The Painter

Part 1: Our Little Gathering

"Painters must speak through paint, not with words."

-Hans Hofmann

Andy was beyond ready to leave. How much longer would they have to stay?

She'd been there for about two hours, talking about things she didn't give a damn about and smiling like some masochistic Barbie doll the entire time.

She glanced around to find her husband in the crowd and waved at him to come over. He waved back feigning incomprehension, and smiled with that politically correct smile of his. All American, all capitalist, all stereotypical rich republican white man.

Sometimes she wondered why she even bothered to smile back. Three years into their marriage and already there was discord. She would have left him by now if it weren't for-

"Andy darling, how is Henry doing with his latest investment in Valentino's new perfume advertisements?" the man standing beside her asked, his round glasses perched on his nose quizzically.

Andy smiled, and turned to speak to the bald man beside her, whose name she slipped her mind for a moment— Nigel Kipling, she thought his name was. The senior assistant editor of whatever at Runway magazine.

"Wonderful of course. Valentino is always a good investment." She replied, wondering how much longer she would have to pretend to be interested in this conversation.

"Excellent. It truly was a fabulous season. And I must say, your dress is just lovely. This season's Chanel. Perfect choice as always."

"You flatter me." Repressing the urge to roll her eyes, she looked at the glass of champagne in her hand and considered taking a sip, then thought better of it.

"Not at all." He said, trying to seem sincere. Andy had long learned to see past false sincerity. Someone behind her caught his eye. He waved at the person he was no doubt about to speak to about something far more interesting, and murmured an absentminded good bye.

She supressed the need to groan. Her shoes were killing her and her feet would not forgive her in the morning. Andy fiddled with the ridiculously expensive marriage ring on her finger, feeling how loose it was sitting there like a chain, rattling around, waiting to fall off. She'd have to get it adjusted again. She'd have to tell Lily to remember to set an appointment with the jeweller.

A murmur rushed through the crowd and a few gasps from nearby guests attracted her attention. And clearly, someone had caught their attention. Who could it be?

She followed their looks of awe to the grand stair case, where a regal, white haired woman with striking blue eyes was gliding down the steps to the ballroom floor.

She heard the answer to her earlier question murmured across the throng of glittering false smiles. Miranda Priestly. The indisputable iron fist of the fashion world.

Even Andy, who cared little about fashion, knew who she was. She'd just never seen her in person before. Andy had heard rumors of her strict work ethic, whispers of sub-zero temperatures, the Devil in Prada, the Snow Queen, a nickname that had apparently become well deserved.

She had to admit those blue grey eyes must be truly terrifying when furious.

Her hand began to tingle, almost like an itch she couldn't get rid of. She wanted to paint. More specifically she wanted to paint this woman. She wanted to spend hours getting the colours right for those eyes, to work till she could barely think about anything else. She clenched her fingers in a fist.

She knew she was staring but couldn't bring herself to care enough to stop. It had been a long time since anyone had caught her artist's eye like this woman had.

"I know that look." She jumped, startled, not having realised her husband had come up behind her. "Who is it this time?" He asked, his face too close for comfort. His breath smelled like too much whisky and cigarettes.

"Henry, god you scared me." She quickly unclenched her hand and looked away from Miranda, hoping he hadn't really noticed who had caught her attention.

"Oh, sorry." He didn't look the least bit apologetic.

He peered around the room trying to find the person who had sparked her interest.

"Ah." He smirked knowingly. Damn, he'd noticed. "Miranda Priestly. I should have known she'd be the one to catch your eye."

More like the other way around. It was Miranda's eyes that had caught her, after all. She sighed and nodded.

"It's not as though I could do anything about it." She hated how defensive she sounded. She shouldn't have to justify herself to him.

"Ask her."

Andy raised her eyebrows in incredulity. He said that as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

"What do you expect me to do? Waltz up to her and just ask her if I can paint her?" Not bloody likely to go down well if the rumors were true, no matter how much Andy wished she could.

He raised an eyebrow as if to ask 'Why not?' She rolled her eyes at him impatiently.

"Henry, we haven't even met. If we had, things might but different, but—"

"Well then we'll have to remedy that situation don't you think? And here is our chance." The people Miranda had just been speaking to were leaving, after greeting their hostess as was polite.

"You can't be serious—" she tried to say, "Henry!" Andy exclaimed.

