Et Tu, Karl?

Tags

FanFic, Femslash, Mary Griggs, Publishing, Rant

Another week, another need to rant about something someone has said. This time, it was  fashion designer Karl Lagerfeld who came out trashing the #MeToo movement in his recent interview. Luckily, I’m a writer and the best revenge I can have is to put them in my writing.

Chanel’s head designer Karl Lagerfeld said in 2013 he thinks the founder of the iconic French fashion house would have “hated” him if they had ever met.

This time, I’m having Miranda Priestly, the fictional editor in chief of Runway magazine do the ranting for me.

If you’d like to read some of my other Devil Wears Prada fanfiction, several of which are fairly political, go to that section of my works on Archive of Our Own.

For now, though, enjoy this bit of femslash.

Title: Et tu, Karl?

Author: Mary Griggs
Fandom: DWP
Characters: Emily, Miranda, Andy
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1900

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?!” she screeched.

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

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

“Emily?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Karl?”

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

“Seriously?”

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

“What was he thinking?”

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

“How is Chanel handling it?”

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

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

Emily went cold. “Mir…Miranda?”

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

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

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

Emily scoffed. “How do we get there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a clearing of a throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shall I put them back?”

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

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

“As you wish,” Miranda replied.

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

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

Asking for Trouble

Tags

FanFic, Femslash, Sexual Harassment

Women have had stories for years about the sexual misconduct of Harvey Weinstein and they weren’t heard or believed or, worse, they were punished with career ending and reputation ruining whisper campaigns. They aren’t the only women to face sexual abuse; just the latest in a long line. It seems like nearly every woman I know has been harassed at one point or another in their career.

Sometimes it is easier to hear things said in fiction than when you’re told about them in real life. I wrote this piece in response to the fashion designer, Donna Karan’s interview in defense of serial assaulter Harvey Weinstein. She is quoted as saying, “How do we present ourselves as women? … Are we asking for it, by presenting all the sensuality and all the sexuality? … I don’t think it’s only Harvey Weinstein … We have to look at our world … And how women are dressing and what they’re asking by just presenting themselves the way they do. What are they asking for? Trouble.”

Thanks to my friend Laura aka Brithna for challenging me to address those brand damaging remarks by writing a piece of Devil Wears Prada fan fiction.

Here is the result:

Title: Asking for Trouble
Author: Mary Griggs
Fandom: DWP
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3300

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

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

Oh, and Bottomless Closet is a real thing!

**

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m back here.”

“Where?”

There was a beat or two of silence.

“In Narnia,” Miranda replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know DKNY.”

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

“Is that a unitard?”

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

“Interesting.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Honeypots?”

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“I have no idea.”

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

“Gross.”

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

“How so?”

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

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

“Hmmm?”

“You said you. Twice.”

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

“You’ve never said before.”

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

“Really? You?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Nobody deserves it.”

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

“I didn’t know that.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They allowed him to leave?”

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s terrible.”

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

“But you’re a success.”

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

“I’m glad they didn’t make you quit.”

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

“You’re a fighter.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

“Like mansplaining on steroids.”

“Indeed.”

“What can be done?”

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

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

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

“You’re talking about rape culture.”

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

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

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

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

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

“They are victims of toxic masculinity, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No but you were thinking awfully loud.”

“God forbid someone in this relationship think.”

Putting her fists on her hips, Andy glared.

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

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

“Sometimes? Only sometimes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The End.

**

If you enjoyed reading that, check out some of my other femslash fanfic: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marygriggs/works

Or, check out some of my published work: https://www.bellabooks.com/Bella-Author-Mary-Griggs-cat.html

Fic: D&G? You Mean Dead and Gone

Tags

FanFic, Femslash, Mary Griggs

Title: D&G? You Mean Dead and Gone?
Fandom: Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: G
Word Count: 2650

Summary: Miranda gets a little help from her friends when some designers trash talk families like hers.

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

Story Prompt: Based on bsofthewest’s prompt following the news that Elton John had begun #BoycottDolceGabbana following their recent remarks in an interview. (http://www.cbc.ca/news/trending/elton-john-boycotts-dolce-gabbana-over-ivf-baby-comments-1.2996757)

D&G? You Mean Dead and Gone!

