She knew that it was a cold morning. She could see the little people running on the sidewalk, covered in dated furs and embarrassing colored hats. Girls walked close together, gossiping and giggling like scholars. Men kept their scarves close to their faces to shield themselves from the cold wind of December nights in New York. At the feet of the building, in the little square of Paramount Plaza, children were playing with snowballs, and their mothers helped them with snowmen. A girl was walking with her dog and two boys were following her and chuckling. The windows of malls and little shops in the street below were bright and festive. Red, green and gold were everywhere.

From the height she was at, safely hidden in her office, looking through the big window that looked down on Broadway, she was observing the little people. She always did. She despised little people, but she could not stop observing them, studying them. The "Winter Garden" Theater still had a "Mamma Mia!" billboard. It had been there forever. To say the least. When she'd first come here, it had already been there, and she'd been here for ten months already. But she'd never really been into musicals. Her boarding school had hosted a "Cats" production, once, but she'd slept through the whole thing. What was the point of watching desperate people playing cats? No one.

She took a sip from her mug, tasting the strong hot coffee. She licked her lips and laid the mug on the hard marble window-seat. She turned her back on the window and let her eyes wander around her office. The black pinstriped floor with the dark red Persian carpet was something she'd fought against. She hated that carpet. The walls were red too, but the color was different, more relaxing. It didn't hurt her eyes like the damned carpet. Right in front of her was her desk, made of dark mahogany, and her chair, dark too. After all, it was very different from the white and orange she was used too. More elegant, more antique, more…her.

She sighed deeply.

She wasn't a woman to live with regret. She'd hardly regretted anything in the course of her whole life so far, and she wasn't going to regret her choices now. She had been determined to open a new phase of her life. She'd realized she'd been crystallized on unimportant things, things that had kept her from getting what she really deserved. She'd been childish and attached to useless memories. She'd let go of them, and now she was free. She had succeeded in everything since making that decision, she'd proved herself to be worthy of her own reputation. She'd showed the world who she really was after too long a time in which she'd forgotten her true self.

She was free, now. She'd been in chain for years, chains she had created for herself, chains she'd never really seen until ten months before, on that equally cold February morning, when she'd closed the door on her past. The morning when she'd left the Meade building, the morning when she'd left Mode.

She could still remember every detail of that morning. She'd sat down at her desk for two hours, not answering the phone, locked in, curtains closed. She'd paced back and forth, she'd scribbled down a list of pros and cons. She'd even considered calling her father, wondering if his opinion could somehow be helpful. She had ended up putting the receiver down, like she'd done countless times in her life. She was alone, always had been. She had been alone as a child, she had been alone as a teenager, she had been alone as Fey's assistant and then as her Creative Director. She had been alone even as an Editor-in-Chief.

She sat down at her desk, lost in her memories, and she didn't even notice Marc open the heavy door and enter the room. His shoes didn't make any noise, as it was deadened by the red carpet on the floor. He stopped in the middle of the office, joining his hands behind his back, waiting for her to notice him.

Feeling a presence in the room she lifted her head and saw him standing there, motionless. She tilted her head to the right, inviting him to tell her the reason of his presence.

Before he could open his mouth, the phone rang and she pushed a button on the device in front of her. A soft female voice filled the room.

"Wilhelmina, we have a problem."

"What is it?" she asked, sounding more willing than she really was.

"The photo we picked for the cover," Robbie began. Wilhelmina and Marc heard noises from the other end of the phone, like papers being scattered around, "The background colors are a disaster. They don't fit with the layout of the inside of the magazine. And the typeface Sylvia chose for the center-spread captions are hideous."

"I was afraid they were too blurry, indeed," Wilhelmina agreed, biting her bottom lip. "There's still time to change it, that's the least of our problems. What's wrong with the cover?"

"I don't know, the rest of the shots we used in this issue are soft, and romantic…you know what I'm talking about," the woman explained, matter-of-factly, "The cover is so colorful, and in total contrast with the concept."

Wilhelmina chewed on her bottom lip, seeing where she was coming from. She didn't have the pictures on her desk, but she remembered them very well, and Robbie was right. Marc tried to catch her attention, waving madly and she looked at him questioningly. "Richard Warren, tomorrow," he mouthed.

