting Pool, ‘To heal, we must remember.’”

 

Andy tipped her glass slightly, “Here’s to truth and reconciliation.”

 

“And justice for all.”

 

Sitting side by side on the couch, they held hands as the door closed on Air Force One.

 

Miranda raised her glass and said, “May we miss you but never forget you. Goodbye and good riddance.”

 

“Here, here.”

 

They drained their glasses. Andy took the empty glasses and put them on the table before handing over a mug of tea. “So, what now?”

 

“We find something to watch and then tune back in for the inauguration at noon.”

 

“Did you ever think we’d get here?” Andy asked.

 

“I had moments of doubt.” 

 

Andy snuggled against her partner and said, “You live on hope.”

 

Miranda kissed the top of her head. “Not on hope alone. But without hope, life is not worth living.”

 

“You make my life worth living.”

 

“Sap.”

 

Andy squawked. “I’m not sappy. I’m romantic!”

 

“Of course, you are.” Miranda held the remote up. “So, if I start the DVD, it won’t play Princess Bride?”

 

Blushing Andy grabbed at the remote. “Shaddup and press play.”

 

Miranda laughed and complied. “As you wish.”

***

If you'd like to read more of my fan fiction, check out my works on Archive of Our Own. My books are available from Bella Books or ordered from your local bookseller or wherever books are sold online.

 I’ve joined with a great group of authors in giving out a collection of short stories in an ebook” “We’ve Got the Power: Stories by Lesbians Who Vote” to anyone who posts a 2-part proof of voting. You can post on social media and put the link to it in the comments to this post and I’ll email you the link to download the ebook. You can also tag me on Facebook or Twitterand I will message you the link.

Here are the basics:
(1) Every photo should include either YOU, your PET, or a BOOK to make it personal

(2) Every photo should include ONE of these things to prove you’re ready to vote or have already voted
– your polling place
– your mail-in ballot (but not how you marked it)
– if you’ve already sent your ballot in, the place where you dropped it off
– if you vote online, the home page
– your voter registration card (no identifying info)
– your candidate T-shirt, hat, bumper sticker, yard sign
– your I Voted sticker
– anything else you can think of to show us that you VOTE

*Non-US voters: If the items on this list don’t apply to you, think of something that does. Remember to include (1) with your photo.

Please do not post the link I give you anywhere – we want to make sure we are getting proof of voting for every ebook that goes out. Thanks in advance!
 

Other authors include:
Tracey Richardson
KG MacGregor
Marianne K Martin
Celeste Castro
Carolyn Elizabeth
Liana Villeneuve
Cheryl A. Head
J.E. Knowles
Cade Haddock Strong
Susan X Meagher
Cindy Rizzo
Rachel Spangler
Me – Mary Griggs
Jaime Clevenger
Renée Bess

Geaux Vote!

 

Title: Et tu, Karl?

Author: Mary Griggs

Fandom: DWP
Characters: Emily, Miranda, Andy

Pairing: Miranda/Andy

Rating: PG 

Word Count: 1900

Summary: Emily and Miranda have a moment in the copy room.

 

Author’s Notes: Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox are the owners; I'm just letting the ladies play in my sandbox for a while. 

 

This piece is in response to Karl Lagerfeld’s remarks on #MeToo (https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/karl-lagerfeld-slams-the-me-too-movement-models-that-complain-about-being-groped_us_5ad49b6ae4b0edca2cbbfedd) and how I think Miranda would respond. 

***

Emily entered the darkened Runway anteroom and felt her shoulders settle. Every morning as she got dressed and ready for work, she was consumed by a fear of being late or, worse, not making it to work at all. Getting into her space and knowing that she, Emily Charlton, really had the job a million girls would kill for, was actually pretty relaxing.

 

Well, she mused to herself, it was relaxing for the two hours before Miranda’s scheduled arrival.

 

Flipping on the light, she gave a small purr of satisfaction to see the space as neat as a pin and that the junior assistant’s desk was clean and tidy. It had only taken a day’s training to instill a sense of decorum in the newest hire. Unlike the weeks it had taken to convince the fashion disaster that was Andy Sachs that pictures of her parents and furry little boy toy no more belonged in public view than those hideous clothes she wore.

 

After Emily hung up her coat in the closet, she moved the sturdy wooden hanger for Miranda’s to the center of the rod for easy access. Pivoting on her heel, she smiled at the Jimmy Choos she had snagged from the closet. Without Nigel poaching things for his own personal Galatea, she was finally getting the good stuff first.

 

She rotated her neck and shook out her arms as she tried to shake off thoughts of that brunette traitor. It wouldn’t do to harsh her morning mellow with thoughts of past failures. There was a small voice in her head which kept harping on Andy being Miranda’s favorite. It didn’t help that she had seen Andy’s byline in this morning’s newspaper. She fumed anew that she had never gotten to blacklist the deserter.

 

Powering up her computer, she glanced into Miranda’s office. The fabric samples from yesterday’s editorial meeting were still on her desk, so those would need to be moved to the credenza but the rest of the space looked clear enough for her to be able to check her emails and fine tune the day’s schedule first.

 

She sank into her Houzz ergonomic chair and slid her hands along the armrests. After allowing herself a small swivel of satisfaction, she pushed her keyboard an inch to the left. She tweaked the position of her pen holder and used a soft chamois cloth to wipe off a few fingerprints along the edge of her glass topped desk. Emily couldn’t help the smile as she looked around her space.

 

Senior assistant to the Editor in Chief of an internationally recognized fashion magazine. She mentally buffed her nails as she murmured, “Not bad for a girl from Wandsworth.”

 

Emily loved this time alone in the office. For these precious moments, she had all the power. She could make or break careers by how she allocated the minutes of Miranda’s day. She skimmed over the subject lines of her email inbox as the schedule program booted up and knew that it was her will alone that kept the entire production running as smoothly as it did.

 

The silence of the office was broken by a noise from the copy room. Immediately, thoughts of corporate espionage ran through her head. Had someone come in early to make reproductions of the exclusive fashion spreads or to copy confidential information from their files? 

 

Emily dithered for only a moment before rising to her feet. Hefting one of the many heavy, lucite Draper Fashion Publication Awards from the bookcase behind her desk, she took it and crept down the hall. Or as close an approximation as one could creep on five-inch heels. Raising the award over her head, she stepped boldly into the copy room.

 

“What?!” she screeched.