Miranda’s lips pursed as she read the interview of Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana in Panorama Magazine in the original Italian. She toggled between the tabs to minimize the magazine page and maximize Nigel Kipling’s face. “This is an outrage.”

He nodded. “I know. I couldn’t believe it when I read it.” Rubbing at the stubble on his chin, he wondered if it was visible to the Queen of Fashion over their Skype connection.

Fighting back a yawn, he winced to hear Miranda’s saying, “Am I boring you?”

“No but there is a five hour time difference. My days typically end before this,” he answered.

“Haven’t you learned yet that there is no typical for the EIC?”

He laughed. All those years of watching Miranda at the helm of Runway, should have prepared him for when she maneuvered things to make him the Editor in Chief of Runway Italia. “I must be a slow learner.”

They gazed at each other through the screens and across the miles and remembered that conversation in her study almost five years before.

“Do you think our readers are ready for a man to head this magazine?” she had asked. “Would they trust your vision?”

Staring into the amber liquid in the crystal glass, he wondered aloud, “Are you asking or being a bitch?”

Miranda had smiled. “Point taken.” She flipped her signature curl of hair out of her eyes. “You know I don’t typically explain anything but you deserve one. I have a plan to see all the Runways brought in line under my control. There will be some shared content to reduce expenses, some consolidation to reduce overhead and a unified vision to increase readership internationally.” 

“Irv won’t go for that.”

“His days are numbered. My conversations with the two new Board members and the Elias-Clark Family trustees has assured me that the cost benefit analysis bears out a restructuring that moves him out and me to oversee Runway Group.”

“Ambitious.”

“Imperative. We grow or the brand dies and that is unacceptable to me.”

“Not what I’d like to see either.”

“Good.” She took a mouthful of red wine and swished it over her palate. Swallowing she said, “I haven’t apologized for the maneuvering I did then and I won’t now but it protected you in the end We both saw how quickly James and Jacqueline’s little collaboration fell apart.”

Nigel had to admit she was correct there. The sizeable raise she also bestowed when they returned to New York had also helped to blunt the pain. He drank from his glass and said, “Go on.”

“You are my second and I fear that is as far as you can go here. I won’t set you up for failure. However, Europeans are less likely to take issue with a man as editor of a fashion magazine.”

“I know.” He hated the glass ceiling in the way of his chosen career path.

“I would like you to take over the Italy edition when the merger goes through.” She poured him another finger of twenty-year-old scotch while he stared at her in shock. “You trusted me when others didn’t back then in Paris. I ask for just a little more.”

He smiled at the memory of her then and to see her now, ready to go to battle for what she thought was the right thing.

“You’re not slow, my friend,” she said. “These two, on the other hand, should have learned something from the backlash from the last time they spouted off about adoption.”

“They’ve always pushed the envelope. Who can forget that gang rape spread from 2011?” Nigel shuddered.

“There is envelope pushing and then there is anachronistic. To say, in this day and age that the only family is the traditional one is out of step with all the single-headed families, blended families, same-sex families and families of choice.”

“It isn’t just the modern family they dissed. I don’t understand how they could say that about chemical offspring.”

“Didn’t Stefano try to have a child through artificial insemination?”

“Indeed, in 2006 I remember him talking about a surrogate.” He shook his head. “It ended when he came out in opposition to a child growing up with gay parents.” In his best Yoda impression, he said, “The self hatred is strong in that one.”

Drumming her fingers on the desk, Miranda looked at one of the pictures to the right of her laptop. In it, her wife was holding her newborn daughter and looking at the camera while Caroline and Cassidy stood on either side of the new mother, gazing at the child. It was one of her favorite photos.

Nigel knew what her eyes were looking at. He well remembered that day and the special blessing that came into all their lives courtesy of reproductive technology. “Do they have any idea? About your daughter being a test tube baby, I mean?”

“Who doesn’t?” Miranda sneered. “Our picking semen out of a catalog was Page 6 fodder for months.”