"Oh, Robbie, I told you I'm meeting with Richard Warren tomorrow, right?" Wilhelmina said, winking at Marc who smiled broadly, thoroughly content.

"Yeah, I told you I can't-"

"I'm not asking you to come," Wilhelmina said, rolling her eyes, "I'm suggesting shooting a new cover. And I'll ask Richard if he'll do that for us."

"You mean we're discarding Andres Hernandez?" Robbie asked, sounding shocked.

"I'm not saying we are discarding him," Wilhelmina explained, "We asked him for a romantic theme, he gave us a metro punk style picture. It's his fault he can't do his job properly."

"I don't know Wilhelmina, I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"Robbie, I already saved this magazine three times since I first got here," Wilhelmina said, exasperation clear in her voice, "Give me a little credit."

Both Marc and Wilhelmina could hear the woman take a deep breath. They could hear the wheels in her head turning faster and faster. Robbie Myers had hated Wilhelmina since the first time they'd shook hands, more than thirty years earlier. She saw her as the woman she would never be, and she hated her for that. That's why Wilhelmina, and Marc too, had been shocked when Robbie had been the first to call her when she'd left Mode. She'd started by telling her Joe Zee had quit and she needed a partner. Wilhelmina had believed she'd offer her Joe Zee's position, but instead Robbie told her she already had a new Creative Director, and when she'd said partner she'd really meant co-Editor. Wilhelmina had not been convinced, at first. She just knew there had to be some kind of hole in the plan. But a week later Robbie had called again, and to prove she wasn't trying to trap her into some tacky business, she'd asked her to meet her on 1633 Broadway 44th. The Elle Headquarters.

They'd met. They'd talked. Wilhelmina had listened to all the things Robbie Myers was planning for the two of them. She had been tempted and she'd agreed. The day after it was all over the news. Fashion TV was having a live coverage outside her building and outside the Elle offices. She called Robbie but she only said she would take care of everything, and she didn't have to talk to the press until she'd set the record straight. She didn't want wrong information to fly around. Wilhelmina had done as she had been told, for the first time in a long time, not because she felt intimidated by Robbie, but simply because it was too soon for her to pretend being happy for the new job. She was still grieving over Mode.

And just as she was still grieving over Mode, she'd found a missed call on her cell phone, the ID belonging to Daniel Meade. She didn't see Daniel the day she'd left the office for the first time. When he'd heard about her leaving, her office was empty already. He hadn't tried to talk to her, after finding out. Marc, who'd been told by Amanda, had told her Daniel had heard she had quit from Betty. Wilhelmina had notified Claire, and Claire hadn't even had the grace to tell Daniel he no longer had a co-Editor in Chief. So, when she read his ID she didn't call him back.

"Alright, let's see how this works," Robbie Myers stated, cutting off the connection.

Wilhelmina looked at Marc and smiled. He smiled back, victoriously. He was no longer her assistant. He was now an Editor for the Fashion department. He happened to have the office right next to hers, and they were both glad to be together. He'd followed her without hesitation in the whole transition, never once doubting her savvy. Once they'd landed at Elle, he'd been promoted in less than a month. She missed him, sometimes, when she was alone in her office and Marc was out. She was used to him trotting around her constantly, but she knew he deserved to live his dream.

"So, why are you here?" she asked, as Marc sat down on the chair opposite her desk. He casually picked up a pen and started chewing on the end of it. Wilhelmina furrowed her brow. "Are you done eating my office supplies? Aren't yours tasty enough?"

"Yours taste more like mocha."

"Ha. Ha."

He put down the pen and leaned on the desk with his elbows. "So, Richard Warren huh?"

"Yeah," she said, sighing deeply, "I really hope he agrees to do this, otherwise we're in a lot of trouble. The cover is crap."

"Oh, everything will be fine, you know that."

"Hopefully," she said, "Again, why are you here trying to pull a Dawson's Creek chitchat? With me of all people?"

He grinned. She always knew when he had something to tell her. "I'm having lunch with Amanda, today."

"And that would concern me because…?"

"Maybe you wanted me to ask something in particular?" he suggested, raising both his brows dramatically.

