8

      ‘Don’t look now,’ James said, his mouth as immobile as a ventriloquist’s, ‘but I spy Reese Witherspoon at three o’clock.’

      I swiveled immediately as he cringed in embarrassment, and, sure enough, there she was, sipping a glass of champagne and throwing her head back in laughter. I didn’t want to be impressed, but I couldn’t help it: she was one of my favorite actresses.

      ‘James, darling, I’m so glad you could make it to my little party,’ quipped a thin, beautiful man who came up behind us. ‘And who do we have here?’ They kissed.

      ‘Marshall Madden, color guru, this is Andrea Sachs. Andrea is actually—’

      ‘Miranda’s new assistant,’ Marshall finished, smiling at me. ‘I’ve heard all about you, little one. Welcome to the family. I do hope you’ll come visit me. I promise that together we can, um, smooth over your look.’ He ran his hand lovingly over my scalp and picked up the ends of my hair, which he immediately held up against the roots. ‘Yes, just a touch of something honey-colored and you’ll be the next supermodel. Get my number from James, OK, sweetie, and come see me anytime you get a minute. Probably easier said than done!’ he sang as he floated toward Reese.

      James sighed and looked on wistfully. ‘He’s a master,’ he breathed, ‘simply the best. The ultimate. A man among boys, to say the least. And gorgeous.’ A man among boys? Funny. Whenever anyone had used that phrase before, I’d always pictured Shaquille O’Neal making a move toward the hoop against a small power forward – not a colorist.

      ‘He’s definitely gorgeous, I’ll agree with you there. Have you ever dated him?’ It seemed like the perfect match: the associate beauty editor of Runway dating the most sought-after colorist in the free world.

      ‘I wish. He’s been with the same guy for four years now. Do you believe it? Four years. Since when are hot gay men allowed to be monogamous? It’s just not fair!’

      ‘Hey, I hear you. Since when are hot straight men allowed to be monogamous? Well, unless they’re being monogamous with me, that is.’ I took a long drag from my cigarette and blew out a near-perfect smoke ring.

      ‘So admit it, Andy. Tell me you’re glad you came tonight. Tell me this isn’t the greatest party ever,’ he said, smiling.

      I’d grudgingly decided to go with James after Alex had canceled, mostly because he wouldn’t leave me alone. It seemed utterly impossible that a single interesting thing would transpire at a party for a book about highlights, but I had to admit that I’d been surprised. When Johnny Depp had come over to say hi to James, I was shocked that he not only seemed to have a full command of the English language, but had even managed a few funny jokes. And it was intensely gratifying to see that Gisele, the Ittest It girl of all current It girls, was downright short. Of course it would’ve been even nicer to discover that she was secretly squat, too, or had a major acne problem that had all been airbrushed out in her gorgeous cover shoots, but I’d settle for short. All in all, it hadn’t been a bad hour and a half so far.

      ‘I’m not sure I’d go that far,’ I said, leaning toward him to catch a glimpse of a great looking guy who appeared to be sulking in the corner near the book table. ‘But it hasn’t been quite as disgusting as I’d imagined. And besides, I’m up for anything after the day I’ve had.’

      After Miranda had made her rather abrupt departure after her rather abrupt arrival, Emily informed me that that night would be the first time I would have to bring ‘the Book’ to Miranda’s apartment. The Book was a large wire-bound collection of pages as big as a phonebook, in which each current issue of Runway was mocked up and laid out. She explained that no substantial work could get done each day until after Miranda left, because all of the art people and editorial people spent all day long consulting with her, and she changed her mind every hour. Therefore, when Miranda left around five each day to spend some time with the twins, the real day’s work would begin. The art department would craft their new layout and input any new photos that had come in, and editorial would tweak and print any copy that had finally, finally, gotten Miranda’s approval – a giant, looping ‘MP’ scrawled across the entire first page. Every editor would send all the day’s new changes to the art assistant, who, hours after nearly everyone else had left, would run the images and layouts and words through a small machine that waxed the backs of the pages and pressed them onto their appropriate page in the Book. It was then my job to take the Book up to Miranda’s apartment whenever it was finished – anywhere in the eight to eleven P.M. range, depending on where in the production process we were – at which point she’d mark it all up. She’d bring it back the next day, and the entire staff would go through the whole thing again.

      When Emily overheard me tell James that I’d go to the party with him after all, she jumped right in. ‘Um, you know you can’t go anywhere until the Book’s finished, right?’

      I stared. James looked as though he might tackle her.

      ‘Yeah, I have to say, this is the part of your job I’m most happy to be done with. It can get really, really late sometimes, but Miranda needs to see it every single night, you know. She works from home. Anyway, I’ll wait with you tonight and show you how to do it, but then you’re on your own.’

      ‘OK, thanks. Any idea when it’ll be finished tonight?’

      ‘Nope. Changes every night. You’d really have to ask the art department.’

      The Book was finally ready on the earlier side, at eight-thirty, and after I’d retrieved it from an exhausted-looking art assistant, Emily and I walked down to 59th Street together. Emily was holding an armful of freshly dry-cleaned clothes on hangers, encased in plastic, and she explained to me that dry cleaning always accompanied the Book. Miranda would bring her dirty clothes to the office, where, as my luck would have it, it was my job to call the cleaners and let them know we had a pickup. They would send someone to the Elias-Clark building immediately, pick up the clothes, and return them in perfect condition a day later. We stored them in our office closet until we could either hand them off to Uri or take them to her apartment ourselves. My job was getting more intellectually stimulating by the minute!

      ‘Hey, Rich!’ Emily called brightly, fakely, to the pipe-chomping dispatcher I’d met my first day. ‘This is Andrea. She’ll be taking the Book every night, so make sure she gets a good car, OK?’

      ‘Will do, Red.’ He pulled the pipe out of his mouth and motioned toward me. ‘I’ll take good care of Blondie over here.’

      ‘Great. Oh, and can you have another car follow us to Miranda’s? Andrea and I are going separate places after we drop off the Book.’

      Two massive Town Cars pulled up just at that moment, and the mammoth driver in the first car barreled out of the front seat and opened the back door for us. Emily climbed in first, immediately whipped out her cell phone, and called out, ‘Miranda Priestly’s apartment,