New fic(let): Bride wars
Bride Wars
by Pantone462
Disclaimer: Don't own them
Rating: PG-13
BETA: Quiethearted
Andy spotted them the moment she entered Pastis: they were without doubt the best dressed couple in the whole restaurant. Very likely, they were the corniest one, as well: they were sitting closely together and talking quietly, completely focused on each other.
“Hello, lovebirds.“ Andy approached from behind and draped her hands over their shoulders.“My God, you are still disgustingly cute.”
“Andy!” Doug turned into her hug. “It’s been ages! I missed you, girl!”
“Six,” Nigel said with a bit more decorum and a warm kiss to her cheek, “Sit, sit.”
As Andy sat down, Nigel signaled the waiter.
“So,” Doug leaned over the table, “I’ve just read a fine article on late John R. Stafford.”
“Thank you.” Andy beamed. “My editor liked it, as well. He feels I’m ready to move on from obits. Finally! Can you believe it?”
A champagne glass was gently placed in front of her.
“Uh, guys," Andy started apologetically, "this stuff is wasted on me, could I rather-,“
“Nope, this one is obligatory,” Doug said, smiling. “It has a ceremonial value.”
“Oh?” Andy said and looked between Doug and Nigel. At their hands clasped together. “Oh my God! You didn’t? You did! You did!”
“I told you she’d figure it out. There is a Pulitzer winner very well hidden somewhere in her, I can tell,” Nigel drawled, pretending coolness but too happily flushed to carry it off successfully. And, anyway, with his lap suddenly full of ecstatic Andy, any idea of gentlemanly calm evaporated swiftly.
“So, who popped the question?” Andy wagged her eyebrows.
“You know,” Nigel shooed her back to her seat. “I think I’ll go powder my nose while the drama queen here tells you all about it.”
Doug watched him go and sighed. “It was so very romantic,” he said dreamily. “Yesterday morning, I woke up and there was my new issue of Runway on the pillow.”
“So, Nigel brought you a magazine to bed, that’s so… thoughtful,” Andy said dubiously.
“No, you cold-hearted skeptic! The cover was completely reworked. It featured my favorite photo of us in Bahamas and Marry me splashed all over the page. In a very tasteful Frutiger font, naturally.”
“All right, that is cute.” Andy tapped her glass to Doug’s.
“Told ya!” Doug said, his eyes unconsciously searching for Nigel. Andy thought it sweet, that they still suffered from that attached-at-hip syndrome. They have been together for two years now, the start of their relationship almost coinciding with her leaving Runway.
Actually, it was precisely because of her leaving, the two of them had met.
She came back from Paris broke and brokenhearted, so a weekend of alcohol therapy seemed to be a natural solution. Nigel and Doug fell in love over Andy’s head, while helping her embrace the toilet bowl.
Well, at least she wasn’t broke anymore.
Andy forced the maudlin thoughts back down. “And do you have a date planned already?”
“We are thinking next May,” Doug looked at his watch as if checking the date, “and your presence is essential, by the way.”
“Oh?”
Doug bit his lip. ”I want you to be my Maid of Honor.”
“Or Best woman, whichever you prefer,” Nigel added, sitting back down.
“Really? that’s-Wow! Of course I will! Of course!”
“Promise?” Doug asked intensely.
“Huh? Sure!”
“Good,” Doug nodded and fixed his tie.
“Good,” Nigel said and wiped his forehead.
“What?” Andy looked at them strangely. “Were you afraid I’d refuse?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Andy shook her head. That was odd. Well, they were getting married, and that excused a whole lot of weirdness. Besides, Andy could feel the enthusiasm building. The Maid of Honor? This is going to be so much fun. “So, tell me your ideas.” Andy leaned in eagerly.” Or, no. Rather not. Oh, I’m so great at planning these things! I was Lily’s Maid of Honor and it was such a great fun! We went to Vegas! And we had male strippers! ” Andy blinked. “Actually that could work here as well… Oh, it’s going to be so great!”
“I’m sure,” Nigel said somewhat wobbly and checked the time.
“Can’t wait, huh?” Andy cracked and Doug laughed a bit too loud.
Then, all of a sudden, there was silence.
Andy’s Runway experience thought her many things. It trained her to see, to observe, to differentiate.
