Revenge Wears Prada (36 page)

Before Andy could even taste her cheddar cheese omelet, she blurted, “So, tell me about this mysterious girlfriend.” She came precariously close to saying, “My mother tells me it’s serious,” but was able to show some much-needed restraint.

At the mere mention of her, Alex smiled. And if that wasn’t irritating enough, it appeared to be genuine. “She’s a handful,” he said, shaking his head. Andy almost spit out her coffee.
In bed? Is that what he means?
“She definitely keeps me on my toes.”

What did that mean? That she was spirited? Feisty? Clever? Ballsy? Funny? Charming?
All of the above?

“How so?” Andy coughed.

“Just a woman who knows her own mind, you know?” Implying, obviously, that Andy wasn’t one of them.

“Mmm.” Another bite. Another reminder to herself to chew slowly and swallow. That she was happily married. A mother. That Alex was certainly allowed to have a girlfriend, however spunky she might be.

“She’s an artist, a real free spirit. She does a lot of freelance work, some consulting, a little teaching, but mostly she’s locked away in her studio or searching for inspiration.”

“You moved back to New York because of her work, is that right?”

Alex nodded. “Not that it was anything specific, just that there are so many more opportunities. She grew up in the city, and she’s got a huge group of friends here, her parents, and her brother and his family. So it’s like a whole network. She definitely made it clear from the day I met her in Burlington that she’d be back in New York the first chance she had.”

Her phone rang again, somewhere under their table, but Andy felt as though she were in those final seconds before a car crash, where your mind sees nothing except the image right in front of your eyes, your hearing is momentarily shut down, and every ounce of attention is laser-focused on the present second.

“Do you think you’ll marry her?” Andy asked. She set down her fork and looked directly into Alex’s eyes. The frisson she felt was undeniable; she couldn’t even fake indifference or a touch of aloofness.

Alex laughed, a little uncomfortably. “Do you want to get that?”

“What? Oh, no, I’m sure it’s just Emily again. She can be like that. You were saying . . .”

But the spell was broken. Alex quickly changed the subject back to Andy, asking if the baby was sleeping and whether or not they had any upcoming travel plans. Their ease had turned to awkwardness. He seemed as nervous as she felt, and she couldn’t pinpoint why. Of course it was always unnerving catching up with an ex, especially one as meaningful as Alex. How did you go from knowing someone so intimately, sharing every fear and thought and dream with them, to becoming practical strangers? It happened all the time, but it didn’t make it feel any less surreal. Andy was sure she could bump into Alex on a street corner in sixty years and still feel that same strong connection to him, but most likely they would never be confidantes, or even truly friends, ever again.

Alex somehow paid for the check before it was even brought to the table, and Andy’s profuse thanks made things even more awkward.

“Hey, don’t mention it,” Alex said, holding the door to the street open for her. “I’ll be employed by a for-profit as of next week. I’m going to be rolling in it.”

Andy swatted his arm. It was a relief to be out the diner, back outside, not staring into each other’s eyes.

“Are you cabbing or taking the subway to the office?”

Her phone noted five missed calls from Emily. “I better jump in a taxi.”

Alex held his arm out, and within seconds a yellow cab screeched to a stop in front of them.

“That’s probably the fastest I’ve ever gotten a cab all the time I’ve lived in the city,” Andy said, wondering if he heard the undertone:
Too fast; I wasn’t ready to say good-bye yet.

Alex held open his arms for a hug. Hesitatingly, Andy stepped into them. It was all she could do not to collapse against him and bury her face in his neck. His smell was so familiar, as was the
affectionate way he rubbed her back between her shoulder blades. She might have stood there all day but the taxi driver honked.

“This was great,” Alex said, an indeterminate expression on his face. “Really great to see you.”

“You too, Alex. And thanks again for breakfast. Next time we’ll have to go out, the four of us. I’d love to meet your girlfriend,” Andy lied.
Shut up!
she yelled at herself in her head.
Stop talking and step away!

Alex laughed. It wasn’t mean, but it wasn’t agreeable either. “Yeah, maybe one day. Keep in touch, okay? Let’s not go so long next time . . .”