 

Miranda turned from the copy machine and her reading glasses slipped down her nose. “Good morning to you, too, Emily.” She blinked. “Is that the 2010 or 2015 award?”

 

Emily just stared at Miranda. She had never seen the woman in jeans but here she was. The black True Religion denim clung to the curves of her body like it was painted on. The effect was augmented by the asymmetrical white button-down Michael Kors shirt Miranda wore on top. Emily’s jaw dropped when she saw Miranda was wearing sneakers. White Tiger Ace sneakers from Gucci but still, sneakers!

 

“Emily?”

 

Shaking her head, Emily stood silently in shock. Questions flew through her mind but she gritted her teeth and repeated to herself, “Never ask Miranda anything.”

 

Miranda shrugged and went back to what she had been doing. She punched a few more buttons on the copier and tapped her fingernails on the plastic cover while waiting for the machine to work. She pulled the resulting sheet out of the tray and held it against her phone case. She made a face and slid the page into the shredder before returning to the copier to punch more buttons.

 

Miranda smiled in satisfaction at the latest version the machine spat out. She pulled out a pair of shears and cut out the small area of printing before moving to the equipment along the back wall of the room. Miranda deftly ran the miniaturized copy through the laminator and held the hot plastic by the edge while it cooled.

 

Her mantra failing her, Emily finally asked, “What are you doing?”

 

“The original is still in the machine,” Miranda responded.

 

On automatic, Emily lifted the top of the copier and pulled out a sheet of lined paper. It was a list written in Miranda’s neat scrawl. She noted a photographer, a stylist and several fashion designers on it. The last name on the list was Karl Lagerfeld. Holding it out, she said, “I don’t understand.”

 

Miranda was in the process of affixing the laminated list to the inside of her phone’s case. Absently, she spoke, “It is my personal list of those you will never see in my magazines again.”

 

“Karl?”

 

“He seems to believe that groping is the price models pay for working. Anyone who doesn’t want to be sexual harassed should become a nun.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Yes. For him there is no middle ground. And no acknowledgement of the power imbalance that might keep young, vulnerable women who are desperate for work silent for years about their traumatic experiences.” She rather viciously slammed the scissors back into their holder and then swept the trimmings into the trash. “I know we’re in a business that is built in a large part on women’s insecurities but that is no excuse for victim shaming those who dare to speak out against sexual misconduct in our industry.”

 

“What was he thinking?”

 

“No idea. It was just another example of Karl spouting off. This latest interview in Numero, as you might have guessed, is causing quite a stir on social media.”

 

“How is Chanel handling it?”

 

“So far, they aren’t.” Miranda snapped the case back on her phone. “Which is why I need my own method of accountability.” She slid the phone into her purse. “For too long, there hasn’t been any discussion about sexual harassment or a way to deal with allegations of abuse.”

 

Miranda glanced at her senior assistant. “I know you’ve experienced it.”

 

Emily went cold. “Mir…Miranda?”

 

One perfect eyebrow raised. “Don’t deny it. I will allow you to not confirm it but don’t make the mistake of lying to yourself that it didn’t happen.” Her voice softened. “I buried my experiences and carried on with a stiff upper lip, too, you know. It led to my success but also to years where I couldn’t meet my own eyes in the mirror. Especially after learning that someone else endured the same thing because I never spoke out.”

 

Emily nodded. The icy fingers down her spine were being banished by a feeling of warmth spreading from her chest. She never knew that Miranda had been aware of the pinch or proposition. She had just been grateful without questioning when other people had been sent to deal with the designer instead.

 

“We’re facing a seismic shift in the way our society and our industry is responding to these allegations. It helps that we are finally breaking the silence but it won’t be enough until everyone is treated with dignity and respect on the job.”

 

Emily scoffed. “How do we get there?”

 

“Women like you ensuring the end of the reign of the dinosaurs.” She waved a hand at herself. “That includes collaborators and supporters and all who had the power but did and said nothing.”

 

“But you’re doing something.” Emily paused. “Right?”

 

“I’m trying. I’m supporting efforts to offer comprehensive training about workplace sexual harassment for models and I’m advocating putting in place some sort of complaint mechanism and, maybe even, creating an independent monitor to investigate allegations of sexual misconduct and abuse.” She sighed. “However, beyond meaningful remedies for victims there need be real consequences for those who abuse their power and positions.”

 

“And not letting them get away with it because they are free spirited creatives,” Emily whispered.

 

“Indeed.” Miranda crossed her arms. “We’re finally having the conversations we need to have. Until the breadth and impact of sexual violence was brought into the mainstream, it was ignored and survivors were alone. With the work of Tarana Burke, among others and the growing, global Me-Too movement, we are creating solutions.”

 

Emily was about to reply when another voice intruded on their moment.

 

“Hey, Mir? Did you see what I found in the closet?”

 

Emily turned in shock as Andy Sachs came around the corner, a pair of pink furred handcuffs dangling from her index finger.

 

“Oh, hey, Em. You’re looking smart,” Andy said with a smile.

 

Emily bit back her planned snark and bared her teeth in a simulation of a smile at the reminder that she was wearing one of the skirts Andy had given her after the Paris debacle. “You, too,” she managed to force out.

 

And, unfortunately, that was the truth. Andy was wearing fitted Bill Blass khaki trousers and a baby blue silk tank top. A top Emily had coveted but missed when it disappeared from the closet.

 

“Oh, this?” Andy twirled. “Just some old thing I had lying around.”

 

There was a clearing of a throat.

 

Andy blushed. “Okay, something Miranda had chosen specially and set aside for me.” 

 

Emily gaped as Andy turned her brilliant smile onto the Queen of Fashion. Miranda simpered. Honest to god, simpered and smiled back!

 

Her brain spinning, Emily concentrated on not speculating on what the two of them together at this hour and in those casual clothes could mean. Doing so had the added benefit of helping keep her head from exploding.

 

Miranda patted her on the shoulder as she walked past. “Move my nine o’clock to this afternoon. I will be in late as we’re celebrating Andrea’s first front page scoop.”

 

Grinding her teeth, Emily said, “Yes, Miranda.”

 

Her boss turned to the other woman in the room. “Andrea, you should know by now I have better restraints at home. Those were only good for a fashion shoot.”

 

“Shall I put them back?”

 

“Well, since you have them, we might make the drive to the Water Club for breakfast a little more interesting.”

 

Andy bounced a little as she reached out and slapped Miranda’s ass. “My turn on top!”

