The Goal Weight
Happy Holidays, SINANDMISERY, from hawkbehere.
sinandmisery’s Secret Santa prompt was: What I want: SERENA/EMILY FIC. I honestly don't care about details, just that they're together. I love sexy and angst most of all :) sinandmisery: This, I promise, becomes S/E but Miranda was adamant about appearing (you know how she is) and Andy tagged along.
This is truly insanely long and I sincerely hope you enjoy it!
A very special thanks to mercurychkita, for valuable feedback in this story’s infancy and for talking me off the ledge a few times. hawkbehere@yahoo.com
The Goal Weight
Rated M
PART ONE
Present Day, Part 1
****
“I’m 5’7” and one half, Miranda. Which I suppose makes me nearly six feet tall in these heels. Surely I didn’t have to close your office doors and have a seat because of your sudden interest in my height.” The only thing more disdainful and disinterested than the look on Emily’s face was the tone in her voice, a tone that would have shocked Miranda months earlier.
“No. That’s just the first question, Emily.”
“Then could I please have them all a bit more quickly, Miranda? Remember, your 3:30 conference call’s in an hour. Nobody but you could believe how busy we both are today.”
Miranda ignored this, swallowing an ire that was perfectly justified, as Andy would have wanted. “I was also wondering how much you weigh?”
The young woman’s eyes narrowed. “I have no idea. I don’t weigh myself.”
Miranda’s voice was cool. “And yet you used to a have a goal weight-wasn’t that what you called it? If your incessant prattling about it was any indication, you used to weigh yourself constantly.”
Emily’s eyes flickered with something very close to fury. “I gave that habit up months ago.”
“Oh, I’m quite sure you did. What was that goal weight, by the way?”
“I don’t know that’s any of your business and what does that have to do with work?”
“It’s just a question, Emily. Why so hesitant to respond?”
The Englishwoman chewed out her answer, “Anywhere under 120, preferably 115.”
Miranda pursed her lips, “115-that would be rather thin for your height and bone structure.”
Emily laughed scornfully, “Said the woman who perpetuates the image of the human female clothes hanger as the standard of beauty every day of her working life.”
Miranda nodded, “So true. But as you well know, most of the women who model for me are naturally thin. Someone like…Serena, say, who is virtually six feet tall without heels, is an example. She’s naturally thin. In fact, I’m sure she eats quite normally, wouldn’t you think?”
Wow! Miranda actually flinched at the look of malevolence that Emily shot her. Having had a life filled with considerable hatred aimed her way, she’d been on the receiving end of looks that should have killed her, but nothing like this. Emily’s nostrils flared gently as if fighting for emotional control. “I can’t answer that question, Miranda, because I don’t follow the dietary habits of my coworkers. But if that’s a new job requirement, tell me and I’ll add it to the list.”
“Coworker? What an interesting choice of words. I was under the impression that Serena was your friend.”
“Coworker. Friend. Whatever. Does anything you’re asking or saying have a point? And, if so, could we get to it?” She obviously forced herself to add, “Please?”
“Yes. I have point. I want to know how much you weigh.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well I do. I can estimate the weight of any female within about two pounds just by looking at them.”
Emily forced a sarcastic grin, “How lovely for you. If this editing thing doesn’t work out, you can take that talent on the road with a carnival.”
Miranda actually laughed-a real laugh. Nobody spoke to her this way. Nobody. It was actually rather enjoyable but scarcely the point. “You weigh between 101 and 103 pounds, Emily.”
“Right. Well. I’ll certainly take your word for that. Now that we’ve ferreted out how much I weigh, can I get back to work?”
“No. You have a new goal weight. At least 115 pounds. At least.”
Emily blinked and then shook her head in disbelief. “What? What are you saying?”
“You’re gaining at least 15 pounds.”
The answer was a short bark of laughter, “Or what? You’ll fire me? Go ahead. Fire me.”
“No. I’m not going to fire you. You’ll have to quit. Oh, but that’s right. We both know you won’t quit because you’re actually no quitter, except where eating’s concerned.”
“You can’t make me-that’s ridiculous. Is that even legal?”
“The legality of it is beside the point. You will not starve yourself to death outside my office.”
“I’m not anorexic, Miranda.”
“I didn’t say I thought you were.”
Emily continued, “I don’t look in the mirror and see a fat person. I don’t weight myself-ever. I’m just not interested in food-or anything else for that matter.”
“Again, I’m not saying you’re anorexic. Maybe you’re just deeply depressed. Maybe any number of things. My concern is that the results are the same, are they not? You can see that you’re starving, can’t you?”
“Yes, of course I can but I don’t care. Given that, what’s your plan, Svengali? You force-feed me?”
“No. The plan is this. You will eat breakfast and I will know if you have or not because I will ask and, despite this new attitude of yours, you’re still a wretched liar. You will drink one can of Ensure Plus during the mid-morning. To keep you from cheating, you will pour it in a clear glass and Sara will watch you drink it.”
For the first time, Emily raised her voice, “You brought Sara into this? How dare you?! It’s my bloody body-and my bloody privacy!”
Miranda held up a hand, “Sara knows if she breathes one word of this, I’ll hear about it and she’ll not only not be my second assistant anymore, she’ll find it very difficult to be anything anywhere in New York. On with the plan. You will take forty minutes for lunch and-“
“Oh-is Sara going to watch me at lunch? Who’ll answer the phones? We both know you won’t do it.”
“Sara will answer the phones. Serena will have lunch with you.”
The look on Emily’s face was unreadable but tears welled in her eyes, “You had no right to involve Serena in this. No right!”
“She won’t say a word either and she seemed quite willing to help.”
“I won’t do it.”
“You will.”
“Fire me.”
“Why would I fire you? You’ve been performing your duties quite spectacularly lately. I’ve been deeply impressed.”
Emily didn’t bother to wipe the tears that ran down her cheeks, “That’s because I no longer give a flying fuck what you think, what kind of mood you’re in, what you say to me or if you fire me. I don’t fucking care.”
Miranda merely nodded, “Interesting. Keep that attitude. It seems to be working for you. On with the plan. In the afternoon you will place another can of Ensure Plus in a clear glass and drink it in front of Sara. When you get home, you will force yourself to eat dinner and, again, I will ask, and I will know if you’re lying.”
“Why are you doing this, Miranda? Oh-wait! Don’t tell me. Andy bloody Sachs. Andy put you up to it, just like she put you up to that absurd bit of subterfuge to force me into having dinner with her the other night. This is entirely ridiculous, not to mention a humiliating and hideously undignified thing to put me through.”
“One. Andy did not put me up to this. Rather the opposite. I put her up to that dinner. Two. If you continue on the disastrous path you’re on, I assure you that you’ll find it far more undignified to be hospitalized and force-fed with a tube stuck up your nose and down into your stomach. Have you ever seen that?”
“No.”
“I have. Twice. Years ago. A young Czech model and a younger American model. They were anorexics. They starved themselves to death. I couldn’t do anything about them but I’m going to do something about you. Since I won’t fire you and you won’t quit, it looks as if we’re stuck with each other. This is a job requirement, Emily. You will gain fifteen pounds.”
The Englishwoman looked as if she were trying to think of something blistering to reply, but Miranda waved her hand airily. “I’ll save you the trouble. I know you hate me and perhaps even think I’m gaining some perversely evil bit of pleasure at your expense. But I can promise you there’s no fun involved. I’m much too busy to monitor an adult’s nutrition.”
Emily opened her mouth to reply but Miranda beat her to it, “No no. If it weren’t me, evil, overbearing me, the bane of your working existing-if some other person took the time to help you in what is clearly a health crisis, you might assume that person actually cared about you and your welfare.” She tilted her head, “Might you not?”
Emily’s eyes lowered and she pursed her lips but nodded.
“Right. Your Ensure is in my refrigerator. I ordered every flavor although I’m sure most of them taste perfectly vile. Start today, sip it slowly and limit your intake for the next few days to liquids, very light solids and build up from there. What I described is the very least I will tolerate. I’d prefer many small meals, many times per day. Do we understand each other?”
Emily nodded.
“This is advice from my nutritionist whom I consulted regarding your condition. You have an appointment with him tomorrow at 9AM in the small conference room. I also expect you to make an appointment with your doctor as soon as possible. Sara will man the desk-or woman the desk, whatever one does these days.”
Emily was still looking at the floor, her chin almost on her chest. Miranda stood, circled her desk and did something she’d never done. She touched Emily’s face, placing two fingers under her chin and gently lifted in order to force the younger woman to look her in the eyes. “I know this is hard but I couldn’t just ask nicely. Be honest. Would that have accomplished anything?”
The answer was a slight shake of the head. No.
“Right. Just remember, you have to be alive to hate me. And soon you’ll have much more energy, the more vigorously to hate me with. That’s something to look forward to, right?”
The corners of Emily’s mouth lifted a little and Miranda smiled, “Yes. There. I have noticed that just the idea of hating me can lift the spirits.”
She sat on the edge of her desk. “That’s all.”
Emily stood and crossed to the door but before she opened it, turned and said, “I don’t hate you, Miranda, but I’m angrier with you right now than I have ever been with anyone in my life.”
Miranda nodded, “Good. We should get lots of work done today, then, shouldn’t we?”
***
As Emily stalked out of the office, Sara couldn’t look her in the eye. The blonde girl was relatively new but was doing well and was only slightly less frightened of Emily than she was of Miranda.
“Traitor!” Emily hissed.
Sara blushed and whispered back, “I couldn’t say anything. I’d get fired!”