"Why would I? It's been ten months, Marc, and you keep asking that every time you meet Amanda. Which part of I'm done with Mode don't you understand, exactly?"

Marc had moved out of the old apartment he'd shared with Amanda as soon as they'd started working on Broadway. He'd found a beautiful place he could fully afford with his new paycheck, not far from Wilhelmina's apartment. She picked him up every morning, whenever they had the same schedule. It was a way to hold on to at least something familiar. However, the boy had kept in contact with the blonde receptionist over the past ten months. They had lunch at least once a week, and every time he came back he would go barking into Wilhelmina's office. However, she never let him tell her anything, not even what seemed the most scandalous stories. She wanted Mode out of her life, and she was succeeding. She'd never had any contact with Daniel, Claire or anything Meade related in ten months. The Meades seemed to have completely disappeared from the social life of New York. Daniel didn't attend any of the parties she'd been to in the past year.

She had cut Mode out of her life, but one thing she knew was Mode was sinking. Every time the sales came in, Elle had the top numbers, while Mode was way down the list. She'd heard of magazines being shut down at Meade Publishing, issues far from the shining perfection of the past. It was as if with her leaving the whole company had fallen apart.

"Ok," said Marc, snorting and getting up. Before he could leave he turned around to look at her, he smiled sincerely and left.

Wilhelmina rubbed her temples. It had not been her fault after all. She'd left Mode, yes, but she hadn't had any choice. After the whole Connor affair, things had gone rapidly downhill with Claire. They'd fought over her position in the company now that William was gone. Claire had clearly stated her days at Meade were going to be over soon. That had been the reason she'd left Mode in the first place. She would never give Claire the chance to fire her, it would be more shameful than wearing white socks. She'd had to take a decision for her future, and leaving Mode had turned out to be the best decision she'd made in years.

When Connor had been sentenced to twenty-five years in prison, she'd lost contact with him. She had loved him like she had never loved anybody in her life, but things would be too complicated if she'd kept it up. She'd forgotten him too, exactly like she'd forgotten everything about the other people in her life. She had buried the last thirty years under tons of indifference. She kept saying she didn't regret any of that, because that was the only way to be hurt as little as possible. When you learn how to forget, it's easier to make things for yourself.

***

Marc and Amanda walked into the cafeteria, their arms linked, and sat on the two free stools at the far end of the counter. The bartender gave them two menus and left them alone. The background noise was almost relaxing in their part of the room. Twenty minutes later, they were served their plates, and Amanda took a large gulp from her dry Martini.

"You know, it's not the quantity that worries me, because I'm used to that" said Marc, "It's the rude way you smashed the glass down on the counter. Is everything ok?"

Amanda shrugged her shoulders and looked down on her glass, playing with her olive for a little. Than with a jerk she grabbed both Marc's hands on the table and leaned in closer, lowering her voice so no one but him could listen to their conversation. "Swear to me you won't tell Wilhelmina."

He looked around, then nodded, leaning closer. "You're the one who stole her 2008 Manolo Blahnik?"

"How did you know that?" she asked, than slapped him on the forehead, "Anyway that's not the thing. It's…It's about Mode."

Marc suddenly backed away and left her hands. "I don't want to know anything, Amanda. I mean, she doesn't want to know anything. I would like to know, because you know I love gossip, but if you tell me anything that's too big to keep hidden I won't be able to keep my mouth shut."

She narrowed her eyes menacingly. He sighed. "Ok, tell me."

"So, I was talking to Janine from Beauty, who has a friend in accounting, Josh, who has overheard Mama Meade and the Editor in Chief of Cucina Magazine talking about Mode." She paused to take another large gulp from her drink. Marc followed her movements, watching her. "It's BAD. It's Britney Spears shaving bad."

"THAT bad?" Marc asked, grimacing. He knew Mode wasn't supposed to be his concern anymore, but he'd spent six years in that place, and he knew how difficult it had been for Wilhelmina to leave, because it had been as difficult for him too. He was happy at Elle, he'd had all he'd ever wanted. Technically both him and Wilhelmina had managed to get all they had worked for once they'd left Mode, but it wasn't easy to just let go of the past. He felt bad for Amanda, he felt bad for Betty even, most of all he felt bad for the magazine itself, a magazine that had been their home for years. He knew the sales were not good for Mode, he'd read all about it in the many Editorial meetings he'd been in, but every time he saw Amanda it seemed like things just kept going worse.