Andy knew now: there were many shades of black and there were many shades of silence. There was, for example, the cozy silence of watching Nigel work, rearranging the contact sheets on his light table; there was the anxious silence of Emily waiting for summons; and there was the charged, awe-inspiring silence of Miranda making an appearance.
The hair at Andy’s neck prickled.
There was that familiar click of the heels.
“Nigel?” Andy swallowed. “Please, please, tell me you didn’t.”
Doug patted her hand. Then, he gazed over Andy’s shoulder and gulped, clearly star struck, once again.
“Traitors!”
“Sorry, couldn’t be helped,” Nigel whispered urgently then stood up. “Miranda, I’m so glad you could make it.”
Andy closed her eyes to gather her focus. OK, she could do it. She’d practiced for a day like this. She had hours of therapy on her side. She could hear Dr Stein’s voice telling her calmly: It is just like a gynecologist appointment. Get through it once a year and you’re home free.
Andy turned her head to see Miranda gliding to their table. She passed by without a glance at Andy, offering her cheek to Nigel and smiling benevolently at Doug.
“Douglas, I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you,” Doug said, his voice catching. Andy rolled her eyes: he’d never get rid of that ridiculous case of hero worship.
At last, Miranda half turned to Andy and gave her a blank look, the one Andy immediately recognized as ‘reserved for nonentities’.
“Andrea.”
“Miranda,” Andy said levelly and gazed dispassionately back.
“And how is your little niche of death veneration going?” Miranda asked with a poisonous little smile.
“Lively, thank you,” Andy shot back. “And yours?”
She heard Doug gasp in shock.
I will not look away. I will not look away. Under the table, she discreetly wiped her sweaty palm on her thigh. Miranda finally released her from her glare, only to send a deprecating once-over down Andy’s figure.
In a Pavlovian reaction, Andy immediately straightened up. Damn it! Won't I ever get rid of that reflex? Miranda, of course, noticed and gave a tiny evil smirk. To her left, Andy could see Nigel cringing. Miranda opened her mouth to say something undoubtedly scathing and irreparable…
…when suddenly the champagne glass slid in front of her.
“Ah, the sparkly!” Nigel said with forced cheerfulness, “have a seat, Miranda, please. Let’s have a toast!”
He raised his glass. “To sharing the wonderful news with people we love.”
Miranda graciously tapped his champagne flute, and Andy slightly relaxing, followed the suit. They sipped quietly. A new one for my collection, Andy thought, the nerve-wrecking silence. She wondered what their little tableau looked like to a casual observer (and, she noticed, there were many). Miranda poised to strike, Andy ready to duck, Doug hypnotized like a field mouse, and Nigel unsuccessfully trying to project calmness.
He wiped his forehead. He cleaned his glasses.
“So,” he finally cleared his throat and plunged bravely in.” I bet you wonder why you are both here. Sharing the table. At the same time. And the same place.”
There was a moment of stillness, then-
“What is wrong with you?” Miranda asked, sounding utterly bewildered. Reluctantly, Andy had to agree. Nigel was blabbering? That was so not good.
“Oh, Lord.” Nigel licked his lips. “OK, this is how it is. Doug and I decided we want a traditional wedding. Whole hoopla, all the frills. The gifting, the showers, the rehearsal dinners, the search for venues, picking the band, choosing the cake, everything. Finally I have the right to do it, and I want to do it right.”
“I mean, it is for a lifetime,” Doug breathed and Andy closed her eyes. Oh, Dougie.
“Indeed, Douglas.” Miranda drawled. “And each one certainly felt like it.”
Doug gulped.
“Nevertheless,” Nigel pushed on, “we felt you should know, since…”
Nigel grabbed Doug’s hand, and took a deep breath.
“Um, you know how there’s usually one Maid of Honor, and she then takes care of all those pesky details?”
“Huh?”
“What on Earth--”
“We decided we both want one,” Nigel loosened his tie.
“You what?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“AndyisDoug’sMaidofHonorandMiranda’smine,” Nigel blurted.
And then there was a nuclear winter type of utter silence, Andy thought in detachment, going over Nigel’s inarticulate ramble time and time again. It almost sounded as if--
“Yay!” Doug exclaimed shakily. “You get to organize it together!”
There was a crashing sound as two champagne glasses smashed onto the tile floor.
