The Devil Wears Prada (59 page)

 Miranda
managed not to address me for nearly an hour, but after that she was off and
running. Even though I was standing in the same room she was, she called my
cell phone to request a Pellegrino. From that moment on, the phone rang in ten-
to twelve-minute increments, each request sending another shock of pain directly
to my head.Brrring. “Get Mr. Tomlinson on his air phone on the
jet.” (B-DAD didn’t answer on his air phone when I tried calling it
sixteen times.)Brrring. “Remind all theRunway editors in Paris that just
because they’re here does not mean they can neglect their
responsibilities at home—I want everything in by original
deadline!” (The couple ofRunway editors I had gotten in touch with at
their various hotels in Paris had simply laughed at me and hung up.)Brrring.
“Get me a regular American turkey sandwich immediately—I’m
tiring of all this ham.” (I walked more than two miles in painful boots
and with an upset stomach, but there was no turkey to be found anywhere.
I’m convinced she knew, since she’d never once before asked for a
turkey sandwich while in America—even though, of course, they’re
available on every street corner.)Brrring. “I expect dossiers prepared on
the three best chefs you’ve found thus far to be waiting in my suite by
the time we return from this show.” (Emily hacked and whined and bitched
but promised that she’d fax over whatever information she had on the
candidates so far and I could make them into “dossiers.”)Brrring!
Brrring! Brrring! You remind me of myself when I was your age .

 Too
nauseated and crippled to watch the parade of anorexic models, I ducked outside
for a quick cigarette. Naturally, the moment I flicked on my lighter, my cell
phone shrilled again. “Ahn-dre-ah! Ahn-dre-ah! Where are you? Where the
hell are you right now?”

 I tossed
out my still unlit cigarette and raced back inside, my stomach churning so
violently that I knew I would be sick—it was just a matter of when and
where.

 “I’m
right in the back of the room, Miranda,” I said, sliding through the door
and pressing my back against the wall. “Right to the left of the door. Do
you see me?”

 I
watched as she swiveled her head back and forth until her eyes finally rested
on mine. I was about to hang up the phone, but she was still stage whispering
into it. “Don’t move, do you hear me? Do not move! One would think that
my assistant would understand she’s here to assist me, not to gallivant
around outside when I need her. This is unacceptable, Ahn-dre-ah!” By the
time she’d made it to the back of the room and positioned herself in
front of me, a woman in a glimmering floor-length silver gown with an empire
waist and slight flare was sashaying through the reverent crowds, and the music
switched from some sort of bizarre Gregorian chants to all-out heavy metal. My
head began pounding almost in tune to the change in music. Miranda didn’t
stop hissing when she reached me, but she did, finally, flip her cell phone
closed. I did the same.

 “Ahn-dre-ah,
we have a very serious problem here.You have a very serious problem. I just
received a call from Mr. Tomlinson. It seems Annabelle brought it to his
attention that the twins’ passports expired last week.” She stared
at me, but all I could do was concentrate on not throwing up.

 “Oh,
really?” was all I could manage, but that clearly wasn’t the right
response. Her hand tightened around her bag and her eyes began to bulge with
anger.

 “Oh,
really?”she mimicked in a hyena-like howl. People were beginning to stare
at us. “Oh, really? That’s all you have to say? ‘Oh,
really?’ ”

 “No,
uh, of course not, Miranda. I didn’t mean it like that. Is there
something I can do to help?”

 “Is
there something I can do to help?”she mimicked again, this time in a
whiny child’s voice. If she had been any other person on earth, I would
have reached out and slapped her face. “You damn well better believe it,
Ahn-dre-ah. Since you’re clearly unable to stay on top of these things in
advance, you’ll need to figure out how to renew them in time for their
flight tonight. I will not have my own daughters miss this party tomorrow
night, do you understand me?”

 Did I
understand her? Hmm. A very good question indeed. I was thoroughly unable to
understand how it was my fault that her ten-year-olds had expired passports
when they, theoretically, had two parents, a stepfather, and a full-time nanny
to oversee such things, but I also understood it didn’t matter. If she
thought it was my fault, it was. I understood that she would never understand
when I told her that those girls were not getting on that plane tonight. There
was virtually nothing I couldn’t find, fix, or arrange, but securing
federal documents while in a foreign country in less than three hours was not
happening. Period. She had finally made her very first request of me in a full
year that I could not accommodate—regardless of how much she barked or
demanded or intimidated, it was not happening.You remind me of myself when I
was your age .

 Fuck
her. Fuck Paris and fashion shows and marathon games of “I’m so
fat.” Fuck all the people who believed that Miranda’s behavior was
justified because she could pair a talented photographer with some expensive
clothes and walk away with some pretty magazine pages. Fuck her for even
thinking that I was anything like her. And most of all, fuck her for being
right. What the hell was I standing here for, getting abused and belittled and
humiliated by this joyless she-devil? So maybe, just maybe, I, too, could be
sitting at this very same event thirty years from now, accompanied only by an
assistant who loathes me, surrounded by armies of people who pretend they like
me because they have to.

 I yanked
out my cell phone and punched in a number and watched as Miranda became
increasingly more livid.

 “Ahn-dre-ah!”
she hissed, much too ladylike to ever make a scene. “What do you think
you’re doing? I’m telling you that my daughters need passports
immediately, and you decide it’s a good time to chat on your phone? Are
you under the very mistaken impression that’s why I brought you to
Paris?”

 My
mother picked up on the third ring, but I didn’t even say hello.