 

“As you wish,” Miranda replied.

 

As they walked away, they heard a faint chanting from behind them. 

 

Emily stood alone in the copy room, repeating to herself, “I love my job. I love my job. I love my job.”

Title: Asking for Trouble

Author: Mary Griggs

Fandom: DWP

Pairing: Miranda/Andy

Rating: PG

Word Count: 3300

Summary: Andy comes home to find Miranda in the closet with Donna Karan.

Author’s Notes: Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox are the owners; I'm just letting the ladies play in my sandbox for a while.

This piece is in response to the fashion designer, Donna Karan’s interview in defense of serial assaulter Harvey Weinstein. She is quoted as saying, “How do we present ourselves as women? … Are we asking for it, by presenting all the sensuality and all the sexuality? … I don't think it's only Harvey Weinstein ... We have to look at our world ... And how women are dressing and what they're asking by just presenting themselves the way they do. What are they asking for? Trouble.” https://www.usatoday.com/story/life/movies/2017/10/09/donna-karan-defends-harvey-weinstein-suggesting-women-ask-trouble/748596001/

Oh, and Bottomless Closet is a real thing – http://www.bottomlessclosetnyc.org

I want to thank Laura aka Brithna for challenging me to write this.

****

Andy tossed her keys into the bowl on the table by the closet that had once nearly gotten her fired. She winced, even after seven years the foyer still sometimes had the power to trigger bad memories. While she could look back on her days as the premier fashion editor’s second assistant with nostalgia, no rose colored glasses could hide the true terror she felt after she interrupted Miranda and Stephen arguing that fateful evening.

But she was also thankful for it. Everything started to change then. By rising to Miranda’s challenge, instead of sinking, Andy began to come into her own power. She knew she’d never have managed to walk away in Paris if not for the spark lit by the acquisition of the Harry Potter manuscript.

A spark that remained banked for more than two years before she re-entered Miranda’s orbit again. And, it was that spark’s ignition, which led directly to the carefully tended flames of their current relationship.

Smiling now at her memories, she stirred the contents of the bowl and saw Miranda’s keys in there, too. Andy rubbed the ring between her fingers and giggled as she thought of the things the two of them might be able to do tonight.

She walked into the kitchen and pulled out the meat that had been marinating in the refrigerator. Andy washed her hands before preheating the oven. She put a little olive oil into Dutch oven and placed it over medium heat. She was humming as she used one of Miranda’s super sharp chef knives to dice an onion.

Scrapping the onion in the pot, she reduced the heat and stirred before tossing in some minced garlic and salt. Once the onions were translucent, she then poured in a portion of Arborio rice. She stirred it while it toasted and then poured in a quart of chicken stock. After another stir, she covered the pot and slid it into the oven.

Washing her hands again, she decided to go change and check in with Miranda before doing any more dinner prep. After glancing into the study and seeing it empty, Andy practically skipped up the stairs to their bedroom. The room was empty. The door to the bathroom was open and the room was likewise unoccupied.

Her brow furrowed and she called out, “Miranda?”

She heard a faint noise. Walking over to the closet she called again, “Miranda?”

“I’m back here.”

“Where?”

There was a beat or two of silence.

“In Narnia,” Miranda replied.

Andy beamed. When she had learned that Miranda had the bedroom next to hers converted into a climate-controlled room reachable through her closet, she had immediately christened it with the name of the magical world of CS Lewis that the children entered through a wardrobe.

Miranda hadn’t seemed amused but Andy knew if she was willing to call it that herself, they must have reached a new plateau in their relationship. After the first kiss, first fight, first make up sex, and first joint purchase, Andy was sure making cute names for things and having inside jokes surely showed that she and Miranda were united in all things that mattered.

She took Miranda’s answer as an invitation and walked through the first closet and into the next room. It was artfully designed with beautifully lit display cabinets and shelving units with glass doors holding brightly colored hanging items. In the center of the room was a vintage round couch of crushed cream velvet, where Miranda could sit facing any direction she wanted.

Many nights, Andy had woken from a deep sleep to an empty space beside her and a faint light glowing from the room. She would find Miranda deep in thought, staring at some of the beautiful items she had collected over the years.

Miranda might be facing the black dress designed by Givenchy and worn by Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s or Princess Diana’s sea green sequined evening gown that was designed by Catherine Walker. Or maybe she would be looking at an Armani Prive gunmetal grey dress, encrusted with Swarovski crystals, which had been worn by Cate Blanchet. Over in one corner was the letterbox red Valentino dress worn by Anne Hathaway when she hosted the Academy Awards that Miranda seemed to like best.

She had explained that she was both soothed and inspired by the art of fashion.

Tonight she wasn’t mediating. Miranda was standing in front of a display cabinet along the back wall. There was a rolling metal rack with several items on it and small pile of fabric on the floor by the fashion maven’s feet.

Andy walked over and embraced Miranda from behind. “What’s this?” she asked.

“This is the Seven Easy Pieces collection from 1985.” Miranda opened the front of the case and ran her fingers over one of the black bodysuits.

“I’m sorry, love, but I need more than that.”

Miranda heaved a great sigh. “Donna Karan, you plebian.”

“I know DKNY.”

“That’s the affordable line, she’d been distant from that for years.” She pulled one of the black pieces off the mannequin and held up to Andy. “This is what started it all for working women.”

“Is that a unitard?”

“It is a body suit that mixes and matches with the other pieces.”

“Interesting.”

“She freed women from the power suit.” Miranda sighed. “It is most unfortunate she has likewise failed to free herself from outmoded ideas about why women are assaulted.”

“Yeah, I heard her interview. So insane. I can’t believe a woman fashion designer of all people would blame what women wear for getting them into trouble.”

“Especially when the trouble was caused by an incredibly powerful man abusing women whose very careers were dependent on him,” Miranda replied.

“Their stories are so painful. I can’t hardly believe he was able to keep doing it for as long he did. Why did so many wait so long before coming forward?”

“It isn’t an easy thing to do. Many rightfully fear their reputations will be ruined, that they’ll lose their job or be blacklisted. They know they will be blamed for putting themselves in the position of being alone with him, even when he used honeypots to lure them in.”

“Honeypots?”

“He had other women attend the meetings to begin with, so his victims would feel safe. He’d dismiss his assistants and then start the pressure, many times using force to get them to comply with his demands.”

“I can’t believe other women were helping him.”

