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Sunday at Al Forno for ten people； so we can each gather up the
troops and have everyone in one place at one time。”
“No way。 You did all of this already？”
“Sure。 I thought you’d be really psyched。 That’s why I was really
looking forward to telling you about it。 But apparently you were too
busy to call back。”
“Alex； I’m thrilled。 I can’t even tell you how excited I am； and I
can’t believe you figured everything out already。 I’m really sorry
about before； but I can’t wait for October。 We’re going to have the
best time； thanks to you。”
We talked for another couple minutes。 By the time I hung up； he
didn’t sound mad anymore； but I could barely move。 The effort to win
him back； to find the right words not only to convince him that I
hadn’t overlooked him but also to reassure him that I was
appropriately grateful and enthusiastic had drained the last
reserves of my energy。 I don’t remember getting into the car or the
ride Home or whether or not I said hello to John Fisher…Galliano in
the lobby of my building。 Besides a bone…deep exhaustion that hurt
so much it almost felt good； the only thing I remember feeling at
all was relief that Lily’s door was shut and no light peeked out
from under it。 I thought about ordering in some food； but the mere
thought of locating a menu and a phone was too overwhelming—another
meal that simply wasn’t happening。
Instead； I sat on the crumbling concrete of my furnitureless balcony
and leisurely inhaled a cigarette。 Lacking the energy to actually
blow the smoke out； I let it seep from my mouth and hang in the
still air around me。 At some point I heard Lily’s door open； her
footsteps shuffling along the hallway； but I quickly turned out my
lights and sat in the darkened silence。 There had just been fifteen
straight hours of talking； and I could talk no more。
13
“Hire her；” Miranda had decreed when she met Annabelle； the twelfth
girl I’d interviewed and one of only two that I’d decided were fit
to even meet Miranda。 Annabelle was a native French speaker （she
actually spoke so little English I had to have the twins translate
for me）； a graduate of the Sorbonne； and the possessor of a long；
hard body； with gorgeous brown hair。 She had style。 She wasn’t
afraid to wear stilettos on the job and didn’t seem to mind
Miranda’s brusque manner。 In fact； she was rather aloof and brusque
herself and never really seemed to make any sort of eye contact。
Always kind of bored； a touch disinterested； and supremely
confident。 I was thrilled when Miranda wanted her； both because it
saved me weeks more of meeting nanny wannabes and because it
indicated—in some teeny； tiny way—that I was starting to get it。
Get what； exactly； I wasn’t sure； but things were going as smoothly
as I could have hoped at this point。 I’d pulled off the clothing
order with only a few noticeable screwups。 She hadn’t exactly been
psyched when I’d shown her everything she’d ordered from Givenchy
and accidentally pronounced it precisely as it appears—give…EN…chee。
After much glaring and a few snide ments； I was informed of the
correct pronunciation； and everything went reasonably well until she
had to be told that the Roberto Cavalli dresses she’d requested
hadn’t been made yet and wouldn’t be ready for another three weeks。
But I’d handled that and had managed to coordinate fittings in the
Closet with her tailor and had assembled nearly everything in the
closet in her Home dressing room； a space roughly the size of a
studio apartment。
The party planning had continued in Miranda’s absence and picked up
again full…force with her return； but there was surprisingly little
panic—it appeared that everything was in order； and that the
uping Friday was set to go off without a hitch。 Chanel had
delivered a one…of…a…kind； floor…length red beaded sheath while
Miranda was in Europe； and I’d immediately sent it to the cleaners
for a once…over。 I’d seen a similar Chanel dress in black in the
pages ofW the month before； and when I pointed it out to Emily；
she’d nodded somberly。
“Forty thousand dollars；” she’d said； moving her head up and down；
up and down。 She double…clicked on a pair of black pants onstyle
； where she’d spent months scouring for ideas for her uping trip
to Europe with Miranda。
“Forty thousand WHAT？”
“Her dress。 The red one from Chanel。 It costs forty thousand dollars
if you were to buy it retail。 Of course； Miranda isn’t paying full
price； but she didn’t get this one for free； either。 Isn’t it wild？”
“Forty thousand DOLLARS？” I’d asked again； still unable to believe
that I’d held a single item worth so much money in my hands just
hours earlier。 I couldn’t help a quick conceptualization of forty
grand： two full years’ college tuition； a down payment on a new
Home； an averageyearly salary for a typical American family of four。
Or； at the very least； one hell of a lot of Prada bags。 But one
dress？ I thought I’d seen it all at that point； but I was due
another zinger when the dress came back from the couture dry cleaner
with a calligraphic envelope that readMs。 Miranda Priestly 。 Inside
was a hand…printed invoice on cream…colored cardstock that read：
Garment type：Evening gown。 Designer：Chanel。 Length：Ankle。
Colour：Red。 Size：Zero。 Description：Hand…beaded； sleeveless with
slight scoop neckline； invisible side zipper； heavy silk lining。
Service：Basic； first…time cleaning。 Fee：670。
There was an additional note underneath the actual bill part from
the shop’s owner； a woman I was sure paid both the rent for her
store and her Home with the money she received from Elias on behalf
of Miranda’s extensive dry…cleaning addiction。
We were delighted to work on such a gorgeous gown and we hope you
enjoy wearing it to your party at the Metropolitan Museum of Art。 As
directed； we will pick up the gown on Monday； May 24； for its
postparty cleaning。 Please let us know if we may be of any
additional service。 All the best； Colette。
Either way； it was only Thursday and Miranda had a brand…new and