THE END
by Pantone462
Disclaimer: Don't own them
Rating: PG-13
BETA: Quiethearted
Andy spotted them the moment she entered Pastis: they were without doubt the best dressed couple in the whole restaurant. Very likely, they were the corniest one, as well: they were sitting closely together and talking quietly, completely focused on each other.
“Hello, lovebirds.“ Andy approached from behind and draped her hands over their shoulders.“My God, you are still disgustingly cute.”
“Andy!” Doug turned into her hug. “It’s been ages! I missed you, girl!”
“Six,” Nigel said with a bit more decorum and a warm kiss to her cheek, “Sit, sit.”
As Andy sat down, Nigel signaled the waiter.
“So,” Doug leaned over the table, “I’ve just read a fine article on late John R. Stafford.”
“Thank you.” Andy beamed. “My editor liked it, as well. He feels I’m ready to move on from obits. Finally! Can you believe it?”
A champagne glass was gently placed in front of her.
“Uh, guys," Andy started apologetically, "this stuff is wasted on me, could I rather-,“
“Nope, this one is obligatory,” Doug said, smiling. “It has a ceremonial value.”
“Oh?” Andy said and looked between Doug and Nigel. At their hands clasped together. “Oh my God! You didn’t? You did! You did!”
“I told you she’d figure it out. There is a Pulitzer winner very well hidden somewhere in her, I can tell,” Nigel drawled, pretending coolness but too happily flushed to carry it off successfully. And, anyway, with his lap suddenly full of ecstatic Andy, any idea of gentlemanly calm evaporated swiftly.
“So, who popped the question?” Andy wagged her eyebrows.
“You know,” Nigel shooed her back to her seat. “I think I’ll go powder my nose while the drama queen here tells you all about it.”
Doug watched him go and sighed. “It was so very romantic,” he said dreamily. “Yesterday morning, I woke up and there was my new issue of Runway on the pillow.”
“So, Nigel brought you a magazine to bed, that’s so… thoughtful,” Andy said dubiously.
“No, you cold-hearted skeptic! The cover was completely reworked. It featured my favorite photo of us in Bahamas and Marry me splashed all over the page. In a very tasteful Frutiger font, naturally.”
“All right, that is cute.” Andy tapped her glass to Doug’s.
“Told ya!” Doug said, his eyes unconsciously searching for Nigel. Andy thought it sweet, that they still suffered from that attached-at-hip syndrome. They have been together for two years now, the start of their relationship almost coinciding with her leaving Runway.
Actually, it was precisely because of her leaving, the two of them had met.
She came back from Paris broke and brokenhearted, so a weekend of alcohol therapy seemed to be a natural solution. Nigel and Doug fell in love over Andy’s head, while helping her embrace the toilet bowl.
Well, at least she wasn’t broke anymore.
Andy forced the maudlin thoughts back down. “And do you have a date planned already?”
“We are thinking next May,” Doug looked at his watch as if checking the date, “and your presence is essential, by the way.”
“Oh?”
Doug bit his lip. ”I want you to be my Maid of Honor.”
“Or Best woman, whichever you prefer,” Nigel added, sitting back down.
“Really? that’s-Wow! Of course I will! Of course!”
“Promise?” Doug asked intensely.
“Huh? Sure!”
“Good,” Doug nodded and fixed his tie.
“Good,” Nigel said and wiped his forehead.
“What?” Andy looked at them strangely. “Were you afraid I’d refuse?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Andy shook her head. That was odd. Well, they were getting married, and that excused a whole lot of weirdness. Besides, Andy could feel the enthusiasm building. The Maid of Honor? This is going to be so much fun. “So, tell me your ideas.” Andy leaned in eagerly.” Or, no. Rather not. Oh, I’m so great at planning these things! I was Lily’s Maid of Honor and it was such a great fun! We went to Vegas! And we had male strippers! ” Andy blinked. “Actually that could work here as well… Oh, it’s going to be so great!”
“I’m sure,” Nigel said somewhat wobbly and checked the time.
“Can’t wait, huh?” Andy cracked and Doug laughed a bit too loud.
Then, all of a sudden, there was silence.
Andy’s Runway experience thought her many things. It trained her to see, to observe, to differentiate.