"Yes, that bad," Amanda sighed, with a sad face, "They might shut Mode down, Marc."

This time it was Marc's turn to sip from his drink. He played with the edge of the glass briefly, before staring straight into Amanda's eyes. "You want me to find you a job at Elle?"

Amanda was shocked.

"What? No!" she said, raising her voice, "How can you be so uninterested? I just told you Mode is dying, and you barely had any reaction."

"Mandy, what am I supposed to say?" Marc said, shrugging, "I'm sorry, you know I am. But there's nothing I can do or say to improve the situation. Everybody knew Wilhelmina was the only one who knew what she was doing in that office, and when she left it was just a matter of time before things would start falling apart. You knew that, too."

"Daniel is a good Editor. He was an even better Editor when Wilhelmina was helping him. But he tried to do all he could in the past nine months!"

"Apparently it wasn't enough."

Amanda snorted. "Look, I know you're in the Headquarters of the Slater Fanclub, so we'd better talk about something else." She started to pick at her salad, absentmindedly. He simply stared at her, feeling his friend slowly slip away. He reached for her free hand and squeezed it. She lifted her head and stared back. "This doesn't have to affect us, you know?"

"I know," he agreed. "Let's talk about something stupid, and mean."

"You have to see this picture," Amanda said, suddenly forgetting their argument. She found her phone in her bag and started typing something on the keyboard. "Betty just hit a new couture low and…"

He was just looking at her, not really listening. She was amazing, despite everything that had happened she was still with him. She was funny, witty, underestimated by most people. But he was glad he could see the treasure she was.

***

Wilhelmina closed the door of her office and glanced at the empty desk in front of it. She had not being capable of finding a new assistant. She'd had countless, since Marc's promotion, but no one had lasted more than a week. She walked up to the lifts and the doors opened when she pushed the button. She got inside and leaned against the elevator wall.

There had been Jaqueline, the French girl: overenthusiastic and overexcited about everything. So overexcited the first day she'd tripped on the carpet and the coffee had destroyed her silk Gucci scarf. She'd been fired the same afternoon. Then there had been Sally, a beautiful girl from South Dakota who had lasted a whole week before she dared to say Jimmy Choo was overrated. She'd thought the boy who came after Sally, Derek, could be the one. If only he hadn't pretended to be gay to try and bed her.

She could name them all, tragedy after tragedy, and explain exactly why they hadn't had any chance to be her assistant, but she also knew they had shoes too big to fill. She would never be content with someone less than perfect, she would never want someone who was less than Marc. The elevator doors opened and she stepped out of it, walking on the cold hard floor of the hall. She passed through the big sliding doors and put on her big sunglasses to shield her eyes from the now pale afternoon sun. The warmth of her white coat comforted her, feeling the freezing air tickle her face. "I should have put on the sable today," she whispered to herself.

She turned right and started walking. No reason to call a cab for her destination, this time. It was only a couple of blocks away. As she walked, a few people, men mainly, stared at her. She was never someone to go unnoticed. She didn't know whether it was because they knew her, or just because she was dressed impeccably, but people always looked at her.

"Miss Slater?"

She reluctantly turned around to see a couple of young girls staring and giggling.

"Yes?"

"Hello, Miss Slater," said the one who appeared to be the more straightforward, "My name is Kelly, and I just wanted to tell you how much we admire your job. We used to read Mode religiously, but after all they did to you we decided to subscribe to Elle Magazine."

She raised a brow and smirked. "Well, thank you," she said, nodding curtly, before turning her back on the two girls, who were left talking amongst themselves about how freaking amazing she was. Two blocks later she crossed the street and entered the small Starbucks. She sat at her usual table, alone, and put the bag on the seat next to hers, preventing any unwanted company. She motioned for the waiter who, upon seeing her, almost literally ran to her table.