“I would guess that while some didn’t know they were being used, many others were complicit because they, too, needed their jobs and his goodwill.” Miranda glanced at her. “Frankly, though, you’re making my point.”

“What?”

“Even now, you’re blaming the other women instead of holding him responsible for his actions.”

“Wow,” Andy said, sinking down onto the couch. “I hadn’t realized I was doing that.”

“It is our default to blame the victim. She was alone, she had been drinking, she was wearing provocative clothes, she should have said no, she could have fought harder...” After ticking off the statements on her fingers, Miranda made a tossing gesture with her hands. “Why do you think so many maintain relationships with these men after the harassment?”

“I have no idea.”

“It is one way to rewrite the narrative. If they can make something of it consensual, then maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe you can get something out of it.”

“Gross.”

“Worse is that most victims continue think it was their fault.”

“How so?”

Miranda started putting the items from the display case into a bag. “If they were too friendly, maybe he got the wrong idea. If they had been affectionate, they had been asking for it. If they allowed one thing to happen, then the rest was their fault, too. Maybe you were too ambitious and he could see you wanted it.”

Andy lifted her head and stared when Miranda changed to second person point of view again. “You?”

“Hmmm?”

“You said you. Twice.”

There was silence before Miranda turned to look at her. “Yes, me.”

“You’ve never said before.”

“It was early in my career, when I was still young and vulnerable.”

“Really? You?”

“Everyone is young once. Not everyone has to pay for it, though.”

“If it’s a bad memory, you don’t have to tell me. It may help to talk about, though.”

“I’ve talked about it before but, clearly not enough.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Not enough if this whole Weinstein issue can rattle me so.”

“I don’t remember but you didn’t seem so angry when Roger Ailes and Bill O’Reilly scandals imploded.”

“Maybe because I never expected better from men who created and made careers in a system built on harassment, belittling and bullying. FOX was a known entity. There might even a part of me that thought maybe all those women deserve what they got.”

“Nobody deserves it.”

Miranda rolled her eyes. “I know that. And I know that I’m more disappointed than angry. Don’t get me wrong, I’m furious at Harvey and all the pain he has caused. But, Donna, she was…” Miranda flung out her arms. “Do you know she was championing a woman president back in 1992? Her advertising campaign was called ‘In Women We Trust’ and had a model wearing one of her double-breasted blazers being sworn in as president.” She sighed. “It was transcendent.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“She designed for real women’s bodies and made even those who weren’t five foot, ten inches and skinny feel beautiful. It was powerful. And, it didn’t end there. After she left her label, she started a foundation which empowers and educates children in Haiti.” Miranda shook her head.

“That’s bizarre,” Andy said. “How could she do one thing and say the other?”

“Her interview knocked me back. I felt like she pulled the rug from under my feet. And it makes me question if anything I believed about her was ever true.”

“That sucks.” Andy stepped up to Miranda and touched her shoulder. “Could you tell me more?”

“Mmm. I think part of it is that it makes me feel lot like I did after my harassment. He was a mentor. A man I looked to for advice.” She reached up and squeezed Andy’s hand. “I thought my boss was invested in my career and instead he was targeting me for my body.”

“What happened?”

“I met with him after work. I brought out my portfolio and he brought out his penis.”

“Ew! Why do men think that’s what women want?”

“He didn’t care about what I wanted.” Her lip curled in a snarl. “He wanted his dick sucked and didn’t care what it took from me to get it.”

“What do the men get out of that? Surely there are plenty of women who would willingly have sex with them?”

“It is about power, not sex.” Miranda brushed off her hands. “They are predators who prey on women they can penalize if they say no and implicate if they give in.”

“Thinking about it makes me feel so helpless. I hate it,” Andy said.

“Unfortunately, far too many men are erotically excited by their ability to punish, humiliate and inflict pain on women. Their…” Miranda looked down. “I mean, our fear turns them on.”

Andy reached out and took hold of her hand. “I’m sorry. I know this must bring up bad things for you.”

“Sometimes it seems you can’t be a women in business without having to endure it. I was lucky to have other women and an HR department to support me when I was harassed.” She bit her lip. “I wasn’t demoted but it did slow my trajectory for a bit. I’m afraid it only stayed quiet because my boss had already been looking for work elsewhere.”

“They allowed him to leave?”

“With my blessing at the time. I wanted it over so I could move on.”

“But when they let them get away with it, the same thing could happen to someone else. How do you know he didn’t do it to someone else at the next job?” Andy asked.

“Sweetheart, sometimes there are no good options. Stay silent and you’re complicit. Tell a friend and nothing gets done. Go to someone in authority and you’ll face unfair consequences – men will be uncomfortable around you, thinking you’ll accuse them next; women won’t be any better, thinking that they’ll be tarnished by standing by you.” Miranda tossed her head. “I learned who my friends are.”

“I’m sorry you had to learn that way.” Andy stomped her feet, “Why can’t we support one another?”

“Because it is still a man’s world. They are in positions of power. They are the ones making the decisions and they’re the ones who refuse to believe us.”

“That’s terrible.”

“While not being believed is bad, the potential for retribution is worse.” Miranda glowered, “And, there will always be retribution, the power dynamics make it inevitable.”

“But you’re a success.”

“I am now. But I remember how my personnel evaluations, which had called me assertive, now warned that I was being aggressive. My decisions were questioned in a way they hadn’t been before and a promotion I had been expecting never materialized. They said it was because of restructuring after he left but it forced me to take a lateral move to a different office before I was able to really start moving forward again.”

“I’m glad they didn’t make you quit.”

“What choice did I have?” Her hands were shaking slightly as she transferred pieces from the display case to the rack. “I didn’t have any money outside of my paycheck and this was my career.”

“You’re a fighter.”

“Yes, but the cost was high. My long term relationship ended as I didn’t feel sexual any more and he was upset I was lumping him together with my harasser.”

“I’m sorry he wasn’t more sympathetic.”

“Me, too. But it was for the best. I wasn’t in a good place.”

“Of course, you weren’t. What happened was horrible.”

“And it wasn’t so much the trauma as the gas lighting.”

“What do you mean?”

“It seemed like everyone around me made me question myself. The male coworkers who told me it was good to be hit on, that I should take it as a compliment to have men want me. Female coworkers who told me it wasn’t so bad, that what they survived was worse and, if they could move on, so should I. I even had someone from human resources tell me he didn’t do or say or mean what we all damn well know he did.”

“Like mansplaining on steroids.”

“Indeed.”

“What can be done?”