Emily glared at her as she walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Can after can. She grabbed a glass and a can labeled chocolate and marched back out to her desk. As the thick liquid glug-glugged its way into the glass, she felt her gorge rise at the consistency and the smell. She took a tentative sip, put the glass down, and closed her eyes. It took a few seconds before she could force herself to swallow. She leapt up and in just a few seconds she was at Sara’s desk with the glass and a teaspoon.
“Taste this!”
Sara’s eyes widened and she whispered, “I can’t. You have to drink it all.”
“Bollocks! It’s one bloody teaspoon. Taste what I’m being forced to drink under your supervision.” She held out the teaspoon and Sara opened her mouth.
When the blonde woman had swallowed it, she smacked her lips with distaste. “Wow. That….really sucks.”
Emily leaned down and hissed in her ear, “You’re bloody right it does. If I mixed Hershey’s cocoa in latex paint, it would taste better than this shite.”
She reseated herself and tried holding her nose as she took the next sip and wondered even as she did so why she’d put herself through this. She swallowed and shuddered with disgust, both at the taste and at herself. Of course she was drinking it. Miranda Fucking Priestly had told her to.
***
Later that night, when Miranda had sent Sara down for the book, curiosity overtook her. She opened the refrigerator, pulled out a can labeled vanilla, wiped the lid with a paper towel and popped it open. She took a healthy swig and was grateful that no one was around to see her spit it, and quite inelegantly, into the sink. My God, she thought, that poor girl.
***
At that very moment, Serena was drinking tea. She’d given up reading her book thirty minutes earlier because there was no use reading the same page over and over again. She would start having lunch with Emily tomorrow, as per Miranda’s orders, and felt her stomach flipping with anxiety. Emily had stopped speaking to her more than three months earlier and the Brazilian woman knew that it had been entirely her fault. What she’d been trying to do was stupid and ill-conceived and had backfired on her in the worst way she could imagine. But having unintentionally broken their friendship, Serena was given absolutely no avenue or opportunity to fix it or even any recognition that there was anything to fix. And, all the while, she’d watched the Englishwoman literally disappearing before her eyes.
***
Four Months Earlier
***
“Emily-tell Nigel, Gerardo and Serena to be here in 15 minutes.”
“Of course, Miranda.”
Emily rang the art department and passed along the message, almost choking as she repeated it.
Gerardo Valentino. Emily’s eyes narrowed every time she heard the name. It wasn’t, apparently, a joke. It was the bloody bastard’s actual name. He’d arrived in the art department looking like a living fucking Roman god come to life, straight from Runway Italy. Entirely masculine but gorgeous, with long locks of hair, beautiful eyes, pouting red lips any woman would kill for and an ass you could hang a hat on. And she had despised him instantly, although she never put the two facts together, the first moment she saw Serena look at him.
He was charm itself, even she had to admit it, with his soft irritatingly bedroom Italian accent. He was intelligent, deferential and quite talented, apparently. Miranda was pleased with him, although unlike almost every other woman in the building, she seemed not to have noticed his looks at all. Thank God Miranda’s relationship with Andy had saved Emily from that bit of complete fucked-dom.
When she, and the rest of the world, had learned of her employer’s relationship through a rather nasty, even brutal, outing by the Post, she’d been appalled. But, as time had passed, she noticed that Miranda did seem exponentially happier and, more importantly, slightly less inclined to dip her into hot lead for minor mishaps.
When they arrived, Emily didn’t look up at them, “She’s waiting.”
“How are you today, Emily?” Serena’s softly accented English, which Emily had always adored, had begun to grate on her nerves for a reason she couldn’t quite put a finger on.
Emily didn’t look up from her monitor. “Perfect. How else would I be? I love my job.”
Nigel didn’t say a word but, because he noticed everything, he raised his eyebrows. Ouch. And odd. The two women were good friends and he knew it.
“Emily-you are looking very beautiful today,” Gerardo said quietly. At this, she did look up. He devoured every woman with his eyes. Emily wanted to devour him with her teeth-and not at all in a nice way. Her eyes were cold stones, “Thank you,” she said with not one bit of warmth or gratitude for the compliment. “As I said, Miranda is waiting.”
“Of course, bella.”
Serena looked at her friend, who would not look at her and Nigel looked at all three of them.
Hmmm.
***
Emily was not incredibly introspective. She did know this about herself, which she felt was probably the limit of her introspection. But she’d known something had gone wrong, very wrong, with her world once Gerardo Fuckingtino (her personal name for him) had shown up.
The first time she’d seen him, Serena had had to cancel their lunch date because of a new hire in the art department. Serena and Nigel and this person were having lunch for his first day. Fair enough. Emily had gone alone to the cafeteria for her salad and had seen Nigel and Serena with the new guy. When she saw him, she’d had to look twice, then snorted. That was certainly hot beef on the hoof. Hired for his brains, obviously.
She happened to sit so that she was facing in Serena’s direction but couldn’t hear what any of them were discussing. It must have been delightful, though, judging by Serena’s reaction. Emily watched as Serena reached forward every so often and touched new-guy’s arm, a habit she had while talking to her, a habit Emily found very pleasant. For some reason, however, she did not find watching this pleasant and had entirely forgotten her lunch to stare at Serena, who was treating this….perfect stranger like a friend.
Serena happened to glance her way and smiled and waved, startled to see a look she’d never seen on Emily’s face. The Englishwoman did not smile or wave-she got up and tossed her uneaten salad in the trash.
Later that day, when Serena had dropped off a couple of new layouts she asked, “Didn’t you see me at lunch? I waved.”
Emily shook her head curtly, “I’m sorry. I must have been thinking of something and didn’t notice.”
“Ah. But you must have noticed Gerardo.”
“Oh, is that his name?
“Gerardo Valentino. You saw him. Is that not perfect?”
Emily’s smile was smarmy, “Of course it is. And not only good-looking, I take it? He seems to be terribly witty, given the hilarity at your table.”
Serena shrugged. “He’s charming enough and pretty smart. Very Italian.”
Emily nodded, “Yes. It’s getting to be a veritable melting pot of Romance languages in the art department, isn’t it?”
Serena looked closely at her friend and hesitated…”I suppose you’re right. Portuguese, Italian, French…”
“Yes. If you can find a Spaniard, you’ll have the major ones knocked out.”
Serena lowered her voice, “Emily? Is something wrong?”
Emily’s smile did not reach her eyes, “Of course not. I’m glad you have such a pleasant new coworker.”
Serena was accustomed to Emily’s moods, which she usually attributed to Miranda. This didn’t feel like one of them. “If you say so-lunch tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
***
As Serena walked back to the art department, she thought about the oddity of their conversation. Serena actually thought about Emily a great deal more than was good for her sanity. After their first year of nearly daily lunches, many dinners and movies, plus countless conversations, Serena had assessed the situation and realized none of it had taken even a chink out of Emily’s brick wall of ignorance surrounding Serena’s vicious crush on her. Four months after that, Serena felt she had to face facts. Emily couldn’t possibly be that obtuse. Short of pouncing on the Englishwoman, her behavior with Emily was so wildly overt, especially when they were alone, that her friend must simply be ignoring it in order to save her embarrassment or a possible breach in their friendship.
But today, Emily had sounded like she didn’t like Gerardo, which was strange because she didn’t even know him. In fact, she’d sounded almost…jealous. She instantly felt butterflies in her stomach. Could Emily possibly be jealous of her? A mind-boggling thought-a thought that filled her with hopes she knew would probably be dashed. Her mind began racing. Lunch tomorrow.
In many ways, their lunch the next day was everything Serena could have hoped for. Emily certainly cooled perceptibly the minute Serena mentioned Gerardo, and that coolness persisted until they changed topics. Perhaps, Serena thought, Emily did have feelings for her-and if she made her jealous enough, she would realize this.
***
Two weeks later, Emily was in a continually horrible mood, one she knew had something to do with Serena. And that fucking Gerardo. Of course, it wasn’t that Serena sometimes had lunch with him, although it had been slightly surprising and embarrassing to her to realize how much she’d come to depend on Serena and look forward to their lunches together. Because that was childish, wasn’t it? You couldn’t keep your friends locked in a box. And it certainly wasn’t that Serena had told her that she’d had dinner with Gerardo twice and some bilge about how nice and smart he was.
She could still hear Serena’s laugh as she said, “And of course he isn’t hard to look at, is he?”
Emily had felt her smile freeze on her face as she stabbed her fork violently into her salad, “I suppose not, if one is interested in perfection.”
She’d meant it sarcastically but Serena had laughed, “And who among us is not?”
So easy for Serena to say. She was so much more perfect than Gerardo. But she, Emily, was not. And never would be, no matter how hard she tried. Whatever the diet. She was not. And being upset about that was childish, too.
Within no time at all, everyone at Elias Clarke assumed that Serena and Gerardo were an established ‘item,’ something Emily did not even bother to verify with Serena. Because who cared? To prove she didn’t care and that she wasn’t childish, Emily began rebuffing every one of Serena’s offers to meet her for lunch or to do anything at all. Even if that meant she had to sit in any empty room she could find and miserably eat carrots for 20 minutes at lunch.
After one month of this, Serena knew she had been well and truly dismissed from Emily’s life. She’d only tried to make her see how important they were to each other, but Emily had taken the clumsy, stupid lob Serena had sent her way and backhanded it right down her throat.
***
At about this time, Nigel took what he imagined was his life into his own hands-a stab at addressing female problems. Miranda was out at some luncheon and the second was on her lunch break so he had Emily to himself for at least 15 minutes.