“Those blood suckers were needlessly cruel and terribly shortsighted.”

“Indeed. There are millions of babies from in-vitro fertilizations.”

“And everyone of them was a wanted child.”

“Exactly. Few embark on the process unless they are one hundred percent committed to it. There is a lot of love out there and these procedures just allowed us to share it.” She smiled at a memory.

“What is that smile for?”

“I remember the first time we tried implantation. Our doctor left us with a suggestion that an orgasm might help and couldn’t hurt. At first, Andrea was too scandalized to even let me touch her.”

“Midwesterners,” Nigel scoffed.

“Well, it was a little more clinical than I’m comfortable with but with a little…”

“No more details, please!” Nigel laughed. “Back to the topic at hand. You do have a plan, right?”

“Of course, I do. When I’m through, those initials won’t be for Dolce and Gabbana but for dead and gone!”

“Tell me more.”

“To begin with, forward a translation to some of your friends,” Miranda said. “I’ll do the same.”

“Who first?”

“You know Elton and his husband, David, sent us a lovely gift after Camille was born. It would behoove me to make that my first contact.”

Nigel laughed to see the glint in her eye. “Perfect.”

Glancing at her wrist, Miranda winced. “Nigel, I need to go. I promised Andrea and the girls I would be home for dinner.”

Nigel feigned shock. “Dinner? What is that of which you speak?”

She shook her head. “Thank you for staying late to bring this to my attention. I know I can always count on you.”

“You’re welcome but it was nothing. Anyone who disses my god-daughter gets what they deserve.” He blew a kiss at the screen. “Give her a kiss and maybe even a hug for her mama.”

“I will. Good night, Nigel.” Miranda terminated the call and closed the lid on her laptop. She didn’t have to raise her voice to bring Emily 2.0 into her office. Since taking over the Runway Group, she had up-scaled to an executive assistant in addition to an administrative assistant.

“Call Roy to meet me downstairs in ten minutes. Send to my phone a list of all my contacts who have adopted children or had artificial insemination. Tell the printers to hold off, as I will need to write a new letter for all magazines. Tomorrow have Monika call accounting to run the trending numbers for Dolce and Gabbana ad buys for the past four cycles and task the sales team to raise the difference in ad sales elsewhere.”

“Yes, Miranda,” Alyssa Robins answered. She had been headhunted from the White House six months ago. Working for Miranda was actually much easier than working for the First Lady. Asking no questions, she handed over the message slips and Miranda’s laptop bag and waited for further instructions.

Crumbling two of the sheets, she asked for the others to be scheduled return calls and held one slip up. “I may need to go to London if Lynette can’t get her Runway London house in order.”

“I will make the necessary arrangements to open the townhouse.”

“Good.” Miranda slid the laptop into the Marc Jacobs bag. “I will be sending a number of emails from home tonight under my personal email account. If anyone contacts Runway regarding the contents, make sure everyone refrains from making comments or speculating.”

Not even batting an eye, Alyssa nodded. “Of course, Miranda. All the nondisclosure agreements and confidentiality filings should be up to date for senior staff. I will draft a memo that it is their responsibility to ensure the same of their direct reports.”

“Excellent. That is all.”

“Good night, Miranda.”

With a final nod, Miranda strode from her office to the elevator. She spent the ride down composing the email to Sir Elton in her head so she was ready to send it from her smart phone on the drive home.

She was looking forward to dinner. It had been hard finding a way to have two teenagers, a toddler and two career minded adults carve out the time for regular, sit down meals. The benefits of spending time together made up for the complications to her schedule.

Of course, it helped that her schedule had fewer demands after six at night, save for the occasional international calls and galas. Even better, Andrea made a much nicer companion for those events. Having the beautiful, up and coming journalist on her arm turned many of her social set green with envy.

After dismissing Roy for the night, she climbed the stairs with a spring in her step. Entering the foyer, she was immediately met by her wife.

Andy slid her arms around Miranda and kissed her. “Hello, sweetheart. Welcome home.”

Before Miranda could answer Caroline, Cassidy and Camille joined in the hug. These group embraces were a balm to her soul after a long day of work.

