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him。
9
It took me twelve weeks before I gorged myself on the seemingly
limitless supply of designer clothes thatRunway was just begging to
provide for me。 Twelve impossibly long weeks of fourteen…hour work
days and never more than five hours of sleep at a time。 Twelve
miserable long weeks of being looked up and down from hair to shoes
each and every day； and never receiving a single pliment or even
merely the impression that I had passed。 Twelve horrifically long
weeks of feeling stupid； inpetent； and all…around moronic。 And so
I decided at the beginning of my fourth month （only nine more to
go！） atRunway to be a new woman and start dressing the part。
Getting myself awake； dressed； and out the door prior to my
twelve…week epiphany had sapped me pletely—even I had to concede
that it’d be easier to own a closetful of “appropriate” clothes。
Until that point； putting on clothes had been the most stressful
part of an already really lousy morning routine。 The alarm went off
so early that I couldn’t bear to tell anyone what time I actually
woke up； as though the mere mention of the words inflicted physical
pain。 Getting to work at sevenA 。M。 was so difficult it bordered on
funny。 Sure； I’d been up and out a few times in my life by
seven—perhaps sitting in an airport when I had to catch an early
flight or having to finish studying for an exam that day。 But mostly
when I’d seen that hour of daylight from the outside it was because
I hadn’t yet found my way to bed from the night before； and the time
didn’t seem so bad when a full day of sleep stretched out ahead。
This was different。 This was constant； unrelenting； inhumane sleep
deprivation； and no matter how many times I tried to go to bed
before midnight； I never could。 The past two weeks had been
particularly rough since they were closing one of the spring issues；
so I had to sit at work； waiting for the Book； until close to eleven
some nights。 By the time I would drop it off and get Home； it was
already midnight； and I still had to eat something and crawl out of
my clothes before passing out。
Blaring static—the only thing I couldn’t ignore—began at exactly
5：30A 。M。 I would force a bare foot out from under the forter and
stretch my leg in the general direction of the alarm clock （which
itself was placed strategically at the foot of my bed to force some
movement）； kicking aimlessly until I had made contact and the
shrieking ceased。 This continued； steadily and predictably； every
seven minutes until 6：04A 。M。； at which point I would inevitably
panic and spring from bed to shower。
A tangle with my closet came next； usually between 6：31 and 6：37A
。M。 Lily； herself not exactly fashion…conscious in her graduate
student uniform of jeans； ratty L。L。Bean sweaters； and hemp
necklaces； said every time I saw her； “I still don’t understand what
you wear to work。 It’sRunway magazine； for god’s sake。 Your clothes
are as cute as the next girl’s； Andy； but nothing you own isRunway
material。”
I didn’t tell her that for the first few months I had risen extra
early with an intense determination to coaxRunway looks from my very
Banana Republic–heavy wardrobe。 I’d stood with my microwaved coffee
for nearly a half hour each morning； agonizing over boots and belts；
wool； and microfiber。 I’d change stockings five times until I
finally had the right color； only to berate myself that stockings of
any style or color wereso not OK 。 The heels on my shoes were always
too short； too stacked； too thick。 I didn’t own a single thing in
cashmere。 I had not yet heard of thongs （！） and therefore obsessed
maniacally over how to banish panty lines； themselves the focus of
many a Coffee…break critique。 No matter how many times I tried them
on； I couldn’t bring myself to wear a tube top to work。
And so after three months； I surrendered。 I just got too tired。
Emotionally； physically； mentally； the daily wardrobe ordeal had
sapped me of all energy。 Until； that is； I relented on the
three…month anniversary of my first day。 It was a day like any other
as I stood with my yellow “I ？ Providence” mug in one hand； the
other hand rifling through my Abercrombie favorites。Why fight it？ I
asked myself。 Simply wearing their clothes wouldn’t necessarily mean
I was a total sellout； would it？ And besides； the ments on my
current wardrobe were being more frequent and vicious； and I had
begun to wonder if my job was at risk。 I looked in the full…length
