The Devil Wears Prada (31 page)

 “OK,
honey. Hope you’re ready to work today!”

 I fell
back onto my pillow and considered my options for possibly going back to sleep.
They were looking really grim, considering they’d driven all the way in
from Connecticut to help me move. Just then, the alarm clock blared its
signature static. Ah hah! So Ihad remembered that today was moving day. The
reminder that I wasn’t going completely crazy was a small comfort.

 Getting
out of bed was, quite possibly, even harder to do than other days even though
it was happening a few hours later. My body had been briefly tricked into thinking
that it would actually get to catch up, had depended on reducing that infamous
“sleep debt” we’d learned about in Psych 101, when I wrenched
it from bed. There was a small pile of clothes I’d left folded by the
bed, the only things besides my toothbrush that I hadn’t yet packed. I
pulled on the blue Adidas windpants, the hooded Brown sweatshirt, and the pair
of filthy gray New Balance sneakers that had accompanied me around the world.
Not a second after I swooshed the last of my Listerine did the buzzer ring.

 “Hi,
guys. I’ll buzz you up, just a sec.”

 There
was a knock on the door two minutes later, and instead of my parents there
stood a rumpled-looking Alex. He looked great, as usual. His faded jeans hung
low on nonexistent hips, and his long-sleeved navy T-shirt was just the right
amount of tight. The tiny wire-rims he wore only when he couldn’t
tolerate his contacts were perched in front of very red eyes, and his hair was
all over the place. I couldn’t stop myself from hugging him on the spot.
I hadn’t seen him since the Sunday before, when we’d met for a
quick midafternoon coffee. We’d intended to spend the whole day and night
together, but Miranda had needed an emergency babysitter for Cassidy so she
could take Caroline to the doctor, and I had been recruited. I’d gotten
home too late to spend any real time with him, and he’d recently stopped
camping out in my bed just to get a glimpse of me, which I understood.
He’d wanted to stay over the night before, but I was still in that stage
of parent-pretending: even though all parties involved knew that Alex and I
were sleeping together, nothing could be done, said, or implied to actually
confirm it. And so I hadn’t wanted him there when my parents arrived.

 “Hey,
babe. I thought you guys could use some help today.” He held up a Bagelry
bag that I knew would contain salt bagels, my favorite, and some large coffees.
“Are your parents here yet? I brought them coffees, too.”

 “I
thought you had to tutor today,” I said just as Shanti emerged from her
bedroom wearing a black pantsuit. She hung her head as she walked past us,
mumbled something about working all day, and left. We so seldom talked, I
wondered if she realized today was my last day in the apartment.

 “I
did, but I called the two little girls’ parents and both said that
tomorrow morning was fine with them, so I’m all yours!”

 “Andy!
Alex!” My father stood in the doorway behind Alex, beaming as though this
were the best morning on earth. My mom looked so awake I wondered if she was on
drugs. I did a quick once-over of the situation and figured that they would
rightly assume that Alex had just arrived since he was still wearing his shoes
and was obviously holding recently purchased food. Besides, the door was still
open. Phew.

 “Andy
said you couldn’t make it today,” my dad said, setting down what
looked like a bag of bagels—also salt, no doubt—and coffees on the
table in the living room. He deliberately avoided eye contact. “Are you
on your way in or out?”

 I smiled
and looked at Alex, hoping he wasn’t already regretting what he’d
gotten himself into so early in the morning.

 “Oh,
I just got here, Dr. Sachs,” Alex said gamely. “I rearranged my
tutoring because I thought you two could use another pair of hands.”

 “Great.
That’s great—I’m sure it’ll be a big help. Here, help
yourself to bagels. Alex, I’m sorry to say that we didn’t get three
coffees since we didn’t know you’d be here.” My dad looked
genuinely upset, which was touching. I knew he still had trouble with his
youngest daughter having a boyfriend, but he did his best not to show it.

 “No
worries, Dr. S. I brought some stuff, too, so it looks like there’s
plenty.” And somehow, my dad and my boyfriend sat down on the futon
together—without a trace of awkwardness—and shared an early-morning
breakfast.

 I
sampled salt bagels from each of their bags and thought about how much fun it
would be to live with Lily again. We’d been out of college for nearly a
year now. We’d tried to talk at least once a day, but it still felt like
we hardly ever saw each other. Now, we would come home to each other and bitch
about our respective hellish days—just like old times. Alex and my dad
prattled on about sports (basketball, I think) while my mom and I labeled the
boxes in my room. Sadly, there wasn’t much: just a few boxes of bed
linens and pillows, another of photo albums and assorted desk supplies (even
though I lacked a desk), some makeup and toiletries, and a whole bunch of
garment bags filled with un-Runway-esque clothes. Hardly enough to warrant
labels; I guess it was the assistant in me kicking in.

 “Let’s
get moving,” my dad called from the living room.

 “Shhh!
You’ll wake Kendra,” I loudly whispered back. “It is only
nine in the morning on a Saturday, you know.”

 Alex was
shaking his head. “Didn’t you see her leave with Shanti before? At
least, I think that was her. There were definitely two of them, and they were
both wearing suits and looking unhappy. Check their bedroom.”

 The door
to the room they managed to share by bunking their beds was ajar, and I pushed
it open slightly. Both beds were made meticulously, pillows fluffed and
matching stuffed Gund dogs propped up on each. I didn’t realize until
then that I’d never so much as stepped foot in their room—in the
few months I’d lived with these girls, we hadn’t had a conversation
of longer than thirty seconds—I didn’t know exactly what they did,
where they went, or if they had any friends besides each other. I was glad to
be leaving.

