The Devil Wears Prada (57 page)

 The car
pulled up to the entrance, and an exhausted-looking Monsieur Renaud eclipsed
the bellman who was leaning forward to open Miranda’s door and opened it
himself.

 “Ladies!
I hope you had a lovely evening,” he crooned, doing his best to smile
through the exhaustion.

 “We’ll
be needing the car at nine tomorrow morning to go to the Christian Dior show. I
have a breakfast meeting in the lobby at eight-thirty. See that I’m not
disturbed before then,” she barked, all traces of her previous humanness
evaporating like spilled water on a hot sidewalk. And before I could think how
to end our conversation or, at the very least, kiss up a little more for having
had it at all, she walked toward the elevators and vanished inside one. I shot
a weary, understanding look to Monsieur Renaud and boarded an elevator myself.

 The
small, tastefully arranged chocolates on a silver tray on my bedside table only
highlighted the perfection of the evening. In one random, unexpected night,
I’d felt like a model, hung out with one of the hottest guys I’d
seen in the flesh, and had been told by Miranda Priestly that I was reasonably
competent. It felt like everything was finally coming together, that the past
year of sacrifice was showing the first early signs of potentially paying off.
I collapsed on top of the covers, still fully dressed, and gazed at the
ceiling, still unable to believe that I’d told Miranda straight up that I
wanted to work atThe New Yorker, and she hadn’t laughed. Or screamed. Or
in any way, shape, or form freaked out. She hadn’t even scoffed and told
me that I was ridiculous for not wanting to get promoted somewhere withinRunway
. It was almost as though—and I might be projecting here, but I
don’t think so—she had listened to me andunderstood . Understood
andagreed . It was almost too much to comprehend.

 I
undressed slowly, making sure to savor every minute of tonight, going over and
over in my mind the way Christian had led me from room to room and then all
over the dance floor, the way he looked at me through those hooded lids with
the persistent curl, the way Miranda had almost, imperceptibly, nodded when
I’d said what I really wanted was to write. A truly glorious night, I had
to say, one of the best in recent history. It was already three-thirty in the
morning Paris time, making it nine-thirty New York time—a perfect time to
catch Lily before she went out for the night. Although I should’ve just
dialed with no regard for the insistent, blinking light that
announced—surprise, surprise—that I had messages, I cheerfully
pulled out a pad of the Ritz stationery and got ready to transcribe. There were
bound to be long lists of irritating requests from irritating people, but
nothing could take away my Cinderella-esque evening.

 The
first three were from Monsieur Renaud and his assistants, confirming various
drivers and appointment for the next day, always remembering to wish me a good
night as though I were actually a person instead of just a slave, which I
appreciated. Between the third and the fourth message I found myself both
wishing and not wishing that one of the messages to come was from Alex, and as
a result, was both delighted and anxious when the fourth was from him.

 “Hi,
Andy, it’s me. Alex. Listen, I’m sorry to bother you over there,
I’m sure you’re incredibly busy, but I need to talk to you, so
please call me on my cell phone as soon as you get this. Doesn’t matter
how late it is, just be sure to call, OK? Uh, OK. ‘Bye.”

 It was
so strange that he hadn’t said he loved me or missed me or was waiting
for me to get back, but I guess all those things fall squarely into the
“inappropriate” category when people decide to “take a
break.” I hit delete and decided, rather arbitrarily, that the lack of
urgency in his voice meant I could wait until tomorrow—I just
couldn’t handle a long “state of our relationship”
conversation at three o’clock in the morning after as wonderful a night
as I’d just had.

 The last
and final message was from my mom, and it, too, sounded strange and ambiguous.

 “Hi,
honey, it’s Mom. It’s about eight our time, not sure what that
makes it for you. Listen, no emergency—everything’s fine—but
it’d be great if you could call me back when you hear this. We’ll
be up for a while, so anytime is fine, but tonight is definitely better than
tomorrow. We both hope you’re having a wonderful time, and we’ll
talk to you later. Love you!”

 This was
definitely strange. Both Alex and my mother had called me in Paris before
I’d gotten a chance to call either of them, and both had requested that I
call them back regardless of what time I got the message. Considering my
parents defined a late night by whether or not they managed to stay awake for
Letterman’s opening monologue, I knew something had to be up. But at the
same time, no one sounded particularly panicked or even a little frantic.
Perhaps I’d take a long bubble bath with some of the Ritz products provided
and slowly work up the energy to call everyone back; the night had just been
too good to wreck by talking to my mother about some petty concern or to Alex
about “where we stand.”

 The bath
was just as hot and luxurious as you’d expect it to be in a junior suite
adjacent to the Coco Chanel suite at the Ritz Paris, and I took a few extra
minutes to apply some of the lightly scented moisturizer from the vanity to my
entire body. Then, finally wrapped in the plushest terry-cloth robe I’d
ever pulled around me, I sat down to dial. Without thinking, I dialed my mother
first, which was probably a mistake: even her “hello” sounded
seriously stressed out.

 “Hey,
it’s me. Is everything OK? I was going to call you guys tomorrow,
it’s just that things have been so hectic. But, wait until I tell you
about the night I just had!” I knew already that I’d be omitting
any romantic references to Christian, since I hadn’t felt like explaining
the entire Alex scenario to my parents, but I knew they’d both be
thrilled to hear that Miranda seemed to respond well when I’d brought up
the idea ofThe New Yorker .

 “Honey,
I don’t mean to interrupt you, but something’s happened. We got a
call today from Lenox Hill Hospital, which is on Seventy-seventh Street, I
think, and it seems that Lily’s been in an accident.”

