You smile at Betty in her little train wreck outfit and are ashamed to find its more of an endearing smile than the sharp condescending smirk that you had been going for. She waves at you like a spastic, her hand becoming all bleary in her effort to convey how happy she is to see you. One of interns, Claire you think her name is, takes notice and you can see all the work you have put into cultivating an image and reputation that makes all the gofers piss their three hundred dollar pants when you glance at them shatter at Betty's metal smile.
"Hey! You left your jacket at my place last night," Betty grins at you as she hops up onto your desk. You see Claire glance over in awe as Betty is not immediately eviscerated by you like the last intern that dared to place her low fat none sweetened latte on your desk without a coaster. You're going to have to seriously scare the shit out of them to win back the self respect that Betty's big ass had just crushed "I had to practically wrestle it away from Justin." Betty smiles like she want a reward for stopping her little nephew from fondling her Donna Karen charcoal jacket like she would Betty's huge breasts.
"Thanks," you take the jacket and turn away hoping that by the time you've finished storing it in a proper place under your desk so it doesn't wrinkle and therefore become un-wearable because silk is not something you can iron, Betty will be gone. You rise and of course she's still there in her horrible affront to fashion and really you might have thought some of your fashion sense would have rubbed off on Betty after screwing the girl for nearly-nooooo. Shocked realisation skids its way across your consciousness. No way, you have not been screwing Betty for nearly a year?! 10 months to be exact.
"Well, my dad is making those tacos you like so I'll stop by your place later and bring you some," Betty is still grinning at you and in your shock you don't even bother to swat her when she reaches behind your desk to find your super secret candy jar that she only knows the location of because she promised you that you could use the hand cuffs on her if you gave her any sweet stuff. Your original offer of yourself behind the accessories rack was sadly rejected. Betty kisses you on the cheek and bounces off your desk to go do some work.
Claire has now given up any pretence of minding her own damn business and is staring at you with a revulsion that is reserved for tie die t-shirts and pocket protectors. You glare at her full forced and snap at her. When she runs away in tears your ego is suitably soothed enough that you don't feel dirty when you think of yourself as the top bitch in this kennel.
Still one crises at a time.
You stalk through the corridors at MODE the smaller fish knowing to get out of your way when you're like this. A junior assistant was walking down the corridor and when she saw you she turned and went back the way she came tripping over a rack and sending Versace belts flying all over the place. Good girl. Smart girl. But despite the soothing supplications of those below you, you're out of breath and on the verge of a full scale Britney Spears size break down by the time you get to Marc's desk.
He looks up his curls bobbing and seeing your face knows to jump out of the chair and let you sit down.
"Quick do the 'check' test!" you flop down and look at him panicked. The check test of course being the test one does when one is trying to find out if they have become a two without knowing it.
"What test? Oh," Marc looks at you in shock as he does the mental calculations of how long you have been screwing Betty "what side of her closet is yours?"
"Left," you answer automatically and both you and Marc wince. The correct answer was none. Marc seeing the danger the test represents materialises a pen and clipboard and if your not mistaken he might have had the stationary with the 'check' questions all filled out. He is Wilhelmina's assistant after all so you wouldn't be that surprised if the 'check' stationary was a mandatory office supply as she steals from cradles as often as Madonna reinvents herself.
"Oh, this is a hard one," Marc said happily confident that you would get this wrong "what's her fathers name?"
"Poppy," the word is fired from her mouth and shoots Marc in the heart. Her gasps and clutches his Jean Paul Gaultier pinstriped shirt and falls into one of his waiting chairs. "NO! I didn't mean it! Its some weird Mexican name!" your panicked voice doesn't ease Marc's pain and by the way he convulsed in his chair you think it actually made it worse. "What? What did I say?"
"You said Mexican," he said in horror like you just used the 'n' word in front of Wilhelmina; No. "You said Mexican and not Spanish, you've learned about her family."
"Nooo!" You wail and throw you head on his desk hiding your face in your arms. You have not somehow stumbled into a relationship with Betty Suárez of all people. You refuse!
"Lets forget these questions and go straight to the most important one," Marc sat on his desk and took one of your hands which you were using to hide your shame with. He continued in a solemn voice used in churches and openings of the holy shrine of fashion week. "Does she have a tooth brush?"
The coffin of your social life snaps shut with a loud echoing bang as you visualise the 'Finding Nemo' tooth brush that sits in your modern bathroom. "Its green..." you think you're about to throw up and no doubt your own face is green as well. Marc lets go of your hand as if you burnt him. You probably did. You can see your Ralph Lauren shirt with this season ruffles withering and bursting into flames shrivelling away from your tainted frame.
"She eats at McDonalds..." You sit there in a daze nearly in tears while Marc hovers in front of you unsure of what he should do. Run away from the social pariah or remove it from his desk so he can disinfect it? How did you come to this? You make the resolution to dump Betty as soon as possible but you find that the cavity in the left side of your chest gives an unfamiliar twinge alerting you to the startling fact you don't want to get rid of the third world fashion crime. Your mind is for once doing the forward thinking thing that you heard only managers and people with glasses do, and you know that if you break up with Betty you will be extremely lonely and maybe even regretful. These are new and scary emotions for you and you look up at Marc lost and are rocked to your core to find that he's still there in front of you and what's more he's looking at you with sympathetic eyes. Its almost like he cares...
"Honey," he says placing his hand on your shoulder dining to touch your tainted frame. You feel like you might cry in it wasn't for the fact the puffy eye look went out in the eighties and was never making its comeback. "You've fallen in love with a disaster zone but you know what you need to do, right?"
"What?" you say desperately clutching at his hand. When did Marc get depths? Oh God when, for that matter, did you? You fell in love with someone for their personality. You really might be sick.