“Thank you, my darlings. Have I told you recently how much I love you?”

“You tell me everyday, in every way.”

“Good. I don’t ever want any of you to think that you aren’t wanted or loved.”

Andy pulled back slightly and gazed at her with a small frown. She acknowledged the minute head shake from Miranda with a raised eyebrow of her own. Looking down at the girls, she said, “I bet right now that we’ve got three monsters who just want dinner.”

“Yay!” Camille shouted, waving her tiny hands in the air.

“Girls, go wash up and we’ll be right there.” Andy watched them head to the bathroom before turning back to Miranda. “What’s happened?”

Miranda pulled Andy’s head down and kissed the tiny furrow between her eyes. “You’ll have to tell me someday just how you know when something’s wrong.”

“I’ll never reveal my secrets and you’ll never be able to successfully dodge my questions either. Tell me.”

“After dinner.” At Andy’s mulish look, she added, “Please.”

The please did it every time. Even after more than five years together, its rare invocation by one of publishing’s most powerful women still caused a flutter in Andy’s chest and lower regions. Andy nodded and reached out to take her hand. “All right, Priestly, you’ll have a reprieve. Come on now, we wouldn’t want to keep the kids waiting.”

Hand in hand they walked into the dining room. The eating was interspersed with lively discussions of the day’s happenings and current events. There was much laughter and Miranda felt her heart swell as she looked over her happy family.

After dinner, the twins went upstairs to finish their homework and Andy took Camille for a bath. Miranda went into her office to send off a few more emails based on the contacts that Alyssa provided.

She glanced up when Andy returned, wearing different clothes. “Did any water stay in the tub this time?”

“How in the world does she do that?” Andy sat down on the edge of the desk. “And how do you manage to bathe her without taking one yourself?”

“If you recall, I had to wrangle two at the same time. It was learn or drown.” Miranda pushed her chair away from the desk and patted her lap. “Come here.”

Andy obeyed with alacrity. While she was the taller of the two, she loved the feeling she got from being held by Miranda.

For a few moments, they just enjoyed the closeness before Andy tipped her head and began ghosting kisses along Miranda’s jaw toward her ear. “So, are you going to tell me what had you so upset when you came in?” she whispered.

Miranda turned her head to give Andy a kiss on the lips. “Tease,” she murmured. After a few more kisses, she said, “I’ve pulled the article up on my laptop.”

Sighing to have to stop kissing, Andy stroked her finger over the touchpad and woke the computer up from sleep. She quickly scanned the interview.

Leaning her head back, Miranda watched Andy’s carotid pulse point begin to beat faster. She then saw a flush rise up Andy’s regal neck, as she got angrier and angrier. What she wasn’t prepared for was the tears in her love’s eyes when Andy turned her head.

“How could they say that?”

“I’m not sure you could find a better example of privilege and self-hate than those two.”

“You don’t think that, do you?” Andy brushed a tear off her long lashes. “You don’t think Camille is unnatural because we had her artificially?”

“There is nothing artificial about our daughter, darling. We merely had assistance.”

“Only you would call that eight month saga, mere. And that isn’t taking the nine months of pregnancy into account either.

Miranda regally waved her hand. “We merely used the best technology available to harvest my eggs and combined them with your brother’s swimmers and planted them in your uterus to create a child of our own.”

“It wasn’t that easy.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“But there was lots of love.”

“Indeed. All the love a child needs to grow up smart and strong and happy.”

“But what they said…calling babies like ours synthetic.”

“Sweetheart, Camille is nothing of the sort. She is a miracle and she completed our family.”

Andy looked at her with shining eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Miranda pulled her back into her arms. “So very much.”

After a moment of basking in the scent and feel of each other, Andy asked, “What’s going to happen now?”

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.” Miranda mock glared. “And certainly nothing you need to report on in that little paper of yours.”

Tapping Miranda’s nose with her finger, Andy replied, “You know our lives are off the record.” She bit her lip. “But you are doing something, right?”

“I will always protect what is mine.” Miranda tightened her arms. “Mine.”