“What makes you think anything can be done?” Miranda picked up the dress fabric from the floor and gently hung it on a hanger before setting it beside the others on the rack. “Think back on all the other times we’ve seen a mass of women finally come forth with their stories and what is the result? A hung jury or a mistrial, or even a quiet settlement is the norm. Most often, though, there is a new TV program or movie or a contract for a new sports team.” She brushed her hair from her eyes and glared. “Sometimes they get to take the oath of office as President of the United States of America.” She took a deep breath. “Three women made allegations about Bill Clinton. Ten women accused Roger Ailes. Trump has had fifteen women plus an ex-wife. Twenty-nine women have already come forward about Harvey. Fifty came forth about Bill Cosby. How many will be enough to effect change?”

“We can’t just give up all hope.” Andy scowled at Miranda’s smirk. “I know you think I’m a naïve mid-westerner but can’t we do something?”

“I’m not sure it can be solved with any single thing. It is all tied up in how we raise boys into men and the expectations they have about the women in their lives being available for their sexual pleasure.”

“You’re talking about rape culture.”

“Exactly. When sexual harassment and abuse is ignored, trivialized and normalized, even talking about assault becomes impossible.”

“I want to find a way to do more than just talk.”

“That would involve getting more men to discourage each other from harming women or thinking that dominating women enhances their status.”

Andy recited, ““In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies but the silence of our friends.””

“Dr. Martin Luther King was so very right.” Miranda locked the now empty case. “But the fear about retaliation isn’t just a womans fear. Men face it, too, when they come forward. If they aren’t complicit, they know they will be mocked by their peers, even ostracized.”

“They are victims of toxic masculinity, too.”

“And their privilege will not protect them.” Miranda shrugged. “Maybe I’m being too harsh. Perhaps the young men of today will learn from the public falls of guys like Harvey Weinstein.”

“But those are the same young men who made Trump president, even after he bragged about grabbing her by the pussy.”

“True.” Miranda rolled the cart out of the room and reset the keypad after Andy closed the door behind her. “I’m afraid this administration has given many angry men carte blanche to abuse women.”

“But what about the resistance movement? Aren’t there women being empowered to speak up and demand justice?”

“Possibly in the same way the feminists of the 1970’s did so.” She nodded. “And they did get laws written to protect women. Corporate culture has changed. Maybe now we can go further.”

Andy grabbed her yoga pants and a sweatshirt and started to change. Her voice came out muffled as she pulled off her shirt. “If only there was a way to change their desire to do these things.”

“That’s easier said than done. Desire is such an amorphous thing,” Miranda drawled, her eyes on her younger lover.

Blushing, Andy fought to keep from turning away from Miranda’s knowing gaze. “So what do you suggest?”

“Honestly? I don’t care to change what’s in their hearts. I’m good with them being afraid of the consequences once they get caught.”

“I wish I could fix it, though. For you and all the others.”

Miranda said, “You can’t fix everything, darling.” At Andy’s mulish look, she added. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t fix some things.”

Pointing at the things Miranda had taken from the closet, Andy asked, “What about this stuff? What are you fixing with these?”

“I’m going to donate my Donna Karan collection to Bottomless Closet. They can auction the items to fund their work. They won’t get as much as they would have before she damaged her brand with her remarks but anything helps.”

Smiling brilliantly, Andy said, “You know, Miranda, I think the real champion of stylish working women is you.”

“Honestly, Andrea,” she said as her cheeks pinked. Straightening her back, she asked, “I’m starving. Are we ever having dinner?”

“Yeah, the risotto is baking and the steak is ready to go.” Andy ignored the look from Miranda as she slid her feet into a pair of cerulean Crocs. “You promised not to mock my style choices.”

Arching her eyebrow, Miranda sniffed then asked, “Did I say anything?”

“No but you were thinking awfully loud.”

“God forbid someone in this relationship think.”

Putting her fists on her hips, Andy glared.

Miranda shook her head. “Forgive me, darling. Reflex.”

“I know it has been difficult,” Andy replied. “I do appreciate the effort it must take to bite your tongue sometimes.”

“Sometimes? Only sometimes?”

Andy rolled her eyes. “I’ve gotten better.”

“And we know how high that bar was to begin with.” She leaned over and kissed Andy before she could do more than squawk.

As the kiss deepened, Andy could feel her mood shifting. Her hands moved from her hips to holding Miranda’s, tugging her even closer. Andy moaned and then groaned as her empty stomach grumbled.

Miranda pulled away and used her thumb to wipe away a smudge of her lipstick from Andy’s lips. “Why are you moving at such a glacial pace instead of feeding me?”

“Because I know how much it thrills you.” Andy laughed and stole another kiss before leading the way back downstairs.

They might not have solved the world’s problems but, when they came together, they showed that change was possible. And they proved, in many ways, that change could also be quite pleasurable.

Title: And Even Though It All Went Wrong

Author: Mary Griggs

Fandom: DWP

Pairing: Miranda/Andy

Rating: G

Word Count: 1660

Summary: Miranda comes home to find Andy in meltdown.

 

Author’s Notes: Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox are the owners; I'm just letting the ladies play in my sandbox for a while.

 

The title of this work is from a lyric in the Leonard Cohen song “Hallelujah.” On Saturday Night Live, Kate McKinnon’s rendition as Hillary Clinton brought tears to my eyes – https://youtu.be/BG-_ZDrypec . After finishing the song, she turned to the audience and said, “I’m not giving up. And neither should you.”

***** 

 

Miranda let herself into the house after a long and exhausting day. It was the culmination of a week from hell, made longer and more exhausting by the miasma of grief and sadness permeating Runway’s floor and the city of New York itself.

 

After dropping her keys and purse on the side table, Miranda stirred her fingers in the cut crystal bowl filled with political pins. Her eyes stung with tears as she ran a fingertip over the cloisonné ‘I believe that she will win’ and the arrowed H’s and cursive, gold-wrought Hillary. She had to blink rapidly to clear her eyes to see the glass pin Andrea brought back from the Democratic National Convention.

 

“We cracked the ceiling but it didn’t break,” she murmured to the vase of flowers standing sentry in the silent hall.

 

She toed off her shoes and shivered a little at the chill in the marble floor. With a very unladylike grunt, she bent down to pick them up, her calves tight from wearing the heels for ten hours. Dangling their straps from her index finger, she carried them with her into the kitchen.