He whispered, “What’s wrong with you and Serena?”
Emily looked up at him as if he were a green elephant, “What on Earth do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb. What’s wrong?”
She ignored him, as best she could, staring at her monitor. “Nothing.”
“Nonsense.” His voice was commanding. “ Emily?”
She looked up. She had to-he was Nigel.
“What’s wrong?”
She chewed her cheek and then said, “Nothing.”
“Just who are you jealous of? Serena or Gerardo?”
Emily flushed immediately, “I have no idea what you mean.”
He looked into her eyes, which were filled with honest confusion. “Maybe not. But think about it and you will know. I hate to use cliché with you, but listen to your heart.”
He pressed his pen gently to Emily’s forehead. “You’re jealous of one of them. And that’s as plain as the nose on your face.”
When he left, Emily thought about this jealousy idea for exactly one minute and suddenly felt like throwing up. Oh. It was just as plain as the nose on her face. But it was a revelation to her and suddenly she saw it all in high definition. She was ‘in something’ with Serena. But that was ridiculous and obviously a non-starter, wasn’t it? Perfect Serena. Perfect Gerardo. Imperfect her. One of the main themes of her life-never measuring up.
***
She solved the problem of her feelings for Serena in a typical British fashion: if one ignored a thing, did not acknowledge it, it simply did not exist. Her feelings did not exist. And she’d known, almost as soon as Gerardo had arrived, that she’d begun losing weight without ever stepping on the scale. She ignored this, too. After two months, the sight and smell of food revolted her. She knew she was finally under her goal weight-actually more than seriously under it and could not find the interest to be happy about that or even to care. She no longer recognized herself in the mirror but did not care about that either.
She began to actively despise Runway, despise the colors and the clothes and the designers that she would never be perfect enough for. Now, she truly recognized that it all revolved entirely around perfection as, of course, it always had. But she’d ignored that before and had never really acknowledged that the pursuit of perfection had such a tremendous cost or that a lack thereof could be brought home so brutally.
Runway no longer felt glamorous-it felt stifling. She found she was no longer frightened of Miranda because if the woman fired her, it would almost be a relief. Which, oddly enough, seemed to make her exponentially better at her job. She became, in many ways, nearly as terrifying to the assistants throughout the city as Miranda herself. And she continued to starve herself, without even meaning to.
***
It was very late at night and everyone else at Runway had gone home.
“Nigel?” Miranda’s voice was cool.
“Yes?”
“Can you tell me what Emily’s malfunction is? I’m a bit concerned she’s going to die out there. She looks awful.”
Nigel took a deep breath. “I believe she’s having romantic problems.”
She sighed, “With Serena?”
His eyebrows leapt even as he looked down at their layout, but why should he be surprised? She missed nothing. “No-that’s the problem. Serena’s been dating Gerardo.”
Miranda tapped the layout with a perfectly manicured nail, “This font has to go. I can’t stand it anymore. Overused. And why would Serena date Gerardo when she’s so obviously enamoured of Emily?”
Nigel blinked, “I have no idea.”
“Clearly, we’ll have to intervene.”
“Hmmm,” he blinked again, “Clearly?”
“I’ll ask Andrea. She handles these things well.”
Clearly, Nigel thought, if she handled you.
“Good. Change the font.”
“I will.”
“Thank you, Nigel.”
He smiled as he left the room. Miranda sometimes said this when other people weren’t listening.
***
“You want me to do what?”
Andy was a bit-no, a lot, nonplussed at this directive from Miranda.
“As I said, fix Emily and Serena. They’re out of their minds. They aren’t dating and want to be and it’s driving Emily, at least, a bit crazy.”
“Okay….Miranda, what makes you think I can do anything for them? Emily hates me as much as she likes me and I hardly even know Serena.”
Andy watched as her lover went over the book and blithely replied, “You’re good at emotional things, Andrea.” She looked up. “I am not.”
Which was the linchpin to the argument and unfair because it would work and they both knew it. Andy crossed the room and snuggled into Miranda’s neck. “You’re good at emotion-just not with everyone. You’re very good at it with me.”
Miranda sniffed but angled her head to enjoy the soft feeling of Andy’s face, “So you say.” Andy smiled at the softening of Miranda’s voice-the woman was a sucker.
“Regardless, I think you should help Emily. She actually looks ill. She can’t weigh more than 101 pounds-maybe 103.”
Andy’s eyes widened, “Are you kidding me? She’s basically my height!”
“Yes. I believe so.”
Andy knew Miranda could weigh any woman with her eyes. “Oh my God! That’s awful.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.” Miranda gave the final blow, “She’s too disgustingly skeletal for even Runway standards at this point.”
“That’s mean, Miranda.”
The woman didn’t look up from the book. “It is, isn’t it? But it is also true. Which is why I’m asking you to help her, if you can.”
Andy thought about Emily, who was so disdainful of her but whom she could only sort of love. She adored Emily for just being…Emily. There must be a character trait for masochism somewhere in her makeup. Emily. Nigel. Miranda. “Okay. I’m on it.”
***
It took Andy two days to cobble a way into Emily’s presence outside of Runway.
“Okay, Miranda, tell her you have dinner plans with me and that you can’t go and that I must have forgotten my cell phone. Tell her to come tell me personally.”
When Emily entered the restaurant, Andy was truly shocked. The woman did not look stylishly slender; she looked seriously ill.
Emily crossed to her table and said, while standing, “Miranda is detained and you don’t have your phone. She sends her regrets.”
Emily’s eyes were dull, listless.
“Why don’t you have dinner with me, then?”
Emily hadn’t been born the day before, “So this is a set-up?”
“Yeah,” Andy said sheepishly, “but please have dinner with me.”
Emily nodded and sat, “Only because it’s a job requirement, Andy.”
Andy looked over the menu, “Do you prefer beef or seafood?”
Seeing Emily’s face go slightly green at the mention of food, she repeated, “What do you prefer?”
“Seafood.”
Andy ordered for herself and then ordered, “A good seafood broth-just broth, nothing else, for my companion and some bread. We’ll both have Pellegrino.”
“You order well for a person you believe is under the weather.”
“I’ve spent months with family members under the weather.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you."
“I assume I’ve been summoned for some purpose?”
“Well, uh…Miranda was just wondering if something’s wrong and thought you might feel more comfortable talking to me. So…what’s wrong, Emily?”
“Nothing I know of.”
“Emily.”
“Andrea.”
“How’s Serena?”
Emily’s lips paled even more markedly, “How would I know? Why would I care?”
When the server brought the bread to the table, Andy lightly buttered part of a soft roll and handed it to Emily, “Eat this.”
Emily scowled at Andy, looking into her brown eyes, which had always been and still were infuriatingly, unfailingly kind and took the bread from her hand. As she took a bite, she released a deep breath. Sustenance.
Andy’s voice was soothing, “That’s good. Eat this bread. I’ll make it for you and you can drink your broth. You need it.”
“I can butter my own bread, thank you,“ Emily snapped.
“That’s not the point. The point is for someone to care enough to feed you.”
Emily felt scalding tears run from her eyes, which she hastened to rub away and which Andy pretended not to notice. She buttered bread, which Emily ate and watched as the Englishwoman scooped every drop of broth out of her bowl.
“Good,” Andy said, “No more or you might get sick.”
Emily nodded and took a sip of water. “This proves nothing,” she said suddenly.
“Why do you think I’m trying to prove something?”
“You asked about Serena.”
“And?”
“What would she have to do with me?”
Andy shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s a friend. Miranda said you guys don’t even talk any more.”
Emily looked somewhere past Andy’s head, “Why does that matter?”
“It doesn’t unless it hurts you. Something’s hurting you, Em. I say this with all the kindness I can. You don’t look stylish anymore. You look like you’re starving and sick. What’s wrong?”
“There’s nothing wrong but it’s kind of you to ask. I’ll grant you that.”
***
Later, when Andy reported on the evening to Miranda, the woman pursed her lips. “So. She won’t tell you what’s wrong although it obviously involves Serena and something still clearly needs to be done.”
Andy nodded vigorously, “You were so right. She’s not well.”
“Alright. I’ll take care of it.”
“How?
“I’ll talk to a nutritionist and then I’ll order her to eat.”
“Miranda. Honey. You can’t order somebody to eat.”
“Of course I can. You’re forgetting two things. Who I am. And who Emily is. Can you really imagine there’s much Emily wouldn’t do for me, even if she hated me the entire time she did it?”
Andy plopped on the couch next to Miranda and took her hand. “She doesn’t hate you-she worships you.”
“Which proves, yet again, how desirable it is to choose a kind and benevolent deity. Unfortunately for her, she chose me.”
“But I worship you and you’re kind and benevolent to me.”
Miranda kissed her gently, “You’re a special case. Everything you offer me is exactly what I want. And speaking of what I want, why don’t we go up to bed.”
“That’s a great idea,” Andy said in a hushed, sexy voice as she stood and opened a few buttons on her blouse so that her lover could see the lace of her bra, “because there are several things I want to offer you.”
Miranda’s gaze traveled from Andy’s cleavage up to smoldering brown eyes. “Good. I’m in a particularly demanding mood tonight.”
Andy traced Miranda’s lips lightly with her thumb, “And of all your moods, that’s one of my very favorites.”
***
Present Day, Part 2
***
Even as Serena was tormenting herself over her forced lunch with Emily the next day, the Englishwoman’s phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and grabbed it, looking at the clock.
“Mum? It’s the middle of the night there. Is something wrong?”