Andy wiggled in pleasure. “Yours.” Wiping away the last of her tears, Andy asked, sotto voce, “Why don’t you come to bed and we can see if we can make another baby?”

Miranda threw back her head and laughed from deep in her soul. “I’m all yours, Andrea. All yours.”

Postscript:

 Elton John wrote: “How dare you refer to my beautiful children as ‘synthetic.’ And shame on you for wagging your judgmental little fingers at IVF — a miracle that has allowed legions of loving people, both straight and gay, to fulfill their dream of having children.”

Fic: Too Legit To Quit

Tags

FanFic, Femslash, Mary Griggs

I hesitated on blogging on the Todd Akin controversy because other folks, like Eve Ensler, have done such a brilliant job. Instead, friends like brithna encouraged me to pick up my literary equivalent of a sword and do battle with the rape denying extremists by writing out a rant disguised as Devil Wears Prada FanFic.

Summary: Andy and Miranda respond to the firestorm around Todd Akin and his apologists.

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

 Too Legit To Quit

Andy looked around the studio of the newest up and coming designer that Miranda had discovered. The open space of the loft was filled with drafting tables, rolls of fabric and more people than the occupancy permit allowed. At one end, an impromptu stage had been erected.

It was a scene of barely controlled chaos with several members of the Runway staff milling around the half dressed models, the designer trying not to panic at them arriving thirty minutes early and Miranda sitting on a folding chair amidst all the madness as cool as an iceberg floating toward an ocean liner.

Everyone was so completely focused on worshiping at the altar of fashion that they completely ignored everything else, including the drug paraphernalia they had to step over to get into the loft, the furor surrounding the upcoming Presidential election and the hurricane developing near Puerto Rico.

“How very insular,” she thought to herself, the ghost of a smirk drifting across her lips. She conveniently forgot that, had her own Facebook and Twitter feeds not exploded with reactions to the Missouri Senate candidate’s comments about ‘legitimate rape’ and the miracle vagina secretions keeping rapists sperm from becoming babies, she might have missed the controversy, too.

Since drinking the Kool-Aid and accepting Nigel’s fashion lessons, she found herself becoming less informed of current events. Her days and nights were so filled with her job that she no longer read the New York Times or any other paper for pleasure. Unless the story impacted fashion, publishing or Miranda, she tended to miss it. She still woke and showered to the local NPR station, so she wasn’t entirely ignorant of what was going on in the world but, compared to her past devouring of the news, while she wasn’t quite living under a rock, there were $1000 a yard Burmese silk curtains between her and reality.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by a slight head movement from her boss. Immediately, Andy focused on Miranda and her reaction to the beginning of the run through.

An hour later, Andy judged that things hadn’t gone too badly. Miranda hadn’t pursed her lips or eviscerated the designer for wasting her time. She might have rushed the goodbyes a little but it was nothing the fawning designer would notice over his rush from successfully completing a showing for one of the most demanding women in the world.

After they exited the loft, Andy obeyed Miranda’s unspoken gesture and slid into the waiting Town car with her. Typing a quick text to warn Emily of their imminent return, Andy felt the hair on the back of her neck rise.

Glancing up, she wasn’t surprised to see Miranda studying her. Lately, she had been developing a sixth sense about her boss. Afraid that she had missed an order, she asked, “Yes, Miranda?”

“What was that smirk for?”

Andy’s brain froze. “Um…smirk?”

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”

Knowing that she was seconds from losing her most-favored-assistant-status no matter how she answered the question, Andy decided to be honest. “I was just struck by how out of touch everybody was. All that focus on fashion…uh…stuff when there are bigger issues.”

Miranda rolled her eyes at the use of stuff. “Such as?”

“The War on Women for one!”

“You believe I am ignorant of these attempts to roll back women’s equality and health access?”

“No, Miranda. I know you are well informed.” Andy smiled. “As I’m the one that lays out the newspapers and magazines on your desk every morning.”

“But?”