 

She gusted out a big sigh at the sight. There were dirty dishes in the sink and an empty ice cream container on its side on the counter, surrounded by a puddle of melted Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk. Beside it was jar of fudge sauce and an opened bag of Biscoff cookies with a trail of crumbs leading to an open canister of marshmallow fluff.

 

Resolutely ignoring the mess, Miranda started a kettle to boil water for tea. She used the heart shaped tea infuser spoon Andrea had gifted to her and filled it with dried passionflowers. Miranda hoped the herbal concoction lived up to its hype and soothed her anxiety and calmed her circular thoughts. To the hot water in her mug, she added a generous dollop of Tupelo honey. Leaving it on a clear spot on the counter to steep for ten minutes, she turned her back on the kitchen and trudged upstairs.

 

Thinking Andrea might be napping, she tiptoed through the darkened bedroom until she reached the light switch inside the walk-in closet. Glancing at the bed, her brow furrowed to see the bed empty. As she wondered where her partner was, she headed into the closet. Peeling off her day wear and tossing the items into either the dry cleaning or laundry bag, she gratefully shrugged off her bra and took a deep cleansing breath only to cough.

 

The underlying scent of the laundry detergent and her perfume was nearly overwhelmed by the smell burnt popcorn. Shaking her head, Miranda pulled on some stretchy yoga pants and super soft socks. Tonight was a night for comfort, she decided. Running her hand over the faded Northwestern University seal on a grey sweatshirt, she pulled it over her head and mused that a major benefit of her involvement with the younger woman was the increase of casual wear in her wardrobe. Andrea’s insistence that she clearly delineate between work clothes and non-work clothes had the added benefit of more relaxed and happier times at home.

 

Miranda went into the bathroom and washed her hands and face. After wiping the makeup from her skin, she rubbed in some Swiss lotion, focusing on the puffy skin beneath her eyes. With her skincare routine done, she decided to track down her partner.

 

Following the odor of charred popcorn, she climbed up the next flight of stairs to the entertainment room. From the doorway, she saw the blue flickering of a movie. She could just make out an Andrea shaped mound in the center of the couch.

 

Her younger lover had made a nest out of several comforters and even had one covering her head. Starring intently at the screen, she mindlessly fed popcorn into her mouth, dropping several pieces to join the pile of other kernels on her lap.

 

“Darling?”

 

Andy blinked and turned her head. “Miranda! I’m so glad you’re home.”

 

“Hopefully not just to do the dishes.”

 

“Huh?” Andy scratched her nose, not realizing she still had a handful of popcorn clenched in her fist. She dropped the kernels back into the bowl and wiped her hand on her shirt.

 

Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose. “Could you be more of a mess? You left the kitchen in a shambles!”

 

Big brown eyes starred up at her. Andy sniffed. “Sorry, Miranda.”

 

“What’s up with you?” Miranda asked. She stepped into the room and nearly stepped on a laptop. “What the…”

 

“Oh, I had to get that away from me.”

 

“Why?”

 

“My newsfeed was filled with so many triggers. I’ve had to unfriend so many cousins!”

 

“You aren’t the only who is developing election related PTSD.” Miranda set the computer on the coffee table. “Did you go into work today?”

 

“No. I tried but I just couldn’t face it.”

 

“All right. What are you watching?”

 

“Harry Potter.”

 

“Which one?”

 

“All of them.”

 

“Really? Why?”

 

“I…I had to. I had to see with my own eyes.”

 

“See what, sweetheart?”

 

“Voldemort can’t have won!” Andy wailed. “I keep watching to try and see where we went wrong.”

 

“You do realize that the election happened in real life and, as talented as JK Rowling is, she wasn’t prognosticating.”

 

“Yeah, but…” Andy wiped tears from her eyes. “I still don’t understand it. I can’t wrap my head around it and I want someone to blame!”

 

“Is finding fault really helpful?”

 

“I guess not but it might help me wake up from this nightmare.”

 

“Darling, it is a sad truth that our country has just elected a man who has used racism, bigotry, homophobia, and misogyny to ascend to the highest office in America.” Miranda sighed. “Even worse, the Vice-President-Elect is easily one of the most anti-LGBTQ and anti-woman politicians in recent history and will likely have a strong voice in Trump’s administration.”

 

Andy wailed and started rocking back and forth. After a moment or two, she asked, “Doesn’t it bother you? I can hardly function – I’ve stress eaten my weight in junk food!”

 

“Of course it bothers me. Right now, I’m grieving for what might have been and sickened by the thought of the progress we may lose.”

 

“I keep crying,” Andy said as she wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands.

 

“I do, too.” Miranda sat down on the couch and pulled Andy into her arms. She picked off a couple of stray kernels of popcorn. “We still have each other to lean on, even here amongst the rubble.”

 

“Sorry about the mess. I’m so out of sorts. I haven’t managed to do anything productive since they called it.”

 

Miranda thought back to that long Tuesday night and the way acid had churned in her stomach as Florida and Ohio and North Carolina had been called for Trump. By the time Wisconsin had been called, she had been a nervous wreck. She squeezed Andy tight. “It is going to be hard.”

 

“So hard,” Andy mumbled.

 

“Two to four years of hard.”

 

“Two?”

 

“There are the midterm elections coming up.”

 

“That’s right!” Andy sat up. “All 435 seats in the House and 34 of the Senate seats are up for re-election plus 34 of the states elect governors!”

 

 “Exactly. However, to get things done, we need to take care of ourselves first.”

 

“What do you have in mind?”

 

“Let’s go run a bubble bath. We can soak together in some soothing lavender.”

 

“That sounds lovely,” Andy said as she leaned back into Miranda’s arms and snuggled close. “And then?”

 

“Take time to mourn.”

 

“No-one died…yet.” Andy sniffled. “I was so scared that those protests against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would turn deadly.”

 

“I’m even more frightened for our non-white, non-Christian friends who are trying to raise children in this poisonous atmosphere. We have heard their plan — mass repeal for everything from food stamps for the very poor to Obamacare to marriage equality.”

 

“Don’t forget mass deportations of immigrants.”

 

“Yes. The most vulnerable in our nation are in the crosshairs. So many haters have been emboldened by his election.”

 

She smiled when Andy wiggled around in her arms so she could return Miranda’s hug.

 

“Love trumps hate.”

 

“It has been hard to believe in the power of love these past few days.” Miranda brushed a lock of hair from Andy’s forehead.

 

“Some of that is on me – I’ve had a hard time connecting with anyone since...well, you know.”