 And
although it’s quite conceivably the most clichéd expression in the
English language, my heart stopped for just a moment. “What? What are you
talking about? What kind of an accident?”

 She had
already switched into worried-mom mode and was clearly trying to keep her voice
steady and her words rational, following what was sure to have been my
dad’s suggestion of passing along to me a feeling of calm and control.
“A car accident, honey. A rather serious one, I’m afraid. Lily was
driving—there was also a guy in the car, someone from school, I think
they said—and she turned the wrong way down a one-way street. It seems
she hit a taxicab head-on, going nearly forty miles an hour on a city street.
The police officer I spoke with said it was a miracle she’s alive.”

 “I
don’t understand. When did it happen? Is she going to be OK?” I had
started choke-crying at some point, because as calm as my mother was trying to
remain, I could hear the severity of the situation in her carefully chosen
words. “Mom, where is Lily now, and is she going to be OK?”

 It
wasn’t until this point that I noticed my mom was crying also, just
quietly. “Andy, I’m putting Dad on. He spoke to the doctors most
recently. I love you, honey.” The last part came out like a squeak.

 “Hi,
honey. How are you? Sorry we have to call with news like this.” My
dad’s voice sounded deep and reassuring, and I had a fleeting feeling
that everything was going to work out. He was going to tell me that she’d
broken her leg, maybe a rib or two, and someone had called in a good plastic
surgeon to stitch up a few scrapes on her face. But she was going to be just
fine.

 “Dad,
will you please tell me what happened? Mom said Lily was driving and hit a cab
going really fast? I don’t understand. None of this makes any sense. Lily
doesn’t have a car, and she hates to drive. She’d never be cruising
around Manhattan. How did you hear about this? Who called you? And what’s
wrong with her?” Again, I’d worked myself up to nearly hysterical,
but again his voice was commanding and soothing all in one.

 “Take
a deep breath—I’ll tell you everything I know. The accident
happened yesterday, but we just found out about it today.”

 “Yesterday!
How could this have happened yesterday and no one called me? Yesterday?”

 “Sweetie,
they did call you. The doctor said that Lily had filled out the front
information page in her daily planner and had listed you as her emergency
contact, since her grandmother’s really not doing all that well. Anyway,
I guess the hospital called you at home and on your cell, but of course you
weren’t checking either one. When no one called them back or showed up in
twenty-four hours, they went through her planner and noticed that we have the
same last name as you, and so the hospital called here to see if we knew how to
reach you. Mom and I couldn’t remember where you were staying, so we
called Alex for the name of the hotel.”

 “Oh
my god, it was a day ago. Has she been alone this whole time? Is she still in
the hospital?” I couldn’t ask the questions fast enough, but I
still felt like I wasn’t getting any answers. All I knew for sure was
that Lily had decided on me as the primary person in her life, the emergency
contact you always had to list but never, ever took seriously. And here
she’d really needed me—didn’t have anyone else, in
fact—and I’d been nowhere to be found. My choking had subsided, but
the tears continued to pour down my cheeks in hot, angry streaks, and my throat
felt as though it had been scraped raw with a pumice stone.

 “Yes,
she’s still in the hospital. I’m going to be very honest with you,
Andy. We’re not sure if she’s going to be all right.”

 “What?
What are you saying? Will someone just tell me something concrete
already?”

 “Honey,
I’ve spoken to her doctor a half-dozen times already, and I have complete
confidence that she’s getting the best attention. But Lily’s in a
coma, sweetie. Now, the doctor did reassure me that—”

 “A
coma? Lily is in a coma?” Nothing was making sense anymore; the words
were refusing to take on meaning.

 “Honey,
try to calm down. I know this is shocking for you and I hate to do this over
the phone. We considered not telling you until you got back, but since
that’s still half a week away, we figured you had a right to know. But
also know that Mom and I are doing everything we can to make sure that Lily
gets the best help. She’s always been like a daughter to us, you know
that, so she’s not going to be alone.”

 “Oh
my god, I have to come home. Dad, I have to come home! She doesn’t have
anybody but me, and I’m across the Atlantic. Oh, but that fucking party
is the night after tomorrow and it’s the sole reason she brought me and
she’ll definitely fire me if I’m not there. Think! I need to
think!”

 “Andy,
it’s late there. I think the best thing you could do is get some sleep,
take a little time to think things over. Of course I knew you’d want to
come home right away, because that’s the kind of person you are, but keep
in mind that for right now Lily is not conscious. Her doctor assured me that
the chances are excellent that she’ll come out of this in the next
forty-eight to seventy-two hours, that her body is just using this as an
extended and deeper sleep to help itself heal. But nothing is certain,”
he added, softly.

 “And
if she does come out of it? I’m assuming she could have all sorts of
brain damage and horrible paralysis and things like that? Oh my god, I
can’t stand it.”

 “They
just don’t know yet. They said that she is responsive to stimuli in her
feet and legs, which is a good indication that there’s no paralysis. But
there’s a lot of swelling around her head, and it won’t be possible
to know anything for sure until she comes out of this. We just need to
wait.”

 We spoke
for a few minutes longer before I hung up abruptly and called Alex’s cell
phone.

 “Hi,
it’s me. Have you seen her?” I asked without so much as a hello. I
was now a mini-Miranda.

 “Andy.
Hi. So you know?”

 “Yeah,
I just got off the phone with my parents. Have you seen her?”

 “Yes,
I’m at the hospital now. They won’t let me in her room right now
since it’s not visiting hours and I’m not family, but I wanted to
be here just in case she wakes up.” He sounded very, very far away,
completely lost in his own thoughts.