“But I guess I’m just disheartened that we are in such a women’s centered profession with little to no acknowledgement of the serious consequences that some of these conservative politicians will have on women’s rights.” Turning slightly in the seat, Andy earnestly continued, “Their utter ignorance of basic science is not just harmful to women but to society as a whole. I mean, who really thinks that women have secretions that stop pregnancy when we’re raped?”

“More than their ignorance, it is their inability to empathize that most disturbs me.” Miranda took a deep breath. “Todd Akin’s ignorant statements about legitimate rape and the past actions by the House of Representatives around adding forcible before the word rape indicate a singular lack of awareness of what it means to be sexually assaulted. For him to then think he can brush it off by claiming he misspoke is reprehensible.”

“I know!” Andy exclaimed.

“While I may not be the most emotionally available person on the planet, even I can extrapolate from my own experience to understand getting pregnant after being raped would be a continuation of the violation.” Pulling her wallet from her purse, Miranda took out a well worn picture. She rubbed her thumb over the image before holding it up for Andy.

Andy leaned over and saw two babies, with the bare wisps of red hair on the tops of their tiny heads, lying on a white mink coat. It was hard to believe that these little angels had grown to become the terrors she knew. “They’re beautiful, Miranda,” she whispered.

“My daughters were conceived in love but, by the time they were two years old, I couldn’t be in the same room as their father without being filled with an urge to stab him with a fork.” Miranda delicately shrugged. “It has taken many years for my ex and I to achieve a sort of equilibrium where we can be in each other’s presence and still be civil.”

Andy guessed their yelling at each other on the phone must not count as being in each other’s presence. She had the good sense to keep her thoughts off her face as she nodded for Miranda to go on.

“My daughters are precocious young ladies with their own personalities but sometimes, though, they can cock their heads a certain way or quirk their lips and all I can see is their father. The wave of negative emotion can be overwhelming.” Miranda paused. “Just think of how difficult it must be for the women who are forced to bear the product of their rape. For them to see in their child the face of the one who violated them.”

Swallowing hard against the threatening nausea, Andy croaked, “Inconceivable.”

“I think that means exactly what you think it means.”

Andy giggled at Miranda getting the reference to her favorite film. When she noticed that the car had stopped in front of the Elias-Clarke building, she stopped laughing.

“I’m disappointed that you lumped me in with the others, though. Frankly, it is a little insulting, Andrea.” Miranda put her sunglasses on and prepared to step out of the car.  “Perhaps you should take a look at the Op Ed page in tomorrow’s Times.”

Andy licked her suddenly dry lips. She wanted to apologize for making assumptions but worried that doing so would just make things worse. Watching Miranda walk away from her was devastating so she did the one thing she knew could be a peace offering. She raced across the street for a tall latte with two raw sugars, boiling hot, no foam and promised herself to get up early and pick up a paper before work tomorrow.

New York Times, August 23, 2012 –  Guest Column by Miranda Priestly

As a woman who has centered her life in fashion, I have spent many hours defending the avant-garde against charges that we are creating a sexualized culture that encourages rape. Despite the fact that no study has ever shown that women who wear short skirts or revealing blouses are statistically at greater risk of rape than their more modestly clad sisters, many people are convinced that women are raped because of their appearance and behavior.

There is ample evidence against either having anything to do with sexual assault. A United States Federal Commission on Crime of Violence Study found that only 4.4% of all reported rapes involved ‘provocative behavior’ (self-defined as a noticeable gesture towards the perpetrator, encouraging him or her to carry out the crime) on the part of the victim. This is in stark contrast to murder cases, in which 22% involved such behavior.

Many years ago, I was a junior editor of Runway London when Lindsay Armstrong committed suicide following the trial and conviction of her rapist. This is notable because the defense attorney used the form fitting pants and the motto stitched on the back pocket to demonstrate his contention that Lindsay was the sort of girl who asked to be raped. While the readers of this paper might not recognize this particular case, I will never forget it because I had been responsible for a spread featuring that new line of “Little Devil” jeans.