 

“You’re not alone, my darling. It is going to take a while for us to get past this feeling of profound loss to the action stage.”

 

“There’s going to be some action?” Andy asked, waggling her eyebrows.

 

Miranda laughed and then kissed her fiercely. “I wasn’t talking of lovemaking, although I shan’t be saying no to that, either.”

 

“What kind, then?”

 

“We must move fiercely forward to protect what we achieved. We must support our allies and empower marginalized communities.”

 

“How?”

 

Miranda glanced around the room. “I’m afforded many privileges, from my skin color to my wealth. I can donate to community organizations doing the lobbying, public advocacy and education.”

 

“My schedule is flexible. I could donate time and be a volunteer.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“They may slow us down but they will never turn us back.”

 

“Exactly,” Miranda said as she held Andy close. “We’re stronger together.”

 

 

Title: Pantsuits, Glass Ceilings and Getting a Good Night’s Sleep

Author: Mary Griggs

Fandom: DWP

Pairing: Miranda/Andy

Rating: G

Word Count: 1500

Summary: Miranda spends some time on Facebook the night before the US Presidential election and wakes Andy up.

Author’s Notes: Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox are the owners; I'm just letting the ladies play in my sandbox for a while.


*****

Andy Sachs rolled over and blinked tiredly. There was an odd glow filling the bedroom. She glanced at the windows. With the blackout curtains closed, not a single beam of light was getting through. Turning her head, she looked at the nightstand clock – four twenty in bright red numbers. Not time for anyone to be up – not her, considering she had gotten in at midnight from covering a late-night Port Authority appropriations meeting and not her girlfriend, who had to be up at five o’clock in the morning.

 

Her lips quirked at the thought of being able to call Miranda Priestly her girlfriend. Even after two years of near-blissful cohabitation, she still got a thrill when thinking of finding her way back into her ex-bosses good graces and into her bed.

 

Squinting a little, Andy tried to focus on the woman she loved. Miranda was leaning back against the headboard with her phone held close to her face. She was biting the tip of her tongue and typing furiously with her thumbs.

 

“What are you doing? And why aren’t you wearing your glasses?”

 

Miranda startled and nearly dropped the phone. “Oh, darling. I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

 

“The screen is a little bright.”

 

“Yes, I know. Remind me to call Tim Cook about improving the night time functions of his phones.”

 

“Right, right. I’ll get right on that,” Andy said as she rubbed her eyes. “But, what are you doing now? At four-freaking-thirty in the morning?”

 

“I was invited to this secret group on Facebook and it is marvelous.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’ve been reading for hours now. All these women sharing their stories.”

 

“Lots of secret groups out there. How’d you find this one?”

 

“Oh, I was added without my permission by someone already in it. I went to take myself out when I started reading.” Miranda reached over and grabbed her reading glasses. She sat up a little more and waved her phone. She said, “There is definitely no enthusiasm gap among these women.”

 

“So I see.” Andy murmured.

 

“Grandmothers talking about their experiences as the first or only women in their fields. Mothers talking about their fears for their daughters. All these women, dreaming of a different future for themselves. Quite amazing, honestly.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Indeed. It is like an oasis. A refuge of support and encouragement in a world that feels so hostile to those of us supporting Hillary.”

 

“I can get that. What’s it called?”

 

“Pantsuit Nation.” Miranda turned her phone slightly. “Other than the name, it is inspiring.”

 

“What is wrong with the name?”

 

“Glorifying pantsuits? I mean, notwithstanding the garment’s practicality, it is an insipid fashion choice.”

 

“Every woman I know owns one. Heck, even Beyoncé put her backup dancers in pantsuits for that Clinton fundraising event the other day.”

 

“Just because you are a woman in politics or business doesn’t mean you can’t be daring.”

 

“We are already being judged by our looks. You want more attention focused on our clothes?”

 

“Don’t be naïve. The judging is happening. We just can’t let it keep us from reimagining what a woman leader looks like. She need not be neutered by her clothing or choose the boring uniformity of a man’s suit.” Miranda sighed. “There is such beauty in a woman with power.”

 

“Don’t I know it,” Andy whispered to herself as she squeezed her legs together. Her memories of Miranda in her A-line pinstripe suit were all that sustained her in those dark days after she quit in Paris.

 

“What was that?” Miranda asked.

 

“Uh, I was just thinking that so many women thought leaders find the subject of fashion to be a distraction from their message.” She cleared her throat. “I know used to think that serious people didn’t waste time choosing belts.”

 

Miranda’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Even after the cerulean lecture?”

 

She was grateful for the darkness in the room to hide her blush. “Not so much after, as you well know. And, definitely not so much after I spent time in the industry. But, you still have to admit it is harder for women to be taken seriously at work and clothes have a big role to play in that.”

 

“If that was the case, let’s just give up and wear the burqa.”

 

Andy snorted. “Yeah, I just see you sitting still for that.”

 

Miranda dropped her phone into her lap. “If we’re not careful, there are some in our country that would have women out of the public sphere entirely. They want us silent and powerless. Just look at the language used by some of the tea party evangelicals or alt-right personalities supporting Trump.”

 

“That can’t happen here.”

 

“No? Those who impose Sharia law in other countries are close ideological cousins to many of those legislating women’s lives here in America. Everything from marriage equality to reproductive freedom to equal pay are being assailed by these homegrown extremists under the justification of their sincerely held religious beliefs!”

 

Raking a hand through her hair, Andy muttered, “I can’t believe we’re discussing Sharia law at this hour of the morning.”

 

“I can’t help it if you’re so easily drawn off topic.”

 

“What was the topic again?” Andy asked.

 

“Pantsuit Nation.”

 

“Right. Why are they hiding in a secret group?”

 

“You should read what some of these women are hearing from their friends and family and coworkers against Hillary. It is especially the case for women in the Red states or in rural areas. They just don’t feel safe.”

 

“I get that. This election has made me really aware of how dissent is expressed and when and where I can express said dissent without being trolled.” Andy sighed. “I hope they feel brave enough when they go behind the curtain to vote.”

 

“Yes, there is lot of voter encouragement. I think there are many who will be surprised by how many are finding their power and their voices.”

 

“Cool that women are supporting each other.”

 

“Exactly! Too many try to divide us and pit us against each other, as if the needs of a refugee mother is so different from that of an inner city single mom or a Quiverfull mother of twelve.”

 

“Sisterhood is powerful.”