 “Mom,
I’m getting on the next flight I can. I’ll call you when I get to
JFK. I’m coming home.” I clicked the phone shut before she could
respond and looked up to see Miranda, who appeared genuinely surprised. I felt
a smile break through the headache and nausea when I realized that I’d
rendered her momentarily speechless. Unfortunately, she recovered quickly.
There’s a small chance I wouldn’t have gotten fired if I’d
immediately pleaded and explained and lost the defiant attitude, but I
couldn’t seem to muster one single, tiny shred of self-control.

 “Ahn-dre-ah,
you realize what you’re doing, do you not? You do know that if you simply
leave here like this, I’m going to be forced—”

 “Fuck
you, Miranda.Fuck you .”

 She
gasped audibly while her hand flew to her mouth in shock, and I felt not a few
Clackers turn to see what the commotion was. They’d begun pointing and
whispering, themselves as shocked as Miranda that some nobody assistant had
just said that—and none too quietly—to one of the great living
fashion legends.

 “Ahn-dre-ah!”
She grabbed my upper arm with her clawlike hand, but I wrenched it out of her
grip and plastered on an enormous smile. I also figured it’d be an
appropriate time to stop whispering and let everyone in on our little secret.

 “So
sorry, Miranda,” I announced in a normal voice that for the first time
since I’d landed in Paris wasn’t shaking uncontrollably, “but
I don’t think I’ll be able to make it to the party tomorrow. You
understand don’t you? I’m sure it’ll be lovely, so please do
enjoy it. That’s all.” And before she could respond, I hitched my
bag higher up on my shoulder, ignored the pain that was searing from heel to
toe, and strutted outside to hail a cab. I couldn’t remember feeling
better than that particular moment. I was going home.

18

 “Jill,
stop shouting for your sister!” my mother screamed unhelpfully. “I
think she’s still sleeping.” And then, a voice came even louder
from the bottom of the stairs.

 “Andy,
are you still sleeping?” she screamed in the general direction of my
room.

 I pried
open an eye and checked the clock. Quarter after eight in the morning. Dear
god, what were these peoplethinking ?

 It took
a few times of rocking from side to side before I could muster enough strength
to pull myself to sit, and when I finally did, my whole body pleaded for more
sleep, just a little more sleep.

 “Morning,”
Lily smiled, her face coming within inches of my own when she turned to face
me. “They sure do get up early around here.” Since Jill and Kyle
and the baby were home for Thanksgiving, Lily had been forced to vacate
Jill’s old room and move onto the lower half of my childhood trundle bed,
which was currently pulled out and nearly level with my own twin-size bed.

 “What
are you complaining about? You look psyched to be awake right now, and
I’m not sure why.” She was propped up on one elbow, reading a
newspaper and sipping a cup of coffee she kept picking up and placing down on
the floor next to the bed.

 “I’ve
been up forever listening to Isaac cry.”

 “He’s
been crying? Really?”

 “I
can’t believe you didn’t hear him. It’s been incessant since
about six-thirty. Cute kid, Andy, but that whole early-morning thing has got to
go.”

 “Girls!”
my mother screamed again. “Is anyone awake up there? Anyone? I
don’t care if you’re still sleeping, just please tell me one way or
the other so I know how many waffles to defrost!”

 “Please
tell her one way or the other? I’m going to kill her, Lil.” And
then toward my still closed door: “We’re still sleeping,
can’t you tell? Fast asleep, probably for hours more. We don’t hear
the baby or you screaming, or anything else!” I shouted back, collapsing
backward on the bed. Lily laughed.

 “Relax,”
she said in a very un-Lily-like way. “They’re just happy
you’re home, and I, for one, am happy to be here. Besides, it’s
only a couple more months, and we’ve got each other. It’s really
not so bad.”

 “A
couple more months? It’s only been one so far, and I’m ready to put
a bullet in my head.” I yanked my nightshirt over my head—one of
Alex’s old workout ones—and put on a sweatshirt. The same jeans
I’d been wearing every day for the past few weeks lay rumpled in a ball
near my closet; when I pulled them over my hips, I noticed that were feeling
snugger. Now that I no longer had to resort to gulping down a bowl of soup or
subsisting on cigarettes and Starbucks alone, my body had adjusted itself
accordingly and gained back the ten pounds I’d lost while working
atRunway . And it didn’t even make me cringe; Ibelieved it when Lily and
my parents told me I looked healthy, not fat.

 Lily
slipped on a pair of sweatpants over the boxers she’d slept in and tied a
bandana over her frizzed-out curls. With her hair pulled off her face, the
angry red marks where her forehead had met shards of the windshield were more
noticeable, but the stitches had already come out and the doctor promised that
there’d be minimal, if any, scarring. “Come on,” she said,
grabbing the crutches that were propped against the wall everywhere she went.
“They’re all leaving today, so maybe we’ll get a decent
night’s sleep tonight.”

 “She’s
not going to stop screaming until we go down there, is she?” I mumbled,
holding her elbow to help her to her feet. The cast around her right ankle had
been signed by my entire family, and Kyle had even drawn annoying little
messages from Isaac all over it.

 “Not
a chance.”

 My
sister appeared in the doorway, cradling the baby, who currently had drool
halfway down his chubby chin but was now giggling contentedly. “Look who
I have,” she cooed in baby talk, bouncing the happy boy up and down in
her arms. “Isaac, tell your auntie Andy not to be such a tremendous
bitch, since we’re all leaving real, real soon. Can you do that for
mommy, honey? Can you?”

 Isaac
sneezed a very cute baby sneeze in response, and Jill looked as though
he’d just risen up from her arms a full-grown man and recited a few
Shakespearean sonnets. “Did you see that, Andy? Did youhear that? Oh, my
little guy is just the cutest thing ever!”