Her death brought home to me the unalterable truth that whatever one wears, whether it be out of season or just plain outrageous, one never deserves to be raped. Putting women in conservative clothing isn’t a cure for rape. It’s an ineffective, rather useless measure against an act of violence. Further, focusing on the clothing of the victim instead of the crime of the perpetrator perpetuates the lie that men are incapable of doing two things at once: being aroused by what they see while honoring the humanity of the woman who has attracted their eye.

This tactic is called slut shaming and is basically attacking woman and girls for being sexual, for having one or more sexual partners, and for acting on sexual feelings. Every time we condone it, it damages not only the girls and women targeted, but society as well.

An example of slut shaming is the Toronto police officer who made that unfortunate remark about women “dressing like sluts” being more likely to be raped. Another is Rush Limbaugh verbally attacking a young woman who was speaking in defense of access to reproductive health care. For speaking her mind in a thoughtful and civil way, she was called a slut on his national broadcast.

In this atmosphere, it is easy for our politicians to believe they will find a sympathetic audience when they speak about “forcible” or “legitimate” rape. Representatives Akin and Ryan would never have pursued that line, nor would the Republican National Committee leave out the rape exception on the abortion plank of their platform, were they not convinced that they had the political cover to do so.

Despite what the Republican nominee for President and his surrogates believe, our lives are not side issues. Women have the right to determine what happens to their body and to not be assaulted or molested whether that is by a rapist or an elected official.

I hope to see all of you at the polls in November.

Miranda Priestly

Editor in Chief

Runway Magazine

Fic: Chick-Fail-A

Tags

FanFic, Femslash, Mary Griggs

by Mary Griggs

Fandom: Devil Wears Prada

Summary: Andy and the folks at Runway react to the Chick-fil-a controversy

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

Tip of the pen to Brithna who inspired me to turn my political rant, Chick-filet-a gay, into fiction.

Chick-Fail-A

“Can you believe those idiots?”

Emily never even looked up from speed typing the notes she took during the last features meeting. “What are you blathering on about now?”

Andy started pulling items out of the Smith & Wollensky bags. “I passed by a Chick-fil-a on my way back from picking up Miranda’s lunch and the line was down the block.”

“And you were upset because you weren’t able to stuff your face with something deep fried in grease?”

“Um, no.” Andy pulled a set of silverware out of the drawer and carried everything into Miranda’s office and set it out on the glass surface. Returning to her desk, she asked, “Haven’t you heard about this so-called appreciation day?”

“Unlike you, I do not fill my RSS feed with stories about fast food restaurants.”

“You would have to be under a rock not to have heard about this. The COO of Chick-fil-a is a huge supporter of what he calls traditional biblical marriage and recently made several speeches about how gay marriage invites God’s judgment on our nation.”

“This is a surprise to you? Those religious wankers have been going off about marriage equality for years.”

“This isn’t about religion or making speeches. Chick-fil-a gives millions to anti-gay groups.”

Nigel dropped off a folder onto Emily’s desk. “My, my, An-dre-ah,” he said, drawing out her name like Miranda usually did. “Since when did you become a gay activist?”

“My family and I have always been fighters for equal rights and to put an end on political limits on love.”

“That’s pretty brave.”

“With all due respect, I’m not being brave. I’m being a decent human being.”

“Unfortunately, not all people think the same.” Nigel shook his head. “With sales booming from all the hungry, hungry homophobes, what can we do about it?”

“We can protest!”

“Why bother?” Emily rolled her eyes. “Let the haters eat bad food. They’ll clog their arteries and become extinct.”

Andy ignored her co-worker. “I heard that a local LGBT equality organization is trying to put together a kiss-in at the restaurants,” she said.

“A kiss in?” Nigel raised an eyebrow. “That could be interesting.” He narrowed his eyes when Andy blushed. “I think you’ve been holding out on us.”

“Huh?”

“While that color is gorgeous on you, playing dumb doesn’t suit you.” Nigel wagged his finger at her. “Fess up!”

“I believe that love is a human experience not a political statement.”

“Which means what, exactly?”

“Like a lot of people, I experimented in college,” Andy said as she tossed her hair back.

Emily looked up and asked, “You’re bi?”

“Labels are for clothes, not people!”

“Are you saying there won’t be any girl on girl kissing for you?”