“You tell me. I woke up and got the feeling I should call you.” This was one of her mum’s spookier traits. She could always tell when her children needed her and she and her brothers were convinced the woman could read their minds.
Emily felt her eyes stinging, just hearing her mum’s voice. “Nothing’s wrong. Not really. You know-Miranda, the job.”
“Out with it, girl. That’s not it. Miranda bothers you every day of your life.”
There really was no point in avoidance with her mother. The woman prided herself on being plain spoken, often making fun of her daughter’s accent, an accent Serena had worked quite hard to refine. She was also like a human nail-gun. She’d just keep going until you told her everything just to shut her up.
“She’s making me eat.”
“Eat what? Snails? Whatever else those types eat?”
“No. Just food. And she’s making me drink these disgusting calorie drinks and she’s making someone watch me do it.”
There was a long pause and her mother said softly, “Ah lass, what have you been doing to yourself?”
And then Emily really started crying, “I don’t know-I’m not hungry and I didn’t try to lose so much weight but it happened and now I feel awful and it was humiliating that Miranda called me into her office and lectured me on eating and now she’ll be after me like a harpy every day. And she was already a harpy!”
Emily heard her mother snort in answer, then ask, “Well, how much do you weigh?”
“101 pounds-oh sorry, about seven stone and a quarter.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Of course she called you in! Are you mental? The devil wouldn’t even bother using his pitchfork on you-he’d turn you over with his big toe! Have you been to the doctor-are you sick, child?”
“I don’t think so but Miranda’s making me see a nutritionist and go to my doctor, too. Those are parts of my new marching orders.”
“Well, I never thought I’d live to say it but that’s a good day’s work on her part.”
Emily grabbed a tissue and dabbed at her nose and her mother just listened to her sniffling for a long while, before saying “Okay-out with it. If you’re not sick, you don’t lose that much weight without trying. Not you anyway, Ms. Diet Every Day for a Decade. What are you pining about?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Whatever emotion there was in her voice made her mum say, “Ha! So. There we are and here you are trying to keep it from me. You’re pining for someone. Let’s have it. Are you in love?”
Emily felt hot tears running down her cheeks again, “Yes. I think so. But my interest isn’t returned.”
“Hmph! And he’s seen you and knows you? What’s wrong with the daft bastard?”
She might as well say it, “It’s a not a man, mum. It’s a woman.”
There was a very long pause, “Well then, what’s wrong with the daft bitch?”
“Nothing’s wrong with her-in fact that’s the problem. She perfect, perfectly gorgeous, perfectly sweet-”
“Ah ah ah. Now, wait just a second. That sounds familiar. Is this that Serena you go on about?”
“Yes.”
“Then what’s the problem? You’re best mates.”
“Not really anymore, since she started dating this perfect Italian man at work. I sort of avoided her after that.”
“By that you mean you froze her out-I know you, girl.”
“Yes.”
“Well, that was stupid. Why didn’t you just tell her you’d rather her be dating you?”
“I couldn’t do that! That would be-she’d probably laugh-she’d never consider…that. With someone like me.”
“Why not with you? You need to get off your scrawny arse and show a little spirit. I’d like to see the day an English woman goes down without a fight! And with an Italian man? We thumped their arses in World War II and I’d thump his head if I saw him today and dare him to tell me what he thought about it!”
Emily sighed as her mother talked; it was always best not to get her English pride up.
“Alright, mum! I’ll do it. I’ll have to talk to her now anyway. Miranda’s making me have lunch with Serena every working day, as well, just to make sure I eat.”
“Is she now? My God, but she’s a sly bitch. I’m beginning to understand what you see in her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Matchmaker, matchmaker,” her mother sang slightly off-key.
“No! She’s not-believe me, she wouldn’t bother.”
“She is, or I’m not your mother. And I know I am because I remember that labor like it was yesterday. Perhaps that’s a character trait from birth-having trouble coming out.”
Emily’s jaw dropped as her mother snickered into the phone. “Oh come on, you knew I’d have to give you a little stick about it.”
“Yes. I know. Thank you for calling me, mummy. I feel so much better.”
“You’re welcome, love. Keep eating, darling. You’re the rose of my heart.”
“I love you.”
“Not as much.”
***
The next morning, Emily dutifully drank a small glass of milk and ate one piece of toast with one scrambled egg, groceries she’d bought the night before to replenish her empty refrigerator.
As Miranda walked into the office, she threw her coat and bag on Sara’s desk and raised an eyebrow at Emily, who replied. “Milk, toast, egg.”
Miranda nodded almost imperceptibly. Right. That was easy, Emily thought. Maybe this wouldn’t be the horror show she’d anticipated. She decided to try to drink her morning cement early in order to save room for lunch, which was going to be hard enough to eat, considering her companion. She chose the strawberries & cream flavor, poured it in her glass and brought a spoon along in case she needed Sara’s assessment. Sara saw the spoon and shot her an anxious, hopeful and friendly look that Emily answered with a nod before she took her first sip.
Sara was cheered when Emily swallowed and laughed aloud. Really loudly and for a long time. So long that Miranda came out of her office. “Is there something you’d like to share, Emily?”
“I’d love to share it, Miranda, but I can’t.” She pointed at her faintly pink drink. “That is the single most disgusting-tasting thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”
“Can you keep it down?”
“I suppose I have to.”
“Not particularly. You can choose another flavor but I wouldn’t suggest the vanilla.”
“You tasted it?”
Miranda replied airily, “Of course I tasted it. I’m not going to make you drink something I wouldn’t try myself.” She returned to her office and Emily, terrifically impressed, continued to sip her disgusting drink without further comment and to finish her morning work before her appointment with the nutritionist.
***
When Serena arrived to accompany Emily to lunch, neither of them knew that the other’s heart was pounding triple time. Emily felt a lump in her throat as Serena smiled sweetly, as if everything were normal. “Are you ready, Emily?”
“Yes.”
They walked to the elevator without a word. As the elevator descended, Emily finally spoke, “Well. This is certainly awkward. I’m sorry that Miranda put you on food detail but it’s kind of you to agree. “
“It doesn’t have to be awkward, Emily. Even if you don’t wish to be my friend, I’m always your friend. I’ve missed you and I’ve been very worried about you so I’m happy to help.”
Emily felt her eyes sting, “But I…I do. I do want to be your friend.”
Serena glanced at her and smiled, “Well, good. We’ll talk about being friends while we eat.”
As they made their choices, Emily held up a dinner roll, “Can you believe it’s now a requirement of my employment at Runway to eat as many carbs as I want?”
“See? And you thought there was no heaven on this Earth.”
Once they had taken their seats, they ate in silence. Serena could see the concentration and effort it took for the other woman to eat anything at all and, because they were friends and did know each other, they each focused on their lunch. After Emily had made fairly good inroads on her meal, she threw her napkin on the table. “That’s all that’s staying down. I know that’s not exactly polite table conversation but it’s true.”
Serena shrugged, “I think you did very well.”
Emily opened her mouth, closed it…paused and then said, “I talked to my mum last night.”
“Did you? Is she well?”
“Yes, very. She gave me some advice.”
“Don’t they always? Advice about what?”
“Well actually, about you.”
Serena put her fork down and gave the other woman her full attention. “Did you need advice about me?”
“Yes. Well. Uhm, you see, my mother reminded me that when something upsets me or someone upsets me, I tend to ignore the problem and/or ignore the person.”
The blonde woman nodded, “So I have upset you in some way, correct?”
“Yes.”
“We are very different, Emily. When I’m upset about something or with someone, I like to talk about it with that person.”
“Yes. Right. That’s probably the wiser course.”
“Would you like to tell me what’s wrong?”
Serena watched Emily’s eyes widen in anxiety before she said, “You’ll think it’s ridiculous.”
“You don’t know that unless you tell me.”
Emily gripped the table until her knuckles turned white and said incredibly quickly, “I don’t want you to date Gerardo. I want you to date me.”
Serena gaped at her, then slumped in her chair as if her backbone had given way. “Are you kidding me?”
The Englishwoman blushed furiously, “See! I knew you would think-“
“Emily! Stop talking! Listen to me. Of course I’ll date you. Of course I will. I love you.”
It was Emily’s turn to slump in her chair, “You love me? But what about Gerardo?”
The blonde threw her hands up in exasperation, “He’s a friend I eat lunches and dinners with. I had to have someone to talk to since my best friend wouldn’t speak to me. And despite the rumors, I’m certainly not dating him and I certainly haven’t slept with him-not that he hasn’t tried. Anyway, I only started seeing him to make you jealous, which was obviously incredibly stupid on my part.”
“Not so stupid. It did work.” Emily shook her head in wonder, “What a bloody cock-up! All this misery for nothing?”
Serena nodded, “Maybe it would have helped to…talk?”
“Yes, yes,” Emily said testily, “I get the point. English woman finally pulls head out of arse.”
She blushed again when Serena reached across the table and took her chilly hand, “So, Emily, can we now consider ourselves officially dating? I don’t want to date anyone else.”
Serena’s hand was warm in hers, “Yes, I’d like that, although I don’t know what you see in me.”
“I love you, although there’s almost not enough of you to see.”
“I love you, too, you know.”
Serena looked at her watch and said smugly, “We handled all of that with less than ten minutes of conversation.”
“Again with that? I won’t live this down, will I?”
“It’s unlikely.”
***
As they ascended in the elevator they both leaned against a wall in sheer relief.
“Dinner tonight?” Serena asked, “I’ll cook for you.”
“I’d love it.”
“I warn you. I’m going to kiss you.”
“Even better.”