Andy knew now: there were many shades of black and there were many shades of silence. There was, for example, the cozy silence of watching Nigel work, rearranging the contact sheets on his light table; there was the anxious silence of Emily waiting for summons; and there was the charged, awe-inspiring silence of Miranda making an appearance.
The hair at Andy’s neck prickled.
There was that familiar click of the heels.
“Nigel?” Andy swallowed. “Please, please, tell me you didn’t.”
Doug patted her hand. Then, he gazed over Andy’s shoulder and gulped, clearly star struck, once again.
“Traitors!”
“Sorry, couldn’t be helped,” Nigel whispered urgently then stood up. “Miranda, I’m so glad you could make it.”
Andy closed her eyes to gather her focus. OK, she could do it. She’d practiced for a day like this. She had hours of therapy on her side. She could hear Dr Stein’s voice telling her calmly: It is just like a gynecologist appointment. Get through it once a year and you’re home free.
Andy turned her head to see Miranda gliding to their table. She passed by without a glance at Andy, offering her cheek to Nigel and smiling benevolently at Doug.
“Douglas, I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you,” Doug said, his voice catching. Andy rolled her eyes: he’d never get rid of that ridiculous case of hero worship.
At last, Miranda half turned to Andy and gave her a blank look, the one Andy immediately recognized as ‘reserved for nonentities’.
“Andrea.”
“Miranda,” Andy said levelly and gazed dispassionately back.
“And how is your little niche of death veneration going?” Miranda asked with a poisonous little smile.
“Lively, thank you,” Andy shot back. “And yours?”
She heard Doug gasp in shock.
I will not look away. I will not look away. Under the table, she discreetly wiped her sweaty palm on her thigh. Miranda finally released her from her glare, only to send a deprecating once-over down Andy’s figure.
In a Pavlovian reaction, Andy immediately straightened up. Damn it! Won't I ever get rid of that reflex? Miranda, of course, noticed and gave a tiny evil smirk. To her left, Andy could see Nigel cringing. Miranda opened her mouth to say something undoubtedly scathing and irreparable…
…when suddenly the champagne glass slid in front of her.
“Ah, the sparkly!” Nigel said with forced cheerfulness, “have a seat, Miranda, please. Let’s have a toast!”
He raised his glass. “To sharing the wonderful news with people we love.”
Miranda graciously tapped his champagne flute, and Andy slightly relaxing, followed the suit. They sipped quietly. A new one for my collection, Andy thought, the nerve-wrecking silence. She wondered what their little tableau looked like to a casual observer (and, she noticed, there were many). Miranda poised to strike, Andy ready to duck, Doug hypnotized like a field mouse, and Nigel unsuccessfully trying to project calmness.
He wiped his forehead. He cleaned his glasses.
“So,” he finally cleared his throat and plunged bravely in.” I bet you wonder why you are both here. Sharing the table. At the same time. And the same place.”
There was a moment of stillness, then-
“What is wrong with you?” Miranda asked, sounding utterly bewildered. Reluctantly, Andy had to agree. Nigel was blabbering? That was so not good.
“Oh, Lord.” Nigel licked his lips. “OK, this is how it is. Doug and I decided we want a traditional wedding. Whole hoopla, all the frills. The gifting, the showers, the rehearsal dinners, the search for venues, picking the band, choosing the cake, everything. Finally I have the right to do it, and I want to do it right.”
“I mean, it is for a lifetime,” Doug breathed and Andy closed her eyes. Oh, Dougie.
“Indeed, Douglas.” Miranda drawled. “And each one certainly felt like it.”
Doug gulped.
“Nevertheless,” Nigel pushed on, “we felt you should know, since…”
Nigel grabbed Doug’s hand, and took a deep breath.
“Um, you know how there’s usually one Maid of Honor, and she then takes care of all those pesky details?”
“Huh?”
“What on Earth--”
“We decided we both want one,” Nigel loosened his tie.
“You what?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“AndyisDoug’sMaidofHonorandMiranda’smine,” Nigel blurted.
And then there was a nuclear winter type of utter silence, Andy thought in detachment, going over Nigel’s inarticulate ramble time and time again. It almost sounded as if--
“Yay!” Doug exclaimed shakily. “You get to organize it together!”
There was a crashing sound as two champagne glasses smashed onto the tile floor.
THE END