 Alex and
my dad had cleaned up the leftover food and were trying to map out a game plan.
“You’re right, they’re both gone. I don’t even think
they know I’m leaving today.”

 “Maybe
leave them a note?” my mom suggested. “Maybe on your Scrabble
board.” I’d inherited my father’s addiction to Scrabble, and
he had a theory that each new home required a new board so I was leaving the
old one behind.

 I took
the last five minutes in the apartment to make the tiles read, “Thanks
for everything and good luck XO Andy.” Fifty-nine points. Not bad.

 It took
an hour to pack both of the cars up, with me not doing much more than propping
open the door to the street and guarding the vehicles while they went back
upstairs. The bed movers—who were charging more than the actual cost of
the damn thing—were running late, so my dad and Alex each started
downtown. Lily had found our new apartment through an ad in theVillage Voice,
and I hadn’t even seen it yet. She’d called me at work from her
cell phone in the middle of the day, screaming, “I found it! I found it!
It’s perfect! There’s a bathroom with running water, a wooden floor
that only has minimal warping, and I’ve been here four full minutes and
haven’t seen a single mouse or even a roach. Can you come see it
immediately?”

 “Are
you high right now?” I whispered. “She’shere, which means
I’m not going anywhere.”

 “You
have to comenow . You know what it’s like. I have my folder and
everything.”

 “Lily,
be reasonable. I couldn’t leave the office right now for an emergency
heart transplant if I needed one, without getting fired. How can I come look at
an apartment?”

 “Well,
it’s not going to be here in thirty more seconds. There are at least
twenty-five other people at this open house, and they’re all filling out
applications. I need to do thisnow .”

 In the
obscene world of Manhattan real estate, semilivable apartments were
rarer—and more desirable—than seminormal straight guys. When you
added semiaffordable into the mix, they became harder to rent than your private
island somewhere off the southern coast of Africa. Or probably harder. No
matter that most boasted fewer than three hundred square feet of dirt and
rotted wood, pockmarked walls, and prehistoric appliances. No roaches? No mice?
This one was a keeper!

 “Lily,
I trust you, just do it. Can you e-mail me a description?” I was trying
to get off the phone as quickly as possible since Miranda was due back from the
art department any second. If she saw me on a personal call, I was finished.

 “Well,
I have copies of your paychecks—which, by the way, really suck… and
I’ve got both our bank statements and printouts of our credit histories
and your employment letter. The only problem is our guarantor. It has to be a
tristate resident who makes more than forty times our monthly rent, and my
grandmother sure as hell doesn’t make a hundred grand. Can your parents
sign for us?”

 “Jesus,
Lil, I don’t know. I haven’t asked them, and I can’t very
well call them right now. You call.”

 “Fine.
They do make enough, don’t they?”

 I
wasn’t really sure, but who else could we ask? “Just call
them,” I told her. “Explain about Miranda. Tell them I’m
sorry for not calling myself.”

 “Will
do,” she said. “But let me make sure we can get the place.
I’ll call you back,” she said and clicked off the phone. The phone
rang again twenty seconds later, and I saw her cell phone number on the office
phone caller ID. Emily raised her eyes in that special way she did when she
heard me once again talking to a friend. I grabbed the phone but spoke to
Emily.

 “It’s
important,” I hissed in her direction. “My best friend is trying to
rent me an apartment over the phone because I can’t leave here for a
goddamn—”

 Three
voices attacked me at once. Emily’s was measured and calm and carried
with it a warning tone. “Andrea, please,” she’d started, at
the exact same time that Lily was shrieking, “They’ll do it, Andy,
they’ll do it! Are you listening to me?” But even though both of
them were clearly addressing me, I couldn’t really hear either one of
them. The only voice that came through loud and clear was Miranda’s.

 “Do
we have a problem here, Ahn-dre-ah?” Shocker—she got my name right
this time. She was hovering over me, appearing ready to strike.

 I
immediately hung up on Lily, hoping she’d understand, and braced myself
for the onslaught. “No, Miranda, no problem at all.”

 “Good.
Now, I’d like a sundae and I’d like to actually eat it before the
entire thing melts. Vanilla ice cream—not yogurt, mind you, not ice milk,
and nothing sugar-free or low-fat—with chocolate syrup and real whipped
cream. Not canned, you understand? Genuine whipped cream. That’s
all.” She walked purposefully back toward the art department, and I was
left with the distinct impression that she’d come in just to check on me.
Emily smirked. The phone rang. Lily again. Dammit—couldn’t she just
e-mail me? I picked it up and pressed it to my ear but said nothing.

 “OK,
I know you can’t talk, so I will. Your parents will be our guarantors,
which is great. The apartment is a big one-bedroom, and once we put the wall up
in the living room, there will still be room for a two-person couchand a chair.
The bathroom doesn’t have a bath, but the shower looks OK. No dishwasher,
natch, and no AC, but we can get window units. Laundry in the basement,
part-time doorman, one block from the six train. And get this. A
balcony!”

 I
must’ve breathed audibly, because she got even more excited at my
excitement. “I know! Crazy, right? It looks like it might fall right off
the side of the building, but it’s there! And we could both fit on it and
have a place to smoke, and oh, it’s just perfect!”

 “How
much?” I croaked, determined that these would be the absolute last words
I’d utter.

 “All
ours for the grand total of twenty-two eighty a month. Do you believe that
we’ll get a balcony for eleven hundred forty dollars apiece? This place
is the find of the century. So, can I do it?”