END PART ONE
CONTINUE TO PART TWO
sinandmisery’s Secret Santa prompt was: What I want: SERENA/EMILY FIC. I honestly don't care about details, just that they're together. I love sexy and angst most of all :) sinandmisery: This, I promise, becomes S/E but Miranda was adamant about appearing (you know how she is) and Andy tagged along.
This is truly insanely long and I sincerely hope you enjoy it!
A very special thanks to mercurychkita, for valuable feedback in this story’s infancy and for talking me off the ledge a few times. hawkbehere@yahoo.com
The Goal Weight
Rated M
PART ONE
Present Day, Part 1
****
“I’m 5’7” and one half, Miranda. Which I suppose makes me nearly six feet tall in these heels. Surely I didn’t have to close your office doors and have a seat because of your sudden interest in my height.” The only thing more disdainful and disinterested than the look on Emily’s face was the tone in her voice, a tone that would have shocked Miranda months earlier.
“No. That’s just the first question, Emily.”
“Then could I please have them all a bit more quickly, Miranda? Remember, your 3:30 conference call’s in an hour. Nobody but you could believe how busy we both are today.”
Miranda ignored this, swallowing an ire that was perfectly justified, as Andy would have wanted. “I was also wondering how much you weigh?”
The young woman’s eyes narrowed. “I have no idea. I don’t weigh myself.”
Miranda’s voice was cool. “And yet you used to a have a goal weight-wasn’t that what you called it? If your incessant prattling about it was any indication, you used to weigh yourself constantly.”
Emily’s eyes flickered with something very close to fury. “I gave that habit up months ago.”
“Oh, I’m quite sure you did. What was that goal weight, by the way?”
“I don’t know that’s any of your business and what does that have to do with work?”
“It’s just a question, Emily. Why so hesitant to respond?”
The Englishwoman chewed out her answer, “Anywhere under 120, preferably 115.”
Miranda pursed her lips, “115-that would be rather thin for your height and bone structure.”
Emily laughed scornfully, “Said the woman who perpetuates the image of the human female clothes hanger as the standard of beauty every day of her working life.”
Miranda nodded, “So true. But as you well know, most of the women who model for me are naturally thin. Someone like…Serena, say, who is virtually six feet tall without heels, is an example. She’s naturally thin. In fact, I’m sure she eats quite normally, wouldn’t you think?”
Wow! Miranda actually flinched at the look of malevolence that Emily shot her. Having had a life filled with considerable hatred aimed her way, she’d been on the receiving end of looks that should have killed her, but nothing like this. Emily’s nostrils flared gently as if fighting for emotional control. “I can’t answer that question, Miranda, because I don’t follow the dietary habits of my coworkers. But if that’s a new job requirement, tell me and I’ll add it to the list.”
“Coworker? What an interesting choice of words. I was under the impression that Serena was your friend.”
“Coworker. Friend. Whatever. Does anything you’re asking or saying have a point? And, if so, could we get to it?” She obviously forced herself to add, “Please?”
“Yes. I have point. I want to know how much you weigh.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well I do. I can estimate the weight of any female within about two pounds just by looking at them.”
Emily forced a sarcastic grin, “How lovely for you. If this editing thing doesn’t work out, you can take that talent on the road with a carnival.”
Miranda actually laughed-a real laugh. Nobody spoke to her this way. Nobody. It was actually rather enjoyable but scarcely the point. “You weigh between 101 and 103 pounds, Emily.”
“Right. Well. I’ll certainly take your word for that. Now that we’ve ferreted out how much I weigh, can I get back to work?”
“No. You have a new goal weight. At least 115 pounds. At least.”
Emily blinked and then shook her head in disbelief. “What? What are you saying?”
“You’re gaining at least 15 pounds.”
The answer was a short bark of laughter, “Or what? You’ll fire me? Go ahead. Fire me.”
“No. I’m not going to fire you. You’ll have to quit. Oh, but that’s right. We both know you won’t quit because you’re actually no quitter, except where eating’s concerned.”
“You can’t make me-that’s ridiculous. Is that even legal?”
“The legality of it is beside the point. You will not starve yourself to death outside my office.”
“I’m not anorexic, Miranda.”
“I didn’t say I thought you were.”
Emily continued, “I don’t look in the mirror and see a fat person. I don’t weight myself-ever. I’m just not interested in food-or anything else for that matter.”
“Again, I’m not saying you’re anorexic. Maybe you’re just deeply depressed. Maybe any number of things. My concern is that the results are the same, are they not? You can see that you’re starving, can’t you?”
“Yes, of course I can but I don’t care. Given that, what’s your plan, Svengali? You force-feed me?”
“No. The plan is this. You will eat breakfast and I will know if you have or not because I will ask and, despite this new attitude of yours, you’re still a wretched liar. You will drink one can of Ensure Plus during the mid-morning. To keep you from cheating, you will pour it in a clear glass and Sara will watch you drink it.”
For the first time, Emily raised her voice, “You brought Sara into this? How dare you?! It’s my bloody body-and my bloody privacy!”
Miranda held up a hand, “Sara knows if she breathes one word of this, I’ll hear about it and she’ll not only not be my second assistant anymore, she’ll find it very difficult to be anything anywhere in New York. On with the plan. You will take forty minutes for lunch and-“
“Oh-is Sara going to watch me at lunch? Who’ll answer the phones? We both know you won’t do it.”
“Sara will answer the phones. Serena will have lunch with you.”
The look on Emily’s face was unreadable but tears welled in her eyes, “You had no right to involve Serena in this. No right!”
“She won’t say a word either and she seemed quite willing to help.”
“I won’t do it.”
“You will.”
“Fire me.”
“Why would I fire you? You’ve been performing your duties quite spectacularly lately. I’ve been deeply impressed.”
Emily didn’t bother to wipe the tears that ran down her cheeks, “That’s because I no longer give a flying fuck what you think, what kind of mood you’re in, what you say to me or if you fire me. I don’t fucking care.”
Miranda merely nodded, “Interesting. Keep that attitude. It seems to be working for you. On with the plan. In the afternoon you will place another can of Ensure Plus in a clear glass and drink it in front of Sara. When you get home, you will force yourself to eat dinner and, again, I will ask, and I will know if you’re lying.”
“Why are you doing this, Miranda? Oh-wait! Don’t tell me. Andy bloody Sachs. Andy put you up to it, just like she put you up to that absurd bit of subterfuge to force me into having dinner with her the other night. This is entirely ridiculous, not to mention a humiliating and hideously undignified thing to put me through.”
“One. Andy did not put me up to this. Rather the opposite. I put her up to that dinner. Two. If you continue on the disastrous path you’re on, I assure you that you’ll find it far more undignified to be hospitalized and force-fed with a tube stuck up your nose and down into your stomach. Have you ever seen that?”
“No.”
“I have. Twice. Years ago. A young Czech model and a younger American model. They were anorexics. They starved themselves to death. I couldn’t do anything about them but I’m going to do something about you. Since I won’t fire you and you won’t quit, it looks as if we’re stuck with each other. This is a job requirement, Emily. You will gain fifteen pounds.”
The Englishwoman looked as if she were trying to think of something blistering to reply, but Miranda waved her hand airily. “I’ll save you the trouble. I know you hate me and perhaps even think I’m gaining some perversely evil bit of pleasure at your expense. But I can promise you there’s no fun involved. I’m much too busy to monitor an adult’s nutrition.”
Emily opened her mouth to reply but Miranda beat her to it, “No no. If it weren’t me, evil, overbearing me, the bane of your working existing-if some other person took the time to help you in what is clearly a health crisis, you might assume that person actually cared about you and your welfare.” She tilted her head, “Might you not?”
Emily’s eyes lowered and she pursed her lips but nodded.
“Right. Your Ensure is in my refrigerator. I ordered every flavor although I’m sure most of them taste perfectly vile. Start today, sip it slowly and limit your intake for the next few days to liquids, very light solids and build up from there. What I described is the very least I will tolerate. I’d prefer many small meals, many times per day. Do we understand each other?”
Emily nodded.
“This is advice from my nutritionist whom I consulted regarding your condition. You have an appointment with him tomorrow at 9AM in the small conference room. I also expect you to make an appointment with your doctor as soon as possible. Sara will man the desk-or woman the desk, whatever one does these days.”
Emily was still looking at the floor, her chin almost on her chest. Miranda stood, circled her desk and did something she’d never done. She touched Emily’s face, placing two fingers under her chin and gently lifted in order to force the younger woman to look her in the eyes. “I know this is hard but I couldn’t just ask nicely. Be honest. Would that have accomplished anything?”
The answer was a slight shake of the head. No.
“Right. Just remember, you have to be alive to hate me. And soon you’ll have much more energy, the more vigorously to hate me with. That’s something to look forward to, right?”
The corners of Emily’s mouth lifted a little and Miranda smiled, “Yes. There. I have noticed that just the idea of hating me can lift the spirits.”
She sat on the edge of her desk. “That’s all.”
Emily stood and crossed to the door but before she opened it, turned and said, “I don’t hate you, Miranda, but I’m angrier with you right now than I have ever been with anyone in my life.”
Miranda nodded, “Good. We should get lots of work done today, then, shouldn’t we?”
***
As Emily stalked out of the office, Sara couldn’t look her in the eye. The blonde girl was relatively new but was doing well and was only slightly less frightened of Emily than she was of Miranda.
“Traitor!” Emily hissed.
Sara blushed and whispered back, “I couldn’t say anything. I’d get fired!”
