51. The Depths of Hell

I grin down at my phone, decisively typing out the last sentence of the chapter. I scroll through the chapter, finding some typos that I fix along the way. Finally, forcing myself not to fall down the overwriting rabbit hole, I hit ‘post,’ and just like that, my thirteenth chapter is available for anyone on AO3 to read. Just in time, too, if the enthusiastic comments are anything to go by. It’s pretty hard to believe that not even two months ago, I hadn’t written a word for myself since college, and now here I am, joyfully threatened on the daily to post the next chapter. 

Not bothering to dim my grin, I slump back against the seat and heave out a breath. Like a spell’s been broken, the hustle and bustle of the San Francisco airport comes flooding back to me. Parents trying to soothe their nap-deprived children, long lines of grumbling passengers waiting to board, and gate change announcements being made every five minutes. General chaos, as expected. 

I stretch in my seat, lacing my fingers behind my head and closing my eyes. The week hasn’t been what anyone could call smooth, not with the director of the September issue’s largest shoot walking off set on day one. Apparently there’s some bad blood between him and one of the photographers. 

There was a lot of last minute scrambling to get Miranda, Nigel, and I out to San Francisco to rescue the shoot. Of course, Lark nearly had a panic attack when I told her she’d be alone at the office for the week. I calmed her down, and Emily promised, or threatened, to call immediately when Lark burns the building to the ground. 

Clearly, Emily has a lot of faith in the Second Assistant. 

Miranda swept onto set and the world bowed to her command. The shoot went flawlessly, the only option when Miranda steps down from her editorial throne to direct. She was even able to leave in time to make it to Munich in time to meet the girls. 

I wasn’t so lucky, having some loose ends to wrap up. Thankfully, I’ve only been delayed a day, and I’ll make it to Munich with plenty of time to spare before the Eras Tour. I’m even at my gate with thirty minutes to spare before boarding. 

Traveling really isn’t so bad if you do enough prep–

“–cancelled. Again, attention to passengers of flight 1706, the flight has been cancelled. Please see the gate attendants for–”

My eyes fly open and I whip my phone into my hand. 

Flight 1706. 

Fuck. 

My relaxation is ripped away like a tablecloth out from under crystal tableware, and I’m racing to the gate counter, along with at least fifty other people. 

This is gonna be fun, I think, watching the gate attendant’s eyes widen in panic at the angry mob surging toward her. 

***

I’m running, sprinting, through the Blueprints of Hell, swerving around moms with strollers and people taking their sweet goddamn time. 

Yep, I’m in hell. Aka, the Newark airport. 

My breath comes out in ragged pants, sweat is dripping down my bangs and into my eyes, and I have to blink a few times to make out the gate number. Fifty-two. I made it. 

I collapse into the nearest chair, getting a few judgemental looks, as well as a few sympathetic ones for my current state. Whatever. I made it, and that’s all that matters. 

I lean forward, propping my forearms on my knees, and try to catch my breath. As the adrenaline coursing through my veins starts to drain, the insanity I just went through comes back to me in flashes. 

Frantically searching for new flights. 

The only available flight that would work has an insanely short connection. In Newark. Great. 

Racing to make the flight, since boarding had already started. 

Fighting my way off the plane when we finally landed to try and make the unreasonably short layover. 

My elbow still hurts from where I’d had to shove it into a guy’s ribs when he tried to cut me off. 

I glance at the time on my phone for the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes. Two minutes til boarding. Closer than I like, but I made it. That’s all that matters. 

I sit up in the hard chair, lean back, and close my eyes. The sweat covering my entire body is drying, making my skin sticky, and my bangs feel plastered to my forehead. 

As soon as I land in Munich, I’m taking a shower. 

It’s a nice thought. Blissful. Even though I know my journey won’t be quite done when the plane’s tires touch down in Germany, the thought is enough to keep me hopefully sane for the ten hours I’ll be trapped in a metal tube flying over the ocean. 

“Flight 2313, you will now be departing from Gate thirteen. Again, passengers of 2313 to Munich, you’ll be departing from Gate 13.”

FUCK! 

I’m out of my seat, flailing to get my arms through the straps of my backpack while already sprinting as fast as my legs will carry me. Everyone else at the gate is quick to catch up, and soon we’re a stampede of desperate animals running for our lives. 

Here’s what they don’t tell you about the Newark airport: each hub of gates has its own security line. And guess what? Gates fifty-two and thirteen aren’t in the same hub. 

So our stampeding herd skids to a halt as we all realize we have to do the entire security song and dance. Because that makes sense for an airport layout, doesn’t it? 

Fucking Newark. 

We all squeeze into a slow, single file line, taking off our shoes, our laptops out of our bags, and frantically removing belts and bangles. 

My shoes in one hand, the other holding onto my backpack, I tap my foot anxiously waiting for the line to move along. I might get a disease from this nasty linoleum floor, but the chill against my toes helps calm my racing a bit. 