 

Miranda arched her eyebrow. “Don’t mock it, Andrea. The original concept was incredibly empowering and continues to be a benchmark of radical, feminist thought.”

 

“Sorry. It is just so early,” she whined. Perking up, she drew her finger down Miranda’s arm. “Can’t we do something else if we’re both going to be awake in bed at this hour?”

 

Miranda smiled at her and placed her phone on the nightstand. As she took Andy into her arms, she asked, “You didn’t early vote, did you?”

 

“No, I couldn’t get free.”

 

She frowned and released her hold. “Well, consider this bed as cold as Lysistrata’s until I see an ‘I voted’ sticker.”

 

“Say what?”

 

“From the play by Aristophanes.” At Andy’s continued blank look, she elaborated, “Lysistrata called upon the women of Greece to withhold sex until the men ended the Peloponnesian War.”

 

“Hey, I didn’t have anything to do with nominating that bloviating orange nightmare!”

 

“But you can have an impact on the changing of the culture that legitimizes his agenda. You have to vote and you have to make sure all your friends are getting out there and voting, too.”

 

“Of course, I’m going to vote. Probably after work.” Andy shrugged. “Maybe at lunch.”

 

“Make a plan now.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Find out where your voting location is and put it in your phone.”

 

“Don’t I have the same one as last time?”

 

“Maybe not now after moving in here with us.”

 

“Oh, right.”

 

“Also, the lines could be long and things may delay you. If you make a plan, you’re much more likely to stick with it long enough to help break one of the most enduring glass ceilings on the planet.”

 

“That makes sense.”

 

“Do you know about the other candidates and other initiatives on the ballot?”

 

“Mostly, yeah.”

 

“Honestly, Andrea, you need to know better than mostly. This is our future and not something one can just wing.” Miranda sighed. “You can get a sample ballot from the Secretary of State’s website to know exactly what’s on it and can use your voting time most efficiently.”

 

“I can do that.”

 

“If you have questions about candidate positions try going to the local League of Women Voters website.”

 

“Okay. I will.”

 

“Good girl.” Miranda leaned over and kissed her thoroughly before climbing out of bed.

 

Andy blinked dazedly up at her. “Hey! You can’t just leave me like this!”
 

“Don’t be dramatic, Andrea. I’m merely letting you get an early start. The polls open at six, you know!”

I'm very excited that I will be hopping on a train at the end of next week to take me to Washington, DC and the 2016 Golden Crown Literary Society Annual Conference.

While there, I will be catching the 4th of July fireworks, seeing the White House and getting a tour of the Library of Congress. However, I'm most looking forward to the horde of literary lesbians who will be descending on our nation's capital.

I've waxed lyrical before on what the GCLS means to me; suffice to say I can't wait to catch up with all those readers and authors and publishers whom I'm honored to call friends. And buying books. Lots and lots of books!

If you want to catch me at the conference, I'll be doing the following:

I will be moderating a panel discussion on Sci-fi and Social Justice on Thursday, July 7th from 9:30am to 10:20am. My panelists include: Jewelle Gomez, Elizabeth Hodge, Lise MacTague, MB Panichi, and Tiffany Shamaly. Since speculative fiction allows a reimagining of the universe, we'll be looking at just what is the writer's responsibility for creating diverse, inclusive, and just worlds as well as discussing how we as readers and writers use science fiction to organize for social change.

I will be moderating the Author Spotlight on Thursday from 4:40 to 5:30pm with the following authors: Julie Blair, Jessie Chandler, Bev Prescott, MJ Williamz, and Sheryl Wright

On Friday morning at 8:30am, I will on the panel titled Blood and Gore I. The moderator is Justine Saracen and my fellow panelists are Ann Aptaker, JD Glass, Elizabeth Parmer and Allison Solomon. This panel will focus on violence in the setting of the lesbian novel.

At 9:30am, I will be participating in the Author Spotlight alongside these great authors: Lynn Ames, Marie Castle, Fay Jacobs, Susan X Meagher and moderated by the marvelous Melissa Brayden. I will be reading from my latest novel, Bitter Heart.


I will be signing my books (and anything else a person could want signed) during the author autograph session at 4:30 on Friday afternoon. This session is open to the public so come on down!

Rise early and join me at 8:30 on Saturday morning for Blood and Gore II. Moderated by Alison Solomon, my fellow panelists are: J.L. Gaynor, Laydin Michaels and Justine Saracen. This panel will focus on violence with the protagonist or in the relationship of the lesbian novel.

I'm also looking forward to the always funny and insightful Fay Jacobs who will be delivering the Keynote Address at 10:40 on Saturday morning. Later that night, we'll all get dressed in our finery for the GCLS Awards Ceremony.

I can't wait to see y'all there!

 The 2016 Saints and Sinners Festival is scheduled for Friday, April 1 through Sunday, April 3 in New Orleans.

The Festival was founded in 2003 as an innovative way to disseminate HIV/AIDS prevention messages via the writers, thinkers and spokes-people of the LGBT community as well as to bring the LGBT literary community together in celebration.

I will be giving a reading from my new book, Bitter Heart, and will be on a panel. Info for my appearances is below:

Saturday, April 2 @11:30 AM
SAINTS AND SINNERS READING SERIES: WRITERS READ
Authors Rich Barnett, Jameson Currier, Jewelle Gomez, Mary Griggs, J.D. Horn, and Gregg Shapiro share their latest works in our annual reading series. Enjoy a mix of Festival favorites and promising new voices.
Hotel Monteleone, Cabildo Room
Sponsored by The John Burton Harter Charitable Trust.

Saturday, April 2 @1 PM
CREATURES OF THE NIGHT
If writers are supposed to “write what you know”—how do you create supernatural beings like vampires and werewolves and witches, oh my? Can you make up your own rules, or do you have to follow in the footsteps of those who have gone before? Join us as we talk about redefining the field of paranormal fiction, and the difficulties LGBTQ writers face as they work to get their voices heard.
Panelists: N.S. Beranek, ‘Nathan Burgoine, Mary Griggs,
Jerry Rabushka, and Jeffrey Ricker.
Moderator: Candice Huber.
Hotel Monteleone, Royal Salon C

The book fair for both Saints and Sinners and the Tennessee Williams/New Orleans Literary Festival is located on the mezzanine level of the Hotel Monteleone. Tubby & Coo’s Book Shop is the 2016 Saints and Sinners book seller.

I hope to see you there!