Emily glared at her as she walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Can after can. She grabbed a glass and a can labeled chocolate and marched back out to her desk. As the thick liquid glug-glugged its way into the glass, she felt her gorge rise at the consistency and the smell. She took a tentative sip, put the glass down, and closed her eyes. It took a few seconds before she could force herself to swallow. She leapt up and in just a few seconds she was at Sara’s desk with the glass and a teaspoon.
“Taste this!”
Sara’s eyes widened and she whispered, “I can’t. You have to drink it all.”
“Bollocks! It’s one bloody teaspoon. Taste what I’m being forced to drink under your supervision.” She held out the teaspoon and Sara opened her mouth.
When the blonde woman had swallowed it, she smacked her lips with distaste. “Wow. That….really sucks.”
Emily leaned down and hissed in her ear, “You’re bloody right it does. If I mixed Hershey’s cocoa in latex paint, it would taste better than this shite.”
She reseated herself and tried holding her nose as she took the next sip and wondered even as she did so why she’d put herself through this. She swallowed and shuddered with disgust, both at the taste and at herself. Of course she was drinking it. Miranda Fucking Priestly had told her to.
***
Later that night, when Miranda had sent Sara down for the book, curiosity overtook her. She opened the refrigerator, pulled out a can labeled vanilla, wiped the lid with a paper towel and popped it open. She took a healthy swig and was grateful that no one was around to see her spit it, and quite inelegantly, into the sink. My God, she thought, that poor girl.
***
At that very moment, Serena was drinking tea. She’d given up reading her book thirty minutes earlier because there was no use reading the same page over and over again. She would start having lunch with Emily tomorrow, as per Miranda’s orders, and felt her stomach flipping with anxiety. Emily had stopped speaking to her more than three months earlier and the Brazilian woman knew that it had been entirely her fault. What she’d been trying to do was stupid and ill-conceived and had backfired on her in the worst way she could imagine. But having unintentionally broken their friendship, Serena was given absolutely no avenue or opportunity to fix it or even any recognition that there was anything to fix. And, all the while, she’d watched the Englishwoman literally disappearing before her eyes.
***
Four Months Earlier
***
“Emily-tell Nigel, Gerardo and Serena to be here in 15 minutes.”
“Of course, Miranda.”
Emily rang the art department and passed along the message, almost choking as she repeated it.
Gerardo Valentino. Emily’s eyes narrowed every time she heard the name. It wasn’t, apparently, a joke. It was the bloody bastard’s actual name. He’d arrived in the art department looking like a living fucking Roman god come to life, straight from Runway Italy. Entirely masculine but gorgeous, with long locks of hair, beautiful eyes, pouting red lips any woman would kill for and an ass you could hang a hat on. And she had despised him instantly, although she never put the two facts together, the first moment she saw Serena look at him.
He was charm itself, even she had to admit it, with his soft irritatingly bedroom Italian accent. He was intelligent, deferential and quite talented, apparently. Miranda was pleased with him, although unlike almost every other woman in the building, she seemed not to have noticed his looks at all. Thank God Miranda’s relationship with Andy had saved Emily from that bit of complete fucked-dom.
When she, and the rest of the world, had learned of her employer’s relationship through a rather nasty, even brutal, outing by the Post, she’d been appalled. But, as time had passed, she noticed that Miranda did seem exponentially happier and, more importantly, slightly less inclined to dip her into hot lead for minor mishaps.
When they arrived, Emily didn’t look up at them, “She’s waiting.”
“How are you today, Emily?” Serena’s softly accented English, which Emily had always adored, had begun to grate on her nerves for a reason she couldn’t quite put a finger on.
Emily didn’t look up from her monitor. “Perfect. How else would I be? I love my job.”
Nigel didn’t say a word but, because he noticed everything, he raised his eyebrows. Ouch. And odd. The two women were good friends and he knew it.
“Emily-you are looking very beautiful today,” Gerardo said quietly. At this, she did look up. He devoured every woman with his eyes. Emily wanted to devour him with her teeth-and not at all in a nice way. Her eyes were cold stones, “Thank you,” she said with not one bit of warmth or gratitude for the compliment. “As I said, Miranda is waiting.”
“Of course, bella.”
Serena looked at her friend, who would not look at her and Nigel looked at all three of them.
Hmmm.
***
Emily was not incredibly introspective. She did know this about herself, which she felt was probably the limit of her introspection. But she’d known something had gone wrong, very wrong, with her world once Gerardo Fuckingtino (her personal name for him) had shown up.
The first time she’d seen him, Serena had had to cancel their lunch date because of a new hire in the art department. Serena and Nigel and this person were having lunch for his first day. Fair enough. Emily had gone alone to the cafeteria for her salad and had seen Nigel and Serena with the new guy. When she saw him, she’d had to look twice, then snorted. That was certainly hot beef on the hoof. Hired for his brains, obviously.
She happened to sit so that she was facing in Serena’s direction but couldn’t hear what any of them were discussing. It must have been delightful, though, judging by Serena’s reaction. Emily watched as Serena reached forward every so often and touched new-guy’s arm, a habit she had while talking to her, a habit Emily found very pleasant. For some reason, however, she did not find watching this pleasant and had entirely forgotten her lunch to stare at Serena, who was treating this….perfect stranger like a friend.
Serena happened to glance her way and smiled and waved, startled to see a look she’d never seen on Emily’s face. The Englishwoman did not smile or wave-she got up and tossed her uneaten salad in the trash.
Later that day, when Serena had dropped off a couple of new layouts she asked, “Didn’t you see me at lunch? I waved.”
Emily shook her head curtly, “I’m sorry. I must have been thinking of something and didn’t notice.”
“Ah. But you must have noticed Gerardo.”
“Oh, is that his name?
“Gerardo Valentino. You saw him. Is that not perfect?”
Emily’s smile was smarmy, “Of course it is. And not only good-looking, I take it? He seems to be terribly witty, given the hilarity at your table.”
Serena shrugged. “He’s charming enough and pretty smart. Very Italian.”
Emily nodded, “Yes. It’s getting to be a veritable melting pot of Romance languages in the art department, isn’t it?”
Serena looked closely at her friend and hesitated…”I suppose you’re right. Portuguese, Italian, French…”
“Yes. If you can find a Spaniard, you’ll have the major ones knocked out.”
Serena lowered her voice, “Emily? Is something wrong?”
Emily’s smile did not reach her eyes, “Of course not. I’m glad you have such a pleasant new coworker.”
Serena was accustomed to Emily’s moods, which she usually attributed to Miranda. This didn’t feel like one of them. “If you say so-lunch tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
***
As Serena walked back to the art department, she thought about the oddity of their conversation. Serena actually thought about Emily a great deal more than was good for her sanity. After their first year of nearly daily lunches, many dinners and movies, plus countless conversations, Serena had assessed the situation and realized none of it had taken even a chink out of Emily’s brick wall of ignorance surrounding Serena’s vicious crush on her. Four months after that, Serena felt she had to face facts. Emily couldn’t possibly be that obtuse. Short of pouncing on the Englishwoman, her behavior with Emily was so wildly overt, especially when they were alone, that her friend must simply be ignoring it in order to save her embarrassment or a possible breach in their friendship.
But today, Emily had sounded like she didn’t like Gerardo, which was strange because she didn’t even know him. In fact, she’d sounded almost…jealous. She instantly felt butterflies in her stomach. Could Emily possibly be jealous of her? A mind-boggling thought-a thought that filled her with hopes she knew would probably be dashed. Her mind began racing. Lunch tomorrow.
In many ways, their lunch the next day was everything Serena could have hoped for. Emily certainly cooled perceptibly the minute Serena mentioned Gerardo, and that coolness persisted until they changed topics. Perhaps, Serena thought, Emily did have feelings for her-and if she made her jealous enough, she would realize this.
***
Two weeks later, Emily was in a continually horrible mood, one she knew had something to do with Serena. And that fucking Gerardo. Of course, it wasn’t that Serena sometimes had lunch with him, although it had been slightly surprising and embarrassing to her to realize how much she’d come to depend on Serena and look forward to their lunches together. Because that was childish, wasn’t it? You couldn’t keep your friends locked in a box. And it certainly wasn’t that Serena had told her that she’d had dinner with Gerardo twice and some bilge about how nice and smart he was.
She could still hear Serena’s laugh as she said, “And of course he isn’t hard to look at, is he?”
Emily had felt her smile freeze on her face as she stabbed her fork violently into her salad, “I suppose not, if one is interested in perfection.”
She’d meant it sarcastically but Serena had laughed, “And who among us is not?”
So easy for Serena to say. She was so much more perfect than Gerardo. But she, Emily, was not. And never would be, no matter how hard she tried. Whatever the diet. She was not. And being upset about that was childish, too.
Within no time at all, everyone at Elias Clarke assumed that Serena and Gerardo were an established ‘item,’ something Emily did not even bother to verify with Serena. Because who cared? To prove she didn’t care and that she wasn’t childish, Emily began rebuffing every one of Serena’s offers to meet her for lunch or to do anything at all. Even if that meant she had to sit in any empty room she could find and miserably eat carrots for 20 minutes at lunch.
After one month of this, Serena knew she had been well and truly dismissed from Emily’s life. She’d only tried to make her see how important they were to each other, but Emily had taken the clumsy, stupid lob Serena had sent her way and backhanded it right down her throat.
***
At about this time, Nigel took what he imagined was his life into his own hands-a stab at addressing female problems. Miranda was out at some luncheon and the second was on her lunch break so he had Emily to himself for at least 15 minutes.
He whispered, “What’s wrong with you and Serena?”