"You need to take that code red light clothes murder and turn her into a green," he then glance sideward's remembering the horrible poncho and rethought his statement "into an amber light."
He was right, just because you fell in love with ugly Betty didn't mean she had to stay that way. If she thought about it, she was actually doing the world a service. The world meaning MODE and Daniel never having to be embarrassed introducing Betty as his assistant again. You can do this. "I can do this," you get up decidedly and are about to go but are just so over come by the support Marc has given you that you hug and air kiss him. "I like being in the queer family!" You say tearfully and Marc nods like he knows what you're talking about when he probably doesn't have a tiny clue in his curly head. You love this man but you are not sullying your Porsche with a rainbow bumper sticker.
You breeze by the reception desk, scare at the assistant and leave a stream of instructions before exciting gracefully to go home early. What was the point of interns if you can't abuse them? You pass tall geeky math boy that you remember used to go out with Betty before she dumped him for you. At the time you thought this was hilarious especially when he would sulk and glare at you in corridors and you would smirk toss you hair and pinch Betty's ass as she walked by. You should have read the warning sign right there that you were getting too serious but you ignored it and fell in love just like this looser. Though you will give him some credit he did after all have the sense to see how wonderful Betty was. But now he had to see she was yours and no one else's. You glare at him as you go past and are satisfied when he shrinks down and hides. Good.
The traffic to your apartment building was terrible so that makes what you're about to do even more therapeutic. You stride over to the left side of your closet and begin to tear through all the monstrosities that have infected your space. You remind yourself that you're going to have to start calling it 'our' space then scoff because you might be in a relationship with Betty but that just means you own her and as her owner you've been seriously neglecting your grooming duties. Betty comes into the bedroom just as your finishing throwing a horrible brown pleated skirt in a black rubbish bag. You wouldn't even insult the poor with these clothes.
"Amanda!" she squeals indignity her wild hair flopping about which reminds you...
"We're going shopping this weekend, if you're going to be my girlfriend you don't get the luxury of looking like a train wreck," you grab her hand and drag her into the bathroom, her protests have oddly gone silent. Good girl. "We can even take that nephew of yours, he will at least appreciate what I'm going to do," out of the many nights you stayed at Betty's house getting glared at by her sister and fattened by her nervous father who had no idea what to make of you, Justine was a bright spark that knew the sacred shrine of Christian Dior and unlike his mother worshiped the ground your Jimmy Choos walked on.
You place Betty on the edge of the bath and grab your supplies and as you knee hiking up her tartan skirt-dear fashion deities did Betty have no shame? Even the Scottish woman from wardrobe had the decency and common sense not to wear green tartan. No matter, you plan to make it your mission that come Sunday, Betty will be fully aware and mortified of her past shames. You pull down her white cotton underwear and add lingerie to your shopping list. Betty squeals as hot water is rubbed over her sex followed by shaving foam.
"Amanda what are you doing?!" she incredulous and blushing hotly and you find another horribly endearing smile reach your face before you can squash it savagely.
"Betty, this is mine and these are mine," she caressed Betty's legs that had rough stubble but not her jungle of a sex "and I don't like hairy things. From now own you're going to keep them trimmed." You went about your business shaving your girlfriend, because someone had to and to be fair to Betty she just happened to come from a race of really hairy people but that didn't mean she had to tolerate it. She eyed Betty's hair and eyebrows but decide that they were beyond even her help. Professionals were needed but that could wait until the weekend. You start to wonder if you should carve your initials into Betty's public hair but decide against it as the angle would be all wrong. Betty shifts at your gaze and your eyes trace up her dumpy form to her face. She is blushing again and looking anywhere but you and as her shifting increase she squeezes her eyes closed in embarrassment, your suspicious nature raises its head and takes a deep breath and laughs viciously.
Innocent Betty do gooder is getting off on this.
Your grin is almost wolfish and if your places were reversed you might have worried about the many sharp white teeth near such a delicate area. You lean forward and take a nice long lick. Betty jumps in shock but throws her head back in pleasure. But she leaned to far back and promptly fell in the bath her feet shooting up either side of your head like finish line flags. You howl with laughter falling back on your ass and pointing at the now shaved legs that are flailing about in the air as Betty struggles like a tipped over tortoise.
"Amanda! Amanda help me!" Betty whines from the bath.
You graciously decide to help in a minute or so after your done laughing. When you do help you find yourself with your arms around Betty's neck and your faces really close together. You reach out and straighten her glasses wondering why you don't want her to get contacts or a nicer frame. Betty's grumpy pout at you taking so long fades away under your gaze and she cups you cheek, the moment is so achingly tender that your own inner little Amanda smacks your ass for taking so long to see that you were actually in love with this mess. You kiss and its so gentle and caring that you think you're going to have to kick a serious amount of puppies before you can reclaim any of your bitch title.
Betty with her metallic smile, her blind fashion sense, lumpy body and clumsy sex has managed to do what eighteen years of strict parenting, four years of counselling and two years of anger management has not. She has made you want to be a better, softer, person and as much as that thought scares the living daylights out of you, you can't help clutching her polyester sweater and laying your head on her shoulder before asking softly almost dejectedly "did you bring the taco's?"
"Yeah I left them in the fridge. Is it okay if I stay over tonight?" Betty wraps her hands around you and you lay huddled together in the bath. You nod against her thinking of how surprised you are that you fell in love with this person and how freaked out your daddy's going to be when he finds out.
Your relationship with Betty can really be summed up in four words; A Surprisingly Good Disaster.
A/N this is for keilanch who if they hadn't reminded me about this would never have gotten written. Hope it was worth the wait!