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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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.
‘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 people thinking?
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!’