Emily looked up at him as if he were a green elephant, “What on Earth do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb. What’s wrong?”
She ignored him, as best she could, staring at her monitor. “Nothing.”
“Nonsense.” His voice was commanding. “ Emily?”
She looked up. She had to-he was Nigel.
“What’s wrong?”
She chewed her cheek and then said, “Nothing.”
“Just who are you jealous of? Serena or Gerardo?”
Emily flushed immediately, “I have no idea what you mean.”
He looked into her eyes, which were filled with honest confusion. “Maybe not. But think about it and you will know. I hate to use cliché with you, but listen to your heart.”
He pressed his pen gently to Emily’s forehead. “You’re jealous of one of them. And that’s as plain as the nose on your face.”
When he left, Emily thought about this jealousy idea for exactly one minute and suddenly felt like throwing up. Oh. It was just as plain as the nose on her face. But it was a revelation to her and suddenly she saw it all in high definition. She was ‘in something’ with Serena. But that was ridiculous and obviously a non-starter, wasn’t it? Perfect Serena. Perfect Gerardo. Imperfect her. One of the main themes of her life-never measuring up.
***
She solved the problem of her feelings for Serena in a typical British fashion: if one ignored a thing, did not acknowledge it, it simply did not exist. Her feelings did not exist. And she’d known, almost as soon as Gerardo had arrived, that she’d begun losing weight without ever stepping on the scale. She ignored this, too. After two months, the sight and smell of food revolted her. She knew she was finally under her goal weight-actually more than seriously under it and could not find the interest to be happy about that or even to care. She no longer recognized herself in the mirror but did not care about that either.
She began to actively despise Runway, despise the colors and the clothes and the designers that she would never be perfect enough for. Now, she truly recognized that it all revolved entirely around perfection as, of course, it always had. But she’d ignored that before and had never really acknowledged that the pursuit of perfection had such a tremendous cost or that a lack thereof could be brought home so brutally.
Runway no longer felt glamorous-it felt stifling. She found she was no longer frightened of Miranda because if the woman fired her, it would almost be a relief. Which, oddly enough, seemed to make her exponentially better at her job. She became, in many ways, nearly as terrifying to the assistants throughout the city as Miranda herself. And she continued to starve herself, without even meaning to.
***
It was very late at night and everyone else at Runway had gone home.
“Nigel?” Miranda’s voice was cool.
“Yes?”
“Can you tell me what Emily’s malfunction is? I’m a bit concerned she’s going to die out there. She looks awful.”
Nigel took a deep breath. “I believe she’s having romantic problems.”
She sighed, “With Serena?”
His eyebrows leapt even as he looked down at their layout, but why should he be surprised? She missed nothing. “No-that’s the problem. Serena’s been dating Gerardo.”
Miranda tapped the layout with a perfectly manicured nail, “This font has to go. I can’t stand it anymore. Overused. And why would Serena date Gerardo when she’s so obviously enamoured of Emily?”
Nigel blinked, “I have no idea.”
“Clearly, we’ll have to intervene.”
“Hmmm,” he blinked again, “Clearly?”
“I’ll ask Andrea. She handles these things well.”
Clearly, Nigel thought, if she handled you.
“Good. Change the font.”
“I will.”
“Thank you, Nigel.”
He smiled as he left the room. Miranda sometimes said this when other people weren’t listening.
***
“You want me to do what?”
Andy was a bit-no, a lot, nonplussed at this directive from Miranda.
“As I said, fix Emily and Serena. They’re out of their minds. They aren’t dating and want to be and it’s driving Emily, at least, a bit crazy.”
“Okay….Miranda, what makes you think I can do anything for them? Emily hates me as much as she likes me and I hardly even know Serena.”
Andy watched as her lover went over the book and blithely replied, “You’re good at emotional things, Andrea.” She looked up. “I am not.”
Which was the linchpin to the argument and unfair because it would work and they both knew it. Andy crossed the room and snuggled into Miranda’s neck. “You’re good at emotion-just not with everyone. You’re very good at it with me.”
Miranda sniffed but angled her head to enjoy the soft feeling of Andy’s face, “So you say.” Andy smiled at the softening of Miranda’s voice-the woman was a sucker.
“Regardless, I think you should help Emily. She actually looks ill. She can’t weigh more than 101 pounds-maybe 103.”
Andy’s eyes widened, “Are you kidding me? She’s basically my height!”
“Yes. I believe so.”
Andy knew Miranda could weigh any woman with her eyes. “Oh my God! That’s awful.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.” Miranda gave the final blow, “She’s too disgustingly skeletal for even Runway standards at this point.”
“That’s mean, Miranda.”
The woman didn’t look up from the book. “It is, isn’t it? But it is also true. Which is why I’m asking you to help her, if you can.”
Andy thought about Emily, who was so disdainful of her but whom she could only sort of love. She adored Emily for just being…Emily. There must be a character trait for masochism somewhere in her makeup. Emily. Nigel. Miranda. “Okay. I’m on it.”
***
It took Andy two days to cobble a way into Emily’s presence outside of Runway.
“Okay, Miranda, tell her you have dinner plans with me and that you can’t go and that I must have forgotten my cell phone. Tell her to come tell me personally.”
When Emily entered the restaurant, Andy was truly shocked. The woman did not look stylishly slender; she looked seriously ill.
Emily crossed to her table and said, while standing, “Miranda is detained and you don’t have your phone. She sends her regrets.”
Emily’s eyes were dull, listless.
“Why don’t you have dinner with me, then?”
Emily hadn’t been born the day before, “So this is a set-up?”
“Yeah,” Andy said sheepishly, “but please have dinner with me.”
Emily nodded and sat, “Only because it’s a job requirement, Andy.”
Andy looked over the menu, “Do you prefer beef or seafood?”
Seeing Emily’s face go slightly green at the mention of food, she repeated, “What do you prefer?”
“Seafood.”
Andy ordered for herself and then ordered, “A good seafood broth-just broth, nothing else, for my companion and some bread. We’ll both have Pellegrino.”
“You order well for a person you believe is under the weather.”
“I’ve spent months with family members under the weather.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you."
“I assume I’ve been summoned for some purpose?”
“Well, uh…Miranda was just wondering if something’s wrong and thought you might feel more comfortable talking to me. So…what’s wrong, Emily?”
“Nothing I know of.”
“Emily.”
“Andrea.”
“How’s Serena?”
Emily’s lips paled even more markedly, “How would I know? Why would I care?”
When the server brought the bread to the table, Andy lightly buttered part of a soft roll and handed it to Emily, “Eat this.”
Emily scowled at Andy, looking into her brown eyes, which had always been and still were infuriatingly, unfailingly kind and took the bread from her hand. As she took a bite, she released a deep breath. Sustenance.
Andy’s voice was soothing, “That’s good. Eat this bread. I’ll make it for you and you can drink your broth. You need it.”
“I can butter my own bread, thank you,“ Emily snapped.
“That’s not the point. The point is for someone to care enough to feed you.”
Emily felt scalding tears run from her eyes, which she hastened to rub away and which Andy pretended not to notice. She buttered bread, which Emily ate and watched as the Englishwoman scooped every drop of broth out of her bowl.
“Good,” Andy said, “No more or you might get sick.”
Emily nodded and took a sip of water. “This proves nothing,” she said suddenly.
“Why do you think I’m trying to prove something?”
“You asked about Serena.”
“And?”
“What would she have to do with me?”
Andy shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s a friend. Miranda said you guys don’t even talk any more.”
Emily looked somewhere past Andy’s head, “Why does that matter?”
“It doesn’t unless it hurts you. Something’s hurting you, Em. I say this with all the kindness I can. You don’t look stylish anymore. You look like you’re starving and sick. What’s wrong?”
“There’s nothing wrong but it’s kind of you to ask. I’ll grant you that.”
***
Later, when Andy reported on the evening to Miranda, the woman pursed her lips. “So. She won’t tell you what’s wrong although it obviously involves Serena and something still clearly needs to be done.”
Andy nodded vigorously, “You were so right. She’s not well.”
“Alright. I’ll take care of it.”
“How?
“I’ll talk to a nutritionist and then I’ll order her to eat.”
“Miranda. Honey. You can’t order somebody to eat.”
“Of course I can. You’re forgetting two things. Who I am. And who Emily is. Can you really imagine there’s much Emily wouldn’t do for me, even if she hated me the entire time she did it?”
Andy plopped on the couch next to Miranda and took her hand. “She doesn’t hate you-she worships you.”
“Which proves, yet again, how desirable it is to choose a kind and benevolent deity. Unfortunately for her, she chose me.”
“But I worship you and you’re kind and benevolent to me.”
Miranda kissed her gently, “You’re a special case. Everything you offer me is exactly what I want. And speaking of what I want, why don’t we go up to bed.”
“That’s a great idea,” Andy said in a hushed, sexy voice as she stood and opened a few buttons on her blouse so that her lover could see the lace of her bra, “because there are several things I want to offer you.”
Miranda’s gaze traveled from Andy’s cleavage up to smoldering brown eyes. “Good. I’m in a particularly demanding mood tonight.”
Andy traced Miranda’s lips lightly with her thumb, “And of all your moods, that’s one of my very favorites.”
***
Present Day, Part 2
***
Even as Serena was tormenting herself over her forced lunch with Emily the next day, the Englishwoman’s phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and grabbed it, looking at the clock.
“Mum? It’s the middle of the night there. Is something wrong?”