After watching the same woman go through the metal detector no less than three times because she apparently didn’t get the memo that wearing metals through airport security has been a no-no since 2001, I finally make it through. I snatch my bag from the conveyor belt and barely have my shoes back on before I’m running. Again. I think I’ve done a 5k at this point. Is there a medal for that? 

More bobbing and weaving around people who apparently have nowhere to be anytime soon, and I see it: the blessed sign for Gate 13! Hallelujah! 

Only, as I look up at the display board, it has the wrong flight number. 

Well, it was a last minute gate change, I think. Maybe it just hasn’t updated yet. 

So I make my way to the gate attendant, putting on my friendliest smile, despite the sweat pouring down my face. 

“Hi,” I wheeze. I have to clear my throat and try again. “Hi. Flight 2313 is taking off from here, right?” 

The woman doesn’t look away from the computer where she’s typing away. 

“Flight 2313 left the gate a few minutes ago.”

She says it so calmly, a matter of fact, as if her words aren’t a slap in the face, sending my ears ringing. 

“Um, what?” It’s not very coherent, but it’s all I can say. What does she mean it already left? They just changed the gate and we all sprinted as fast as we could! And the plane is just gone? Without us? 

“The flight took off already,” she repeats, just as bored as the first time. 

“No,” I say, my voice starting to shake. “There has to be a mistake. They just changed the gate, and–”

“Flight 2313 to Munich has left. Excuse me, there’s a line behind you.” 

I stumble away from the counter, dazed. After all of this, a cancelled flight, running around multiple airports, racing to make a tight connection, a gate change, and another trip through security, and it’s just … gone? 

I slump into another uncomfortable seat, and look back to the gate counter. The rest of the swarm has caught up and is surrounding the gate attendant. She’s not looking quite so bored anymore, dealing with dozens of shocked and furious passengers. If my energy levels weren't completely drained, I’d probably feel a bit bad for her. 

As it stands, I’m exhausted and in need of a new plan. I open my phone to start searching for yet another new flight when it starts ringing in my hand. 

Miranda. 

With a shaking hand, either from exhaustion or a healthy dose of fear, I answer the call. 

“Andrea, where are you? I sent a car to the airport, but they said your flight had been cancelled.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my throbbing temple with my free hand. 

“It was,” I say. “It’s been a mess. I got another flight, and made it to the connecting gate in time, but then they changed the gate two minutes before boarding, so I was running, but then I had to go through security again, and–”

“Why would you need to go through security again?” Miranda sounds reasonably baffled. 

I let out a shaky laugh. I’m lucky it doesn’t come out as a sob. “I had to connect through Newark.”

Miranda groans on the other end. I nod my head in agreement. 

“So I made it to the new gate, but apparently the flight left just a few minutes before I got here.” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat to cover it up, ignoring the tingling starting in the corners of my eyes. “I was just about to start looking for new flights when you called. I know I’ll be later than we planned, but I’ll get there, I swear. I won’t let the girls down.”

There’s silence on the other end, and I feel my body tensing. Is she angry? Disappointed? I’m about to open my mouth to babble who knows what, when Miranda speaks. 

“Get some water,” she says. 

I blink. 

“Sorry?” I say, not sure I heard her right. I wouldn’t be surprised if hallucinations were setting in at this point. 

“Get some water,” Miranda repeated. “You must be dehydrated. Or maybe something with electrolytes. Stay where you are for now, and I’ll find something. Try to close your eyes and relax, if you can, but keep your phone on. I’ll let you know when there’s a new plan.” 

“Ok, Miranda, but really, I can–”

“Water. Rest.” And she hangs up. 

I take the phone away from my ear and stare down at it, stunned. 

Miranda Priestly is taking care of my travel logistics. For the first time since that damned flight was cancelled, a small smile lifts my lips. My chest grows warm and tingly, and when a tear splashes onto the dark screen of my phone, I realize I’m crying. 

For the first time in …. damn, I can’t even remember. For the first time in a while, someone is taking care of me. And it’s Miranda. 

Under different circumstances, it might be hard to let go and let someone else take over, but I just don’t have it in me to fight it. Miranda said she’d take care of it, so she’ll take care of it. All she asked - or demanded, really - is that I get some water and rest. So that’s what I do. 

An hour and an overpriced water bottle later, I’m still sitting at Gate 13, eyes closed, as comfortable as someone can be in these god awful seats, when a hand lands lightly on my shoulder. 

“Miss Sachs?” 

I open my eyes to see a woman in an airport uniform smiling down at me. 

“Miss Sachs,” she says again. “I’m Samantha. I’ve been asked to escort you to the private lounge where you can relax before your flight.”

“Oh,” I say, scrambling with cramped limbs to get up and sling my backpack over my shoulder. “Okay. I don’t have a membership, though, I just–”

Samantha cuts me off with a smile and shake of her head. “It’s all taken care of. Miss Priestly was quite insistent.”