Henry had waved at the white haired woman before Andy could stop him. Miranda smiled back, with a vacant look in her eyes. For an insane moment, Andy wondered if Miranda was just as bored as she was.

Henry guided them over, putting a possessive hand on her hip. She flicked a glare at him to let him know his gesture was entirely unappreciated and unnecessary. He released his grip on her after noticing her displeasure.

She watched, enraptured, as Miranda tilted her head to the side, her pale neck at an elegant angle, almost demure yet sharp in its appearance. Her long silver earrings played around her shoulders, and the light flickers through them, refracting in the topaz stones. She was listening, no doubt, to her ever present assistants informing her of who was approaching. The red head behind her stuttered, clearly at a loss, and a blonde girl stepped forward to fill in the blank of the names the desperate red head was searching for.

She had a moment to take a breath before they were standing in front of Miranda Priestly herself. Andy couldn't help but feel a bit intimidated.

"Henry, we're so glad you could make it to our little gathering," Miranda smiled blandly. Clearly, Andy's husband's reputation for boring conversation, preceded them. "How are things at Goldman Sachs and Co.?"

He practically puffed out his chest with pride, as he said, "Swimmingly of course. We've just secured another merger, this time with Warner's people."

"How delightful." She gave him a placating smile, "Now, I've been remise in my manners. I don't believe we've met…?" It took a second for her to realise Miranda was speaking to her.

"Andy, er—" she stuttered, "That is, my name is Andrea but everyone calls me Andy." She shut her eyes, and winced in utter mortification at her inability to answer a simple question. She opened her eyes to see the silver haired woman's mouth twitch at the right corner, trying not to sneer at her.

Andy took a deep breath and tried again. "Andrea Sachs Goldman" She managed, noticing the slight tremor in her voice. She supressed a cringe but leaned in for an air kiss which Miranda reciprocated, without any further incident.

"Andrea." The way Miranda said her name was different than the way she'd said it. She'd never heard anyone say it that way before. It sounded almost exotic. She liked it.

"Actually Miranda," Henry began with what she supposed he thought was a dashing smile but looked like a leer more than anything, "Henry please we really should—" she tried to interrupt him.

Undeterred he continued. "My wife was wondering if you had any interest in having a portrait done."

An awkward, if vaguely curious smile was Miranda's reply to the proposition.

"Henry!" Andy glared at him in annoyance, "Please, forgive my husband. He can be very direct when he set his mind on something."

The smile became almost predatory when she replied, "You are an artist? Have I heard of you?"

"I— Yes. Well, probably. You might know my pseudonym better. A.S Goldman."

She watched Miranda frown for an instant, and then recollection dawned. "Ah, yes, I think Vanity Chair did a blurb on your Gallery 3 years ago in Paris. Remind me what your genre is again?" Miranda asked.

"Watercolor portraits." She said hoping the editor would let the subject drop.

"Portraits, really? And who have you painted recently?" she asked.

"Recently, not very many." Andy said evasively. "Two years ago I painted Catherine Zeta Jones, Emily Blunt, Helene Mirren and a few others."

Miranda quirked an eyebrow and her eyes flickered with what Andy thought might be interest.

Those blue grey eyes look her up and down appraisingly, as if seeing her truly for the first time.

"We're holding a grand opening for Andy's new gallery on Columbus Avenue on the 21ist." Henry said, sticking his foot in his mouth as per usual. Andy tried very hard not to elbow her husband in the ribs. "We'd be very glad if you'd come by, if you have the time."

"Perhaps." She murmured, non-committal, with a falsely bright smile. Miranda looked over Henry's shoulder and waved at someone behind them. Andy turned to see Irving Ravitz, chairman of Elias-Clarke, coming over with Jaqueline Follet.

"Irv, my dear man! How have you been keeping? It's been far too long." Henry enthused with his ever present Ken doll smile.

"Henry Goldman, I haven't seen you in a dog's age." Irv declared, trying to appear pleased to see him again, "And this I take it, is your lovely wife. Mrs. Sachs Goldman. You've done well for yourself or so I hear, Henry." Andrea tried not bristle at being talked about like an object. She looked Irving Ravitz up and down with an annoyed glance and decided immediately she didn't like the man. From the corner of her eye she saw Miranda watching her.

Jacqueline's smile was polite if a bit feral looking, as Irv introduced her to Andrea.

"You're the artist everyone was excited about seeing earlier aren't you?" Jacqueline asked in her raspy French accent.