“You tell me. I woke up and got the feeling I should call you.” This was one of her mum’s spookier traits. She could always tell when her children needed her and she and her brothers were convinced the woman could read their minds.
Emily felt her eyes stinging, just hearing her mum’s voice. “Nothing’s wrong. Not really. You know-Miranda, the job.”
“Out with it, girl. That’s not it. Miranda bothers you every day of your life.”
There really was no point in avoidance with her mother. The woman prided herself on being plain spoken, often making fun of her daughter’s accent, an accent Serena had worked quite hard to refine. She was also like a human nail-gun. She’d just keep going until you told her everything just to shut her up.
“She’s making me eat.”
“Eat what? Snails? Whatever else those types eat?”
“No. Just food. And she’s making me drink these disgusting calorie drinks and she’s making someone watch me do it.”
There was a long pause and her mother said softly, “Ah lass, what have you been doing to yourself?”
And then Emily really started crying, “I don’t know-I’m not hungry and I didn’t try to lose so much weight but it happened and now I feel awful and it was humiliating that Miranda called me into her office and lectured me on eating and now she’ll be after me like a harpy every day. And she was already a harpy!”
Emily heard her mother snort in answer, then ask, “Well, how much do you weigh?”
“101 pounds-oh sorry, about seven stone and a quarter.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Of course she called you in! Are you mental? The devil wouldn’t even bother using his pitchfork on you-he’d turn you over with his big toe! Have you been to the doctor-are you sick, child?”
“I don’t think so but Miranda’s making me see a nutritionist and go to my doctor, too. Those are parts of my new marching orders.”
“Well, I never thought I’d live to say it but that’s a good day’s work on her part.”
Emily grabbed a tissue and dabbed at her nose and her mother just listened to her sniffling for a long while, before saying “Okay-out with it. If you’re not sick, you don’t lose that much weight without trying. Not you anyway, Ms. Diet Every Day for a Decade. What are you pining about?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Whatever emotion there was in her voice made her mum say, “Ha! So. There we are and here you are trying to keep it from me. You’re pining for someone. Let’s have it. Are you in love?”
Emily felt hot tears running down her cheeks again, “Yes. I think so. But my interest isn’t returned.”
“Hmph! And he’s seen you and knows you? What’s wrong with the daft bastard?”
She might as well say it, “It’s a not a man, mum. It’s a woman.”
There was a very long pause, “Well then, what’s wrong with the daft bitch?”
“Nothing’s wrong with her-in fact that’s the problem. She perfect, perfectly gorgeous, perfectly sweet-”
“Ah ah ah. Now, wait just a second. That sounds familiar. Is this that Serena you go on about?”
“Yes.”
“Then what’s the problem? You’re best mates.”
“Not really anymore, since she started dating this perfect Italian man at work. I sort of avoided her after that.”
“By that you mean you froze her out-I know you, girl.”
“Yes.”
“Well, that was stupid. Why didn’t you just tell her you’d rather her be dating you?”
“I couldn’t do that! That would be-she’d probably laugh-she’d never consider…that. With someone like me.”
“Why not with you? You need to get off your scrawny arse and show a little spirit. I’d like to see the day an English woman goes down without a fight! And with an Italian man? We thumped their arses in World War II and I’d thump his head if I saw him today and dare him to tell me what he thought about it!”
Emily sighed as her mother talked; it was always best not to get her English pride up.
“Alright, mum! I’ll do it. I’ll have to talk to her now anyway. Miranda’s making me have lunch with Serena every working day, as well, just to make sure I eat.”
“Is she now? My God, but she’s a sly bitch. I’m beginning to understand what you see in her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Matchmaker, matchmaker,” her mother sang slightly off-key.
“No! She’s not-believe me, she wouldn’t bother.”
“She is, or I’m not your mother. And I know I am because I remember that labor like it was yesterday. Perhaps that’s a character trait from birth-having trouble coming out.”
Emily’s jaw dropped as her mother snickered into the phone. “Oh come on, you knew I’d have to give you a little stick about it.”
“Yes. I know. Thank you for calling me, mummy. I feel so much better.”
“You’re welcome, love. Keep eating, darling. You’re the rose of my heart.”
“I love you.”
“Not as much.”
***
The next morning, Emily dutifully drank a small glass of milk and ate one piece of toast with one scrambled egg, groceries she’d bought the night before to replenish her empty refrigerator.
As Miranda walked into the office, she threw her coat and bag on Sara’s desk and raised an eyebrow at Emily, who replied. “Milk, toast, egg.”
Miranda nodded almost imperceptibly. Right. That was easy, Emily thought. Maybe this wouldn’t be the horror show she’d anticipated. She decided to try to drink her morning cement early in order to save room for lunch, which was going to be hard enough to eat, considering her companion. She chose the strawberries & cream flavor, poured it in her glass and brought a spoon along in case she needed Sara’s assessment. Sara saw the spoon and shot her an anxious, hopeful and friendly look that Emily answered with a nod before she took her first sip.
Sara was cheered when Emily swallowed and laughed aloud. Really loudly and for a long time. So long that Miranda came out of her office. “Is there something you’d like to share, Emily?”
“I’d love to share it, Miranda, but I can’t.” She pointed at her faintly pink drink. “That is the single most disgusting-tasting thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”
“Can you keep it down?”
“I suppose I have to.”
“Not particularly. You can choose another flavor but I wouldn’t suggest the vanilla.”
“You tasted it?”
Miranda replied airily, “Of course I tasted it. I’m not going to make you drink something I wouldn’t try myself.” She returned to her office and Emily, terrifically impressed, continued to sip her disgusting drink without further comment and to finish her morning work before her appointment with the nutritionist.
***
When Serena arrived to accompany Emily to lunch, neither of them knew that the other’s heart was pounding triple time. Emily felt a lump in her throat as Serena smiled sweetly, as if everything were normal. “Are you ready, Emily?”
“Yes.”
They walked to the elevator without a word. As the elevator descended, Emily finally spoke, “Well. This is certainly awkward. I’m sorry that Miranda put you on food detail but it’s kind of you to agree. “
“It doesn’t have to be awkward, Emily. Even if you don’t wish to be my friend, I’m always your friend. I’ve missed you and I’ve been very worried about you so I’m happy to help.”
Emily felt her eyes sting, “But I…I do. I do want to be your friend.”
Serena glanced at her and smiled, “Well, good. We’ll talk about being friends while we eat.”
As they made their choices, Emily held up a dinner roll, “Can you believe it’s now a requirement of my employment at Runway to eat as many carbs as I want?”
“See? And you thought there was no heaven on this Earth.”
Once they had taken their seats, they ate in silence. Serena could see the concentration and effort it took for the other woman to eat anything at all and, because they were friends and did know each other, they each focused on their lunch. After Emily had made fairly good inroads on her meal, she threw her napkin on the table. “That’s all that’s staying down. I know that’s not exactly polite table conversation but it’s true.”
Serena shrugged, “I think you did very well.”
Emily opened her mouth, closed it…paused and then said, “I talked to my mum last night.”
“Did you? Is she well?”
“Yes, very. She gave me some advice.”
“Don’t they always? Advice about what?”
“Well actually, about you.”
Serena put her fork down and gave the other woman her full attention. “Did you need advice about me?”
“Yes. Well. Uhm, you see, my mother reminded me that when something upsets me or someone upsets me, I tend to ignore the problem and/or ignore the person.”
The blonde woman nodded, “So I have upset you in some way, correct?”
“Yes.”
“We are very different, Emily. When I’m upset about something or with someone, I like to talk about it with that person.”
“Yes. Right. That’s probably the wiser course.”
“Would you like to tell me what’s wrong?”
Serena watched Emily’s eyes widen in anxiety before she said, “You’ll think it’s ridiculous.”
“You don’t know that unless you tell me.”
Emily gripped the table until her knuckles turned white and said incredibly quickly, “I don’t want you to date Gerardo. I want you to date me.”
Serena gaped at her, then slumped in her chair as if her backbone had given way. “Are you kidding me?”
The Englishwoman blushed furiously, “See! I knew you would think-“
“Emily! Stop talking! Listen to me. Of course I’ll date you. Of course I will. I love you.”
It was Emily’s turn to slump in her chair, “You love me? But what about Gerardo?”
The blonde threw her hands up in exasperation, “He’s a friend I eat lunches and dinners with. I had to have someone to talk to since my best friend wouldn’t speak to me. And despite the rumors, I’m certainly not dating him and I certainly haven’t slept with him-not that he hasn’t tried. Anyway, I only started seeing him to make you jealous, which was obviously incredibly stupid on my part.”
“Not so stupid. It did work.” Emily shook her head in wonder, “What a bloody cock-up! All this misery for nothing?”
Serena nodded, “Maybe it would have helped to…talk?”
“Yes, yes,” Emily said testily, “I get the point. English woman finally pulls head out of arse.”
She blushed again when Serena reached across the table and took her chilly hand, “So, Emily, can we now consider ourselves officially dating? I don’t want to date anyone else.”
Serena’s hand was warm in hers, “Yes, I’d like that, although I don’t know what you see in me.”
“I love you, although there’s almost not enough of you to see.”
“I love you, too, you know.”
Serena looked at her watch and said smugly, “We handled all of that with less than ten minutes of conversation.”
“Again with that? I won’t live this down, will I?”
“It’s unlikely.”
***
As they ascended in the elevator they both leaned against a wall in sheer relief.
“Dinner tonight?” Serena asked, “I’ll cook for you.”
“I’d love it.”
“I warn you. I’m going to kiss you.”
“Even better.”
END PART ONE
CONTINUE TO PART TWO