"A tall non-fat Skinny Caramel Latte," she said, without looking at the man. She pulled the Elle mock-up and started going through the pages, scribbling something here and there. Five minutes later she was sipping from her latte, carefully trying not to burn her tongue. She loved that place. It was not your usual crowded Starbucks, thanks to the moderate dimensions. They always played jazz music, which was her all-time favorite genre. It was relaxing, after (not having) lunch, sitting there, watching people passing by, taking care of business, making calls, while sipping a hot beverage.

Just as she was thinking about how much she loved her routine, she heard a familiar voice. "A Cinnamon Dolce Crème, please." Wilhelmina almost choked on her Latte. She turned her head so fast she was afraid she'd break it. There, looking weird as always, and bright, and coloured, and big as always, was Betty Suarez. Wilhelmina's eyes widened in shock and she turned to her Latte, keeping her eyes tightly shut. If there ever was a better reason to pray, she couldn't remember it.

"Wilhelmina?"

No matter how she wanted to believe in God, how could she when all he seemed to do was ignore her? She turned slowly around and saw Betty walking towards her, with a huge smile on her face and her drink in her hands. When she was close enough, Wilhelmina looked up and raised a brow.

"How are you?" Betty asked tentatively, casting a glance to the Elle mock-up. Wilhelmina closed the Book and put it back into her bag.

"This is not your usual zone," Wilhelmina stated, taking another sip from her cup.

"Yeah, I had to come and pick something up for work," she said, lowering her gaze awkwardly. She sighed deeply and nodded once, before saying, "Well, it was nice seeing you." She turned around and walked away. Wilhelmina followed her with her eyes, watching her as she got out of the shop and walked down the street, until she was out of sight.

She grabbed her purse, and the remainder of her Latte, put a ten dollar bill on the table and left the place. She looked around, suddenly feeling exposed. She'd never met anyone from Mode in the past ten months, so she had never really been face to face with her past. Seeing Betty had upset her, for the look in the girl's eyes was not able to hide all the problems she was probably having at work, with Mode on the verge of collapse.

***

Daniel looked up from his laptop when he heard a woman clearing her voice. He saw his mother standing on the threshold of his office's door, arms crossed on her chest, with a small smile playing upon her lips. He leaned back and motioned for her to come in. He yawned and stretched his arms and legs.

"You've been here all night?" she asked, sitting down on the chaise longue.

He nodded wearily, closing his eyes. He hadn't slept all night, just like he hadn't slept the day before. He'd been trying to solve ads problems with European designers who were trying to breach their contracts with the magazine. No big news, since half the ads had decided Mode's poor sales were not good for their high standards brands. The January Issue was supposed to be approved around the 20th of December. He had no more than twenty days to save the company and his own ass. He was not feeling positive.

"You know Mum, I'm considering flying to Mexico," he said, with his eyes still closed and a sleepy tone in his voice.

"Don't be stupid," she said, "Australia would be much better."

"Don't ever say that again," he snapped, "I don't want to hear anything that has to do with Australia. Not even kangaroos."

Claire got up and circled the desk, getting behind Daniel and putting her hands on his shoulders. She squeezed him tightly for a brief moment, then she bent down and hugged him. Daniel touched her arm and squeezed it in return.

"It's ok," he said, feeling the urge to reassure his mother, even thought things were really far from ok. "I don't know how, but I'll find a way, I'm sure."

Claire straightened herself up and peeked at his computer screen, watching the long list of names and numbers he was studying. "It's bad, huh?" she asked.

"Armani is pulling out," he explained, "And so is John Galliano and Bottega Veneta. I still haven't spoken to Raf Simons, but I'm pretty sure Jil Sanders is too." He had spent the night talking on the phone with assistants, because their bosses were apparently too busy to talk to him. He had made an educated guess, and had come to the conclusion they were just avoiding dirtying their hands and letting the underdogs handle the situation.

"If you add all the ads we lost in the past couple of months, we have-"

"Nothing, Mom," he continued, "We have nothing left, except for some local brand and minor designer."

She didn't have anything to say. They both stood there in a silence full of awareness. They were shaken out of their trances by the noise of someone entering the room. They looked at the girl who had just crossed the threshold, both smiling. Betty smiled back. It was common use, at Mode, smiling just because. Because everybody knew things were bad but didn't want to admit it, or because they were all trying to be polite and assure themselves the paycheck of the month.

