That will be all.

“I know who Valentino is. I–” Poppy interjects, feeling nervous for the first time in a long time. “I just wanted to say you’re like, a really huge influence. I mean, I’ve been reading your magazine since I was like, sixteen.” She says in monotone, though with utter urgency. A beat passes as she musters up the courage to blurt out her next words. “You’re my hero.”

After Miranda told her to leave, the woman seemed to pry on. “Did you smack your pretty little head on a door frame while walking in here?” Miranda took off her glasses once again and leaned back in her chair. “Or do you naturally think that this will entertain me in any way?”

Oliver is taken aback by such harsh words as he attempted to adjust his now soaked tie. “Gee– THANKS.” He says, voice cracking with pure embarrassment. “W-What’s wrong with my shirt?” He mumbles more so to himself, than the older woman, glancing down at the stain. “This was a nice button up.” A beat. “…Was.”

She was unimpressed with his barrage of questions. Those who didn’t know what their own self-image was, were doomed to failure. “No, young man. That shade was nice in October of 1996, when the shade bloomed. You, however, waited to buy it most likely until it hit a sales racket because if you knew anything about your in-vain lifestyle choices you would know that, that shade was plucked from the line where it swiftly tumbled down within two years to the 10$ bin at a target clearance bin. That colour associates you with it’s downfall and therefor, people subliminally expect that you will wear it out until you continue your routine once again, thoughtless on how others perceive it.”

“I was just… asking where you got that bag.” Poppy murmurs. 

“It was given to me by Valentino.” She spoke, looking the woman up and down with an incredibly icey glance. “Though, I doubt you know who that is.” Her tone was condescending to the much younger woman. 

     “Having your name and face plastered everywhere can sometimes be a bad thing,” Gwen remarked with a lifted brow. “But I guess I’ll take your words with a grain of salt.” Not that Miranda’s advice was necessarily advice, but she was surprised that the older woman knew who she was in the first place. “So, Mrs. Little. Why are you here?”

“My dear, most every woman wants to be in my place.” She settled on only saying those words, as the impact left them where they needed to be. and at Gwen’s new words, Miranda’s tongue rolled inside the cave of her left cheek. “I foresee the future in fashion through some of the tourists.”

Bill Clinton.

No more people brushing their curly hair. And perhaps finding a proper conditioner.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I guess you don’t want this back.” He waved in her face a credit card he had assumed fallen out of her clutch. “I’d hate to hold you up from signing autographs for whoever the hell would actually stand in line to talk to you.”

Her eyes fell on the credit card that he had brought her. Quite simply, she moved into her clutch and pulled out a hundred dollar bill before passing it to the young man- not a word spoken as he carried on with no respect and a wavering tone. “Yes, I can tell by your haircut that you do not know who I am. Take your reward, and walk away.”

Olivia stiffened a little at the woman’s tone. Sure, she knew she was pretty far from her underfurnished house, but she was at least expecting the people in the rich area to be cordial. She took a deep breath and set her shoulders. “N- no ma'am, I made sure I knew where I was going today,” Her voice shook a little, but she pressed on. She wasn’t about to totally let on that this woman intimidated her. “I made these for you. I guarantee they’re better than anything your fancy cooks can make.”

Miranda cocked a harsh, but perfectly plucked brow. “Are you insinuating that I do not cook for myself?”. Miranda was self reliant to say the least. “I haven’t eaten a cookie since 1987.” The older woman sighed and crossed her arms. “I’ve been a size two since I was in my twenties, longer than it seems you have been alive.”

     False security? As much as Gwen idolized the woman who had been speaking to her, she sure as hell didn’t appreciate the insults. Her expression suddenly curled up, feeling offended. “I have plenty of vibrance. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, crossing her arms. “And, no offense, I love your work– but you grew up in a time much different from mine. We have different opinions of vibrance.”

Miranda smirked at the other woman’s spunk, it was all too familiar. “Your name is Gwen, you work as a weather girl in Kokomo, Indiana. My name is Miranda Little- and my face and name are plastered on fashion magazines in Paris. I’ve been a size two for thirty years, more men surround me than I care for. Take my advice, don’t take my advice. But you are the one who will be disappointed, not me.”

     Gwen looked over at the voice and was somewhat surprised to see that it was none other than Miranda Little, world-famous editor-in-chief. She was caught off guard and stammered for a moment before collecting herself and moving with a bit more poise. Straightening up her posture, she gave Miranda a shake of her head. “My self-dignity isn’t the problem,” she responded. “This was my first date in years, matter-of-fact.”

“Your confidence lacks in style.” Miranda spoke blatantly, but attempted to offer the much younger woman some advice. “Men enjoy a woman with vibrance.” Miranda didn’t have to position herself, she had the air of sophistication about her. “You become what others would like- but a man, he sees that. Even if you don’t.” Miranda paused. “And you, my dear, reek of false security.”

“Hey! So I know this is cliché and everything but I’m new in town and I wanted to introduce myself,” Olivia stood on the doorstep, a rather large plate of ‘from scratch’ baked goods in her hand. Her cheeks flushed, and she hopped from foot to foot. She wasn’t normally a nervous person, but she hadn’t done this “meet the neighbors” thing since she was six. It felt a little silly to her. “So um, I’m Oliva.”

Miranda felt anything but pleasure from the woman’s sudden coming. “Do you know where you are? Are you lost?” The older woman gestured to her large mansion. All but too often did the peasants from town attempt to force some sort of care out of her. Her tone was condescending to say the least. “Take your hand-me-down clothes, and get off my porch.”

Blackberry in one hand, coffee in the other, Oliver exits his go-to cafe. He purses his lips as he reads an email off of the screen, and as his left foot raises, he realizes that a shoelace is under his right foot– but it’s too late. Stumbling into an oncoming pedestrian, he stammers unintelligibly and juggles the phone and to-go cup in an effort not to drop either, regaining his balance. A nervous laugh escapes his lips. “Gosh… That was a close ca–” His voice cracks as he loses his grip, practically dousing himself in hot coffee. “God DAMMIT.” He sneers down at his stained button up and tie. 

Miranda watched intently from her vehicle as her new assistant moved into the cafe to grab a list of orders. These young girls- she had to watch them. They often made mistakes. And mistakes were a quick path to a firing. She looked up from her magazine for a moment to the sight of a young man falling on the ground and filling his disgusting clothes with coffee. Rancid. “At least you won’t wear that abomination of an outfit anymore.” Miranda spoke, just loud enough for the man to hear.

Setting: The Tropics Bar

Gwen was a hopeless romantic, no doubt about it, but regardless of her willingness to cry at Nicholas Sparks movies and kiss someone in the rain, it had been a long time since she had been on a date. And the fact that her date stood her up was the number one reason why. She should have known never to start a fling with a tourist, as smart as she was. She looked around for a moment before ordering another drink at the Tropics. “Ugh, I need a vacation.”

Finely grayed hair swept out of the way and the older woman looked over her sunglasses. Miranda could read the situation like a children’s picture book. It was obvious, so much so that she shook her head at the other woman’s pathetic disposition. “From what? Men? The one who stood you up?” Miranda spoke to the other woman after taking a sip of her cocktail. “I would think you’d have more self dignity than that.”