"Excited about seeing me here?" Andy asked perplexed. She hadn't hear any such thing. Compliments certainly but actually wanting to see her after 2 years out of the public eye was a bit excessive—

"Hey! When do we eat?!" Called out an obnoxiously loud voice. Many people turned to look and see who it was.

Andy noticed Miranda go white, seeing a man in his late fifties approach, empty scotch glass in hand, clearly inebriated.

"Darling, there you are." Miranda murmured, with a worried smile, approaching him quickly. She was undoubtedly trying to avoid a scene.

"Yeah, it's been a banner evening. Three people didn't recognize me, one called me Mr. Priestly, and now the damn bartender won't even serve me." Miranda winced, although Andy didn't think anyone else noticed seeing as she kept smiling, trying to placate this man who was clearly her husband. Miranda Priestly seemed to be very good at hiding her emotions, Andy noted.

"Hey, why don't you get me another drink," Miranda's husband said, speaking to Irv Ravitz, "He'd have to listen to you eh little guy?"

Andy watched as Irv's face darkened with indignation. At that moment Andy knew things were going to get ugly if someone didn't break the tension. Seeing as she was the closest one standing to Irv, she decided to act.

She deliberately dropped her champagne glass, letting it shatter on the marble floor, like so much trash.

Miranda managed to step away from the mess it made just in time, but her husband wasn't so lucky. It spilled all over his shoes.

He cussed loudly, and glared at Andy who simply gave him her best puppy dog eyes.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!" Andy exclaimed, pretending to be worried.

A nearby server quickly arrived and cleaned up the mess. All the while Andy continued to apologise profusely to Miranda's husband.

"What a klutz! Damn. My shoes are soaked." He glared once again, but Andy was unfazed. Her father's glare had made her immune to the 'big macho man angry look' men seemed to think worked so well on women.

"Stephen, darling, I think you had better head home. You can't spend the rest of the party in soaked shoes. Let me call the car." Miranda said with a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. To everyone's relief, Stephen was shepherded away without much trouble.

After everything had been put to rights once again, the atmosphere had turned awkward and it was clearly time to leave. Suddenly, Andy got another idea. Spotting John Foldgier, the new artistic director at Chelsea Radburn she smiled at her husband.

"Henry why don't you and Irv and Jacqueline ask John about those stocks you were talking about earlier. I'm sure he'd know the answers to your questions."

Blessedly, Henry took the hint and led Irv away, with Jacqueline in tow, talking his ear off about the latest merger once more.

Suddenly, Andy was acutely aware that she was left alone with Miranda.

"Thank you." Miranda murmured, much to Andy's surprise.

Andy decided to play innocent. "For what?" she asked coquettishly.

Miranda looked at her knowingly. She had clearly not been so easily deceived by Andy's maneuver.

"You're welcome." She muttered under her breath.

"Why did you do it?" Miranda asked just as quietly.

"I've dealt with my share of drunken husbands before." She paused and looked around the ball room, feeling very tired of the fake smiles and dreary conversation. "I think I'll go get myself another drink." She said to get away from the conversation.

"You shouldn't drink." Miranda looked her up and down, her gaze stopping at Andy's middle. "How far along are you?"

Andy gapped at her. How had she noticed? Not even Henry knew yet.

"What makes you say that? Because I'm not a size 0?" She said trying to pretend to be indignant but still keep the conversation light.

"You had that glass for the longest time and yet it was still full when you dropped it." Andy looked away again feeling self-conscious. This woman was truly observant. No wonder she was a force to be reckoned with.

"You haven't told him yet." She said looking her up and down once more. Those eyes really were piercing when they were intent on something, Andy noted.

"I think that's up to—"

"No, no that wasn't a question." Miranda said cutting her off.

Andy didn't reply.

"Never mind, it's of no great consequence to me. Make an appointment with Emily, shall we say, Sunday at 3pm?"

"Appointment for what?" Andy asked stunned by the sudden shift in conversations.

"For my portrait of course." Andrea's mouth fell open, quite unattractively causing the other woman to smirk.

"I will see you then Andrea." And with that, Miranda glided off to another circle of people, with a distraught looking redhead and a stressed out blonde following in her wake.

Andy stood watching her for a moment longer before rejoining her husband.

Yes, Miranda Priestly would certainly be and interesting subject to paint, Andy could already tell.

- To be Continued-

(A/n: Please remember to comment!)