"Alright, I have good news and bad news," she began.

"Good news first," Daniel and Claire said together.

"I talked to the reps at Marc Jacobs," she said, and reached into her bag to pull out a stack of papers, "And they agreed to sign the contract for another six months."

"That's extraordinary!" Daniel said, jumping up from his chair and running towards Betty, hugging her.

"Don't you want to hear the bad news?" she asked, finding it almost hard to breathe in Daniel's hold. He released her and his euphoric expression was replaced by one of concern.

"What is it?"

"They have conditions. A lot of conditions," she said, holding the stack of papers up to Daniel's face. He took the files and started skimming through the many pages. They really did have a lot of conditions, but none of them were impossible to maintain. After all, a contract was still a contract.

"It doesn't matter, as long as they stay on board," he whispered, laying the contract on the desk. Betty didn't move and shifted uncomfortably in her position. Claire looked at her, narrowing her eyes, suspiciously. When Daniel turned around, he noticed the girl's uneasiness too. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, too fast and with a high pitched voice, both Suarez Lie Detectors. Daniel raised a brow, skeptically. "Ok, there is something, but it's not really that important."

"If you felt compelled to lie about it, then it must be important," Daniel said authoritatively.

"While I was out to meet the Marc Jacobs people, I sort of went into a Starbucks," she said, fidgeting with her own fingers, "And while I was there, I sort of ran into someone."

"Betty, if this is about Matt again, I'm sorry you two broke up but it's not really a good-"

"I'm not talking about Matt, and if you could just let me finish," she said, resentful, "As I was saying, I ran into someone. And she was totally not pleased to see me."

Claire looked confused, she had no idea what the girl was talking about. She thought that had to be some kind of inside joke between her and Daniel, so she turned to her son, and indeed she saw his expression change to one of realization. "What?" Claire asked.

Daniel looked at Betty for a minute, before looking down and sitting down on the chaise longue his mother had occupied earlier. He laid himself down, letting out a deep breath.

"Is anyone going to explain me what's going on?" the blonde woman asked, moving her eyes from Betty to Daniel and again to Betty.

"She met Wilhelmina."

Wilhelmina Slater was a tough subject at Mode. Nobody mentioned her name, and her office had been locked up, so that the negative influence would be trapped in between those walls. It was general belief, amongst people who worked there, that she'd cursed the place. So it was no wonder when he said her name out loud for the first time in months he felt taken aback himself. Claire turned to Betty, looking for confirmation, and when the girl nodded, she sat down on Daniel's armchair.

"What did she say to you?" he asked from the chaise longue. He was staring at the ceiling.

"That I was out of my zone, or something along those lines," she said, trying to remember. Daniel snorted and got back into a sitting position.

"Why were you there, anyway? There are dozens of Starbucks in town, why did you have to pick the only one she goes to?" Daniel asked, feeling something boiling inside his guts.

"Let me set the record straight, Daniel," she said, starting to get annoyed, "First off, I was on Broadway because I had a meeting with the Marc Jacobs reps in the proximity, and secondly, how was I supposed to know Wilhelmina Slater goes to Starbucks like normal people do?"

Daniel was about to reply when Amanda came into the office, without knocking as per usual. She looked around, noticing the looks of concern on everybody's face. "O-em-gee, you guys look like you've seen a ghost."

Betty snorted, "Almost."

"Anyway, Daniel, this just came in, it's an invitation for the White Party, next week," she said, walking up to Daniel and gave him a white envelope. "By the way, if you needed a partner, I'm totally available."

The girl left the room, swaying her hips exaggeratedly. Daniel looked at the white envelope in his hands and tossed it to the side. Betty looked at the invitation laying abandoned on the floor, shaking her head.

"Aren't you going to RSVP at least?" she asked.

"What?" Daniel asked, coming out of his trance, "Oh yes, I'm going."

Claire was surprised, and so was Betty. They both stared at Daniel, big smiles forming upon their lips. "Really?" asked Claire, "You're going?"

"I am going."