I smirk at her use of ‘Miss Priestly.’ I can perfectly picture Miranda’s pursed lips if she heard it. 

“I’m sure she did,” I chuckle, sounding only a bit less tired than I feel. “Lead the way, then.”

Samantha does more than that. She manages to get me to yet another gate hub without needing to do yet another trip through security. It’s a good thing, because I think I’d actually throw up if I have to stand barefoot on that nasty floor one more time. 

Eventually, we end up at a private lounge, and when I step through the door, I step into an entirely different world. 

There are luscious looking recliners, each with a soft blanket draped over a corner. A buffet stretches along one wall, with a variety of pastries, fruits, salads, sandwiches, and even some pasta, plus an entire drink station at the end. 

There aren’t any of the nasty, overhead fluorescent lights. Instead, there are lamps emitting soft, warm light scattered throughout the room, with classical music playing softly in the background. 

Somehow, I walked out of hell and into paradise. Did this place always exist, or did Miranda somehow will it into existence? 

“Please,” Samantha says from the doorway. “Eat, drink, and relax. Your flight boards in about two hours, and someone will come collect you when it’s time. They’ll also have your boarding pass. If there’s anything I can do for you, there’s a phone in the corner. Don’t hesitate to use it.” 

With one last smile, Samantha leaves, closing the door behind her, and I’m alone. The near silence hits like a sledgehammer. It’s overwhelming, the stillness and peace, after hours and hours of chaos and chasing planes. Now that I have a minute to slow down, I realize something very important. 

I’m freaking starving. 

A few minutes later, I have a plate stacked with fresh fruit, a chicken Caesar salad, and a scoop of pasta, and I settle into one of the tables set up around the room. I want to dive in, but I force myself to slow down. The day has finally turned around for the better, and I don’t need to spend the time before my flight bent over the toilet. 

By the time I’m done eating, I check the time and see there’s still over an hour until someone’s supposed to come get me. I have no idea what flight I’m going to be on, or even what airline it’s with, and at this point I’m too exhausted to care. Miranda said she’d handle it, and I’m going to trust that. 

With nothing else to do, I curl up in one of the cozy looking chairs, wrap the blanket around myself, and let my eyes finally fall shut. Images of Miranda on the phone, making demands and tapping her foot with impatience fill my head as I drift off to sleep. 

“Miss Sachs?” 

Something taps my shoulder. 

“Miss Sachs, it’s nearly time to board.”

Waking up feels like I’m pulling myself out of quicksand, slow and arduous, with sleep trying to pull me back under. I push through and manage to open my eyes. 

Another smiling person in an airport staff uniform is looking down at me, a man this time. 

“I’m Isaac,” he introduces himself. “I’m here to escort you to the gate for boarding.”

“Oh,” is all I’m capable of getting out. I struggle out of the comfortable seat, and flap my hand around, feeling for my backpack. “Sure, I just need to find my … dang, where is it?”

Isaac moves the blanket aside, revealing my backpack. 

“Thanks,” I chuckle. I grab it and sling it across my back. “I guess I’m ready to go.” 

“Just follow me,” he says and starts leading the way. 

When we get to the gate, already crowded to the point of standing room only, I expect Isaac to hand me a boarding pass and leave me. Instead, he leads me to the counter, where a gate attendant is helping a line of people. 

“Excuse me, Julia?” Isaac tries to get the attendant’s attention. “I have Miss Sachs here.” 

Before I can tell him it’s fine, she’s clearly busy, Julia turns and greets me with a blinding smile. I nearly stumble back from how bright it is. 

“Ah yes, of course!” She turns to the man she was just helping. “Excuse me, I’ll be back with you in a moment.” The man stutters in bafflement, but Julia ignores him and turns her full attention to me. 

“I have your boarding pass here, first class.” She scans the pass, and hands it to me. I take it, too stunned to say anything. “We were just about to start priority boarding, so just go ahead and find your seat. A flight attendant will be there to help you with anything you need. Have a wonderful flight!”

Well, this is certainly a turn around from my treatment at Gate 13. 

“Thank you,” I say, my manners kicking in despite the confusion swirling through my head. I nod goodbye to Julia and Isaac, and make my way to the gate tunnel. 

A flight attendant shows me to my seat, one of those little pods for long flights, where you can stretch out and be comfortable, and asks if I want anything to drink. 

“Just a water,” I answer, my mouth still dry from a day of running around and breathing in recycled oxygen. He’s gone and back in a flash, and then I’m left to get comfortable. It’s my first time flying first class, and it’s already beyond anything I could’ve imagined. 

Before I can think too much about what a one-eighty my day has taken, I fasten my seatbelt, and the exhaustion hits me again. I fall asleep so deeply, not even the bustling of all the other passengers boarding wakes me up. I wake up when they bring the hot meals around, only long enough to eat and vow to thank Miranda as profusely as I can, and then I pass out again, drifting in dreamland for the rest of the flight.