Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Knowing, Chasing Harry Winston, Last Night at Chateau Marmont. Lauren Weisberger
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I guess I’ll call right now,’ I announced rather unnecessarily.
But before I could press the star key and the number one, the phone bleated and flashed a frightening red color. If the driver hadn’t been watching me expectantly I would have muted the ring and pretended I hadn’t yet seen it, but I was left with the distinct feeling that he had been ordered to keep a close eye on me. Something about his expression suggested that it was not in my best interest to ignore that call.
‘Hello? This is Andrea Sachs,’ I said as professionally as possible, already making over/under bets with myself as to the chance it was anyone besides Miranda.
‘Ahn-dre-ah! What time does your watch read at this moment?’
Was this a trick question? A preface to accusing me of being late?
‘Um, let me see. Actually, it says that it’s five-fifteen in the morning, but obviously I haven’t switched it yet to Paris time. Therefore, my watch should read that it’s eleven-fifteen A.M.’ I said cheerily, hoping to start off the first conversation of our interminable trip on as high a note as I dared.
‘Thank you for that never-ending narrative, Ahn-dre-ah. And may I ask what, exactly, you’ve been doing for the past thirty-five minutes?’
‘Well, Miranda, the flight landed a few minutes late and then I still had—’
‘Because according to the itinerary you created for me, I’m reading that your flight arrived at ten-thirty-five this morning.’
‘Yes, that’s when it was scheduled to arrive, but you see—’
‘I’ll not have you tell me what I see, Ahn-dre-ah. That is most certainly not acceptable behavior for the next week, do you understand me?’
‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry.’ My heart began pounding what felt like a million beats a minute, and I could feel my face grow hot with humiliation. Humiliation at being spoken to that way, but more than anything, my own shame in pandering to it. I had just apologized – most sincerely – to someone for not being able to make my international flight land at the correct time and then for not being savvy enough to figure out how to avoid French customs entirely.
I pressed my face rather uncouthly against the window and watched as the limo weaved its way through Paris’s bustling streets. The women seemed so much taller here, the men so much more genteel, and just about everyone was beautifully dressed, thin, and regal in their stance. I’d only been to Paris once before, but living out of a backpack in a hostel on the wrong side of town didn’t quite have the same feel as watching the chic little clothing boutiques and adorable sidewalk cafés from the backseat of a limousine. I could get used to this, I thought, as the driver turned around to show me where I might find a few bottles of water if I was so inclined.
When the car pulled up to the hotel entrance, a distinguished-looking gentleman wearing what I guessed was a custom-made suit opened the back door for me.
‘Mademoiselle Sachs, what a pleasure to finally meet you. I am Gerard Renaud.’ His voice was smooth and confident, and his silver hair and deeply lined face indicated he was much older than I’d pictured when I spoke to the concierge over the phone.
‘Monsieur Renaud, it’s great to finally meet you!’ Suddenly all I wanted to do was crawl into a nice, soft bed and sleep off my jet lag, but Renaud quickly quashed my hopes.
‘Mademoiselle Andrea, Madame Priestly would like to see you in her room immediately. Before you’ve settled into yours, I’m afraid.’ He had an apologetic expression on his face, and for a brief moment I felt sorrier for him than I did for myself. Clearly he didn’t enjoy conveying this news.
‘That’s fucking great,’ I muttered, before noticing how distressed this made Monsieur Renaud. I plastered on a winning smile and began again. ‘Please excuse me, it was a terribly long flight. Will someone please tell me where I may find Miranda?’
‘Of course, mademoiselle. She is in her suite and, from what I can gather, very eager to see you.’ When I looked over at Monsieur Renaud I thought I detected a slight eye-roll and even though I’d always found him oppressively proper over the phone, I reconsidered. Although he was much too professional to show it, never mind actually say anything, I considered that he might loathe Miranda as much as I did. Not because of any real proof I had, but simply because it was impossible to imagine anyone not hating her.
The elevator opened and Monsieur Renaud smiled and ushered me inside. He said something in French to the bellman who was escorting me upstairs. Renaud bid me adieu and the bellman led me to Miranda’s suite. He knocked on the door and then fled, leaving me to face Miranda alone.
I briefly wondered if Miranda herself would answer the door, but it was impossible to imagine. In the eleven months I’d been letting myself in and out of her apartment, I’d yet to catch her doing anything that even resembled work, including such pedestrian tasks as answering the phone, removing a jacket from a closet, or pouring a glass of water. It was as if her every day was Shabbat and she was once again the observant Jew, and I was, of course, her Shabbes goy.
A pretty, uniformed maid opened the door and ushered me inside, her sad eyes moist and staring directly at the floor.
‘Ahn-dre-ah!’ I heard from somewhere in the deep recesses of the most magnificent living room I’d ever seen. ‘Ahn-dre-ah, I’ll need my Chanel suit pressed for tonight, since it was practically ruined with wrinkles on the flight over. You’d think the Concorde would know how to handle luggage, but my things look dreadful. Also, call Horace Mann and confirm that the girls made it to school. You’ll be doing that every day – I just don’t trust that Annabelle. Make sure you speak to both Caroline and Cassidy each night and write out a list of their homework assignments and upcoming exams. I’ll expect a written report in the morning, right before breakfast. Oh, and get Senator Schumer on the phone immediately. It’s urgent. Lastly, I need you to contact that idiot Renaud and tell him I expect him to supply me with competent staff during my stay, and if that’s too difficult I’m sure the general manager would be able to assist me. That dumb girl he sent me is mentally challenged.’
My eyes swiveled to the sorrowful girl who was currently cowering in the foyer, looking as fearful as a cornered hamster as she trembled and tried not to cry. I had to assume she understood English, so I shot her my best sympathetic look, but she just continued to shake. I looked around the room and tried desperately to remember everything Miranda had just rattled off.
‘Will do,’ I called in the general direction of her voice, past the baby grand piano and the seventeen separate flower arrangements that had been lovingly placed around the house-size suite. ‘I’ll be back in just a moment with everything you’ve asked for.’ I quietly berated myself for ending a sentence with a preposition and took one last look around the magnificent room. It was, undoubtedly, the plushest, most luxurious place I’d ever seen, with its brocade curtains, thick, cream-colored carpeting, richly woven damask bedspread on the king-size bed, and gold painted figurines tucked discreetly on mahogany shelves and tables. Only a flat-screen TV and a sleek, silver stereo system gave any indication that the entire place hadn’t been created and designed in the previous century by highly skilled craftsmen plying their trade.
I ducked past the quaking maid and into the hallway. The terrified bellman had reappeared.
‘Could you show me to my room, please?’ I asked as kindly as I could, but he clearly thought that I would be abusing him as well, and so once again he scurried ahead of me.
‘Here, mademoiselle, I hope this is acceptable.’
About twenty yards down the hall was a door without a separate number on it. It opened to a minisuite, nearly an exact replica of Miranda’s but with a smaller living room and a queen-size bed instead of a king. A large mahogany desk outfitted with a multiline corporate-style phone, sleek desktop computer, laser printer, scanner, and fax machine had taken the place of the baby grand piano, but otherwise the rooms were remarkably similar in their rich, soothing décor.
‘Miss, this door leads to the private hallway