newly cleaned gown resting gently in her closet； and Emily had
located the exact silver Jimmy Choo sandals she’d requested。 The
hair stylist was due at her house at five…thirtyP 。M。 on Friday； the
makeup artist at five forty…five； and Uri was on call for exactly
six…fifteen to take Miranda and Mr。 Tomlinson to the museum。
Miranda had already left for the day to watch Cassidy’s gymnastics
meet； and I was hoping to duck out early to surprise Lily。 She’d
just finished her last exam of the year and I wanted to take her out
for a celebration。
“Hey； Em； do you think I could leave by six…thirty or seven today？
Miranda said she didn’t need the Book because there really wasn’t
anything new；” I added quickly； irritated that I had to beg my
equal； my peer for permission to leave work after only twelve hours
instead of the usual fourteen。
“Um； sure。 Yeah； whatever。 I’m leaving now。” She checked her
puter screen and saw that it was a little after five。 “Stay for
another couple hours and then head out。 She’s with the twins
tonight； so I don’t think she should be calling much。” She had a
date that night with the guy she’d met in LA over New Year’s。 He’d
finally made it to New York and； surprise of all surprises； he’d
actually called。 They were headed to Craftbar for drinks； at which
point she would treat him to Nobu if he was behaving himself。 She’d
made the reservations five weeks earlier when he’d e…mailed that he
might be in New York； but Emily still had to use Miranda’s name to
score the time slot。
“Well； what are you going to do when you show up there and you’re
clearly not Miranda Priestly？” I asked stupidly。
As usual； I received an expert eye…roll…deep…sigh bo。 “I’ll
simply tell them that Miranda had to be out of town unexpectedly；
show them a Business card； and tell them she wanted me to have her
reservation。 Hardly a big deal。”
Miranda called only once after Emily left to tell me that she
wouldn’t be in the office until noon tomorrow； but she’d like a copy
of the restaurant review she’d read today “in the paper。” I had the
presence of mind to ask if she recalled the name of the restaurant
or the paper in which she read about it； but this annoyed her
greatly。
“Ahn…dre…ah； I’m already late for the meet。 Don’t grill me。 It was
an Asian fusion restaurant and it was in today’s paper。 That’s all。”
And with that； she snapped her Motorola V60 shut。 I hoped； as I
usually did when she cut me off midsentence； that one day the Cell
Phone would simply clamp down on her perfectly manicured fingers and
swallow them whole； taking special time to shred those flawless red
nails。 No luck yet。
I wrote a quick note to myself to find the restaurant first thing in
the morning in the notebook I kept with Miranda’s myriad and
ever…changing requests and bolted for the car。 I called Lily from my
cell and she picked up just as I was about to get out and go up to
the apartment； and so I waved to John Fisher…Galliano （who had grown
his hair a little longer and adorned his uniform with a few chains
and looked more like the designer each and every day） but didn’t
move。
“Hey； what’s up？ It’s me。”
“Hiiiiiiiiiii；”she sang； happier than I’d heard her in weeks； maybe
months。 “I am so done。 Done！ No early summer session； nothing but a
little； insignificant proposal due for a master’s thesis that I can
change ten times after the fact if I want。 So that leaves nothing
until mid…July。 Do you believe it？” She sounded positively gleeful。
“I know； I’m so excited for you！ You up for a celebratory dinner？
Anywhere you want； it’s onRunway 。”
“Really？ Anywhere？”
“Anywhere。 I’m downstairs and I have a car。 e down； we’ll go
somewhere great。”
She squealed。 “Fun！ I’ve been meaning to tell you all about Freudian
Boy。 He’s beautiful！ Hold on one second。 I’m putting on jeans and
I’ll be right down。”
She bounded out five minutes later looking trendier and happier than
I’d seen her in a very long time。 She wore a pair of tight； faded
boot…cut jeans that hugged her hips； paired with a long…sleeve flowy
white peasant blouse。 A pair of flip…flops I’d never seen
before—brown leather straps with turquoise beads—pleted the look。
She was even wearing makeup； and her curls looked as though they had
seen a blow…dryer at some point in the last twenty…four hours。
“You look great；” I said as she bounded into the backseat。 “What’s
your secret？”
“Freudian Boy； of course。 He’s amazing。 I think I’m in love。 So far；
he’s going strong at nine…tenths。 Do you believe it？”
“First； let’s decide where we’re going。 I didn’t make a reservation
anywhere； but I can call ahead and use Miranda’s name。 Anywhere you
want。”
She was rubbing on some Kiehl’s lip gloss and staring at herself in
the driver’s rearview mirror。 “Anywhere？” she said absentmindedly。
“Anywhere。 Maybe Chicama for those mojitos？” I suggested； knowing
that the way to sell Lily on a restaurant was by advertising its
drinks； not its food。 “Or there are those amazing Cosmos at Meet。 Or
the Hudson Hotel—maybe we can even sit outside？ If you want wine；
though； I’d love to try—”
“Andy； can we go to Benihana？ I’ve been craving it forever。” She
looked sheepish。
“Benihana？ You want to go toBenihana ？ Like； the chain restaurant
where they seat you with tourists who have lots of whining children
and unemployed Asian actors cook the food right on your table？That
Benihana？”
She was nodding so enthusiastically； I had no choice but to call for
the address。
“No； no； I have it right here。 Fifty…sixth between Fifth and Sixth；
north side of the street；” she called to the driver。
My weirdly excited friend didn’t seem to notice that I was staring。
Instead； she chatted happily about Freudian Boy； aptly named because
he was in his last year of a Ph。D。 program in psychology。 They’d met
in the graduate student lounge in the basement of Low Library。 I got
the full rundown on all of his qualifications： twenty…nine years old
（“So much more mature； but not at all too old”）； originally from
Montreal （“Such a cute French accent； but like； totally
Americanized