Andy tucked herself into the backseat. “Of course!” she called brightly. The taxi began to pull away before Alex had even closed the back door. They both laughed and waved good-bye.

It was blocks before Andy exhaled. Her hands were shaking. When her phone rang again, she could barely compose herself enough to locate it in her bag.

“Hello?” she asked, surprised to find herself thinking it would be Alex.

“Andy? Are you okay? I called you at the office but Agatha said you weren’t in yet, and Emily’s been calling you all morning.” Max.

“I’m fine. What’s going on?”

“Where are you?”

“What, are you keeping tabs on me?” Andy asked, suddenly unreasonably incensed.

“No, I’m not keeping—yes, I guess I am. I left you over two hours ago, and your office tells me you haven’t been in yet and haven’t been answering your phone; yes, I guess you could say I got worried. So kill me.”

Andy softened. “Sorry. I was just running errands. I’m in a cab on my way to the office now.”

“Errands for two hours? You never take cabs to work.”

Andy sighed as audibly as she could. “Max, I have a bit of a headache,” she said, feeling guilty for lying—about the headache, by omission about seeing Alex, about the errands—but she desperately wanted to hang up. Was this how Max had felt when he decided not to tell her about running into Katherine in Bermuda? That some things deserved to be left unsaid, especially when no one had technically committed any crimes: the way that person could still make your stomach drop; the feeling you got when he or she touched your arm or laughed at your joke. First loves were powerful and private, and they stayed with you a very long time. A lifetime. You could love your current partner more than anyone else on earth, but there would always be a small, intimate piece of your heart tucked away for the person you loved first. She felt it for Alex, and she suddenly understood that Max must have felt it for Katherine, too.

She softened. “What were you calling about, love?”

“I just wanted to wish you luck! I know this is a big decision day.”

Elias-Clark. That’s why Max had been checking up on her. Emily had probably called
him
to track her down. Once again they were teaming up. Andy took a deep breath to quell her annoyance.

“Thank you, Max,” she said, and realized how formal and annoyed she sounded. Before he could reply, her call waiting beeped. “It’s Emily calling for the thousandth time. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” She clicked over without saying good-bye.

“Hey,” she said.

“Where the hell are you?” Emily screeched. “I’ve been calling you all morning.”

“I’m fine, thanks, and you?”

“Seriously, Andy. It’s late, and you know we have lots to discuss. Where
are
you?”

The cab pulled up to the front of the building and Andy saw
Emily, back to the street, sans coat, and wildly waving an unlit cigarette.

“I’m here.”

“Where?” Emily screamed to be heard over the din of nearby construction.

Andy paid the driver and got out of the cab. She could immediately hear Emily yelling through both the phone and across the sidewalk.

“Are you going to smoke that, or are you just standing outside because you enjoy listening to that incessant jackhammer?”

Emily whipped around and upon seeing Andy, slammed her phone shut. She lit her cigarette, inhaled deeply, and sprinted to the curb. “Finally! I had Agatha clear my entire day. We’ve waited a long time to have this conversation, and we’re going to give it the attention it deserves.”

“Good morning to you too,” Andy said, feeling the cold dread return.

“Where were you?” Emily demanded, punching the elevator button.

Andy smiled to herself. She wasn’t going to share Alex with anyone. “Just some errands,” she said, her mind back at breakfast: the coffee, the conversation, the laughs. He’d left her mere minutes earlier, and already she missed him. It was a very bad sign indeed.

Andy stood at her kitchen counter, diluting Pedialyte with warm water, when her cell phone rang. “Agatha?” she asked, tucking the phone between her face and her shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

As usual, her assistant sounded weary and put upon from the moment she opened her mouth. “Emily called from Santa Barbara. I guess she had bad reception in the mountains or the valley or wherever she is, but she wanted me to give you the heads-up that Olive and Clint are fighting. The ceremony’s already been pushed back by an hour, and Emily is worried they’re going to call it off completely.”

“No,” Andy whispered, pressing the phone to the side of her face so hard her cheek hurt.

“I don’t have any more details than that. She kept cutting out,” Agatha said with intense irritation, as though Andy had asked her two dozen questions. How horrible could the girl’s day
be with both her bosses gone and nothing to do but drink coffee and field a few phone calls?