Whatever Andy was going to say was forgotten when she looked up to see Miranda standing behind Nigel with her hands on her hips.

“This is the level of discourse when I’m not in the office? Obviously, you all need more work to do. Find some or I’ll find some for you.” Miranda threw her purse at Emily and stalked toward her desk. “Andrea, come.”

Nervously, Andy smoothed her skirt and made her way into Miranda’s office.

“Close the door.”

Andy obeyed and then turned to face her boss.

“Tell me more about this kiss in,” Miranda demanded. She laced her fingers together and rested her chin on them. “I will need to know the time and place if I’m to let my new public relations firm prepare.”

“Prepare for what?”

“For our attendance, of course.”

Andy opened and closed her mouth several times. “Our?” she finally croaked.

“Well, yes. All I’ve seen are some very ugly people with their sacks of sandwiches and waffle fries, saying ugly things about gays and lesbians. I think it behooves us to show some beautiful people being supportive.”

Miranda leaned back in her chair and gave Andy a slow once over. “You certainly qualify.”

Andy had to force herself to keep from visibly reacting to being the sole focus of Miranda’s famous scrutiny. She did shiver a little upon receiving a slight nod.

Smirking at the almost imperceptible tell, Miranda said, “I don’t want to have our first kiss on a dingy street, though. Why don’t you plan on staying for a while after delivering the book tonight? We can use the time to practice.”

“P…p…practice?”

“Clearly you are still feeling intimidated by me. I think it will look most natural if we can work out the kinks in private.”

Andy felt faint. “Kinks?”

“Well, I’m sure we will have to do plenty of experimenting to figure out what works best. Naturally, all that yoga and Pilates I do has strengthened my core and made me very flexible but I do have concerns about your stamina.”

Her brain nearly broke as she visualized just how flexible Miranda could be. Andy raised her hands in surrender. “Miranda, wait. Please, just stop talking for a moment.”

Closing her eyes, Andy forced her manic thoughts to calm. She tried to consider all the angles: She was aware of the press that Dan Cathy, Sarah Palin, Mike Huckabee and others had garnered by advocating discrimination. She knew that Miranda Priestly was more than just a fashion icon and her presence in opposition could help change the conversation from free speech or freedom of religion and back to the restaurant chain financially supporting hate groups.

Moving from the political to the personal, she thought about her family: While her parents might have an issue with her getting involved with her boss, they always encouraged her to follow her heart and were supportive of her friends who were open about their sexuality. Thinking about her heart, she wondered if Miranda, with her drive for perfection, work-a-holism and history of extremely bad breakups, would make a good partner for her.

Opening her eyes, she looked at Miranda and admitted to herself that the possibility of getting kissy face with Miranda was making her sex clench.

“Okay, if we do this thing, what exactly does that mean?”

Miranda walked around her desk and leaned back against it. “My biggest disappointment has been that the men in my life could never keep up with me. I tend to get involved with the same sort – stylish, slender, worships what the magazine has made me. But you have always been different. I mean, you didn’t even know who I was when you started.”

Andy opened her mouth to defend herself but closed it when Miranda shook her head.

“You’ve seen me at my lowest, Andrea. You’ve seen me and you’ve stayed.” Miranda brushed the signature curl of hair from her forehead. “Let’s go ahead. Let’s take this chance. We might not change the minds of the bigots but we can build something together.”

“You believe there can be an us?”

“I have hope. My God, together we can live on it.”

END

Notes:

Some of the words spoken by Andy were actually said by Anne Hathaway upon receiving an award at the 2008 HRC Los Angeles Gala Dinner:

“There are people who have said that I’m being brave for being openly supportive of gay marriage, gay adoption, basically of gay rights but with all due respect I humbly dissent, I’m not being brave, I’m being a decent human being. And I don’t think I should receive an award for that or for merely stating what I believe to be true, that love is a human experience not a political statement. However, I acknowledge that sadly we live in a world where not everybody feels the same. My family and I will help the good fight continue until that long awaited moment arrives, when our rights are equal and when the political limits on love have been smashed.”