She heard Clem begin to cry from the nursery.

“Agatha? I’ve got to run. I’ll call you back in a little.”

“Do you know how long? Because it’s already after five here and . . .”

How many times had she wanted to say that to Miranda, but instead she’d bitten her tongue and waited another hour, three, five? Miranda never felt guilty, though. Andy had regularly waited until ten, eleven o’clock at night, sometimes even midnight if the art department was running late with the Book. Now her own assistant was irritated at five
P.M
.?

“Just sit tight, okay?” Andy hung up without further explanation, although she wanted to yell something about being stuck in her apartment with an infant who’d been puking around the clock for twenty-four hours, while her business partner was trying to feed them information from the communication blackout that was a celebrity wedding in the Santa Barbara foothills. It wouldn’t kill the girl to sit at her desk and surf Facebook for another thirty minutes.

Andy gathered Clem into her arms and kissed her face and head. She felt warm but not too feverish. “You okay, sweet girl?” she murmured.

The baby wailed.

The landline rang somewhere in the distance. She wanted to ignore it, but on the off chance it was either Clem’s pediatrician returning her call or Emily trying her home instead of her cell, she ran to find an extension.

“Andy? Can you hear me?” Emily’s voice screeched through the phone.

“Loud and clear. You don’t have to scream,” Andy said, wiping ineffectually at a puddle of vomit that clung to her shoulder.

“Let’s see if you’re still saying that when I tell you that the wedding is off. Bam! Over! I’m sitting here at the Biltmore with
no fewer than eight hundred wedding guests and there’s not a bride in sight!” The volume of Emily’s voice increased with every word.

“What do you mean, no bride?”

“She’s already delayed the wedding twice. She’s not here. No one’s seen her!” Emily hissed.

Andy inhaled sharply. Not good. Very not good.

“She’s Olive Chase,” Andy said with more calmness than she felt. “She found the world’s most perfect guy. Don’t you think she’s just running a little late?”

“It’s been two fucking hours, Andy! There were rumors circulating before, something about a fight last night that carried over to this morning. Nothing concrete. But then someone’s husband caught a late puddle jumper from L.A. and claims he saw Olive, her mother, and her make-up artist waiting to board an American Airlines flight back to L.A. at the Santa Barbara Airport. It’s over, Andy. They haven’t officially called it yet, but I’m telling you she’s gone and so is our entire issue.”

“What do we do?” Andy whispered, unable to hide her panic.

“I get the hell back to New York, and we rework everything. Those two country singers who met in Nashville—what are their names? Where he’s so much hotter than she is? Their wedding from six weeks ago can take the cover, I’m not worried about that. It’s all the editorial we had planned around Olive that is totally freaking me out right now.”

Andy thought of how every single article in the entire issue was somehow themed to coincide with Olive: how to choose wedding makeup that complements “mature” brides, where to honeymoon to escape prying eyes, city guides to both Santa Barbara and Louisville, including interviews with local shop owners, party planners, and hoteliers.

Andy moaned. “Oh, god. It’s too much. We won’t be able to do it.”

“And don’t even get me started on the advertising. I’d say
sixty percent of this issue’s advertisers bought space based solely on the Chase wedding. Maybe more. And at least half of those are first-time buyers we desperately need to retain.”

Andy heard a noise from the hallway, and then the front door slammed.

“Hello? Who’s there?” she called, trying to keep the panic from her voice. She wasn’t expecting anyone, but she’d clearly heard the door open and close. Isla was off work to take the GREs, and Max had already left for the airport for an overnight business trip.

Andy heard footsteps in the hallway. She clutched Clem to her chest and pressed her mouth to the phone. “Emily, someone’s here! Call 911! What do I—”

“Relax,” Emily said, sounding irritated. “It’s your nanny. I told her to come in as soon as possible.”

“Isla?” Andy asked, confused. “But she took a—”

“She can take the damn test another time, Andy. We need you in the office now!”

“But how did you know—”

“Remember who you’re talking to? If I can find Miuccia Prada while she dogsleds without cell reception in the Canadian Rockies on New Year’s Day, I can sure as hell locate your damn nanny. Now get dressed and get to the office!”