mirror and had to laugh： the girl in the Maidenform bra （ich！） and
cotton Jockey bikinis （double ich！） was trying to look the part
ofRunway ？ Hah。 Not with this shit。 I was working atRunway magazine
for chrissake—simply putting on anything that wasn’t torn； frayed；
stained； or outgrown really wasn’t going to cut it anymore。 I pushed
aside my generic button…downs and ferreted out the tweedy Prada
skirt； black Prada turtleneck； and midcalf length Prada boots that
Jeffy had handed me one night while I waited for the Book。
“What’s this？” I’d asked； unzipping the garment bag。
“This； Andy； is what you should be wearing if you don’t want to get
fired。” He smiled； but he wouldn’t look me in the eye。
“I’m sorry？”
“Look； I just think you should know that your； uh； your look isn’t
really going over well with everyone around here。 Now； I know this
stuff gets expensive； but there’s ways around that。 I’ve got so much
stuff in the Closet that no one will notice if you need to； uh；
borrow some of it sometimes。” He made quote marks with his fingers
around the word “borrow。” “And； of course； you should be calling all
the PR people and getting your discount card for their designers。 I
only get thirty percent off； but since you work for Miranda； I’ll be
surprised if they charge you for anything。 There’s no reason for
this； uh；Gap thing you’ve got going on to continue。”
I didn’t explain that wearing Nine West instead of Manolos or jeans
they sold in Macy’s junior department but not anywhere on Barney’s
eighth floor of couture denim heaven had been my own attempt to show
everyone that I wasn’t seduced by all thingsRunway 。 Instead； I just
nodded； noticing that he looked supremely unfortable having to
tell me that I was humiliating myself every day。 I wondered who had
put him up to it。 Emily？ Or Miranda herself？ Didn’t really matter
either way。 Hell； I’d already survived three full months—if wearing
a Prada turtleneck instead of one from Urban Outfitters was going to
help me survive the next nine； then so be it。 I decided I’d start
putting together a new and improved wardrobe immediately。
I finally made it outside by 6：50A 。M。； actually feeling pretty damn
good about the way I looked。 The guy in the breakfast cart closest
to my apartment even whistled； and a woman stopped me before I’d
taken ten steps and told me she had been eyeing those boots for
three months now。I could get used to this； I thought。 Everyone’s got
to put something on every day； and this sure felt a hell of a lot
better than any of my stuff。 As was now habit； I walked to the
corner of Third Avenue and promptly hailed a cab and collapsed into
the warm backseat； too tired to be thankful that I didn’t have to
join the moners on the subway； and croaked； “Six…forty Madison。
Quickly； please。” The cabbie looked at me through the rearview—with
a touch of sympathy； I swear—and said； “Ah； yes。 Elias…Clark
building；” and we squealed left onto 97th Street and made another
left onto Lex； flying through the lights until 59th Street； where we
headed west to Madison。 After exactly six minutes； since there was
no traffic； we came to a screeching halt in front of the tall； thin；
sleek monolith that set such a fine physical example for so many of
its inhabitants。 The fare came to 6。40 like it did every single
morning； and I handed the cabbie a ten…dollar bill； like I did every
single morning。 “Keep the change；” I sang； feeling the same joy I
did every day when I saw their shock and Happiness。 “It’s onRunway
。”
No problem there； that’s for sure。 It took all of a week on the job
to see that accounting wasn’t exactly a strong suit at Elias； not
even a real priority。 It was never a problem to write off ten…dollar
cab rides each and every day。 Another pany might wonder what gave
you the right to take a cab to work in the first place； Elias…Clark
wondered why you had deigned to take a cab when there was a car
service available。 Something about gypping the pany out of that
extra ten bucks each day—even though I don’t imagine anyone was
directly suffering from my overspending—made me feel a whole lot
better。 Some might have called it passive…aggressive rebellion。 I
called it getting even。
I bolted from the cab； still happy to make someone else’s day； and
walked toward 640 Madison。 Although it was named the Elias…Clark
building； JS Bergman； one of the most prestigious banks in the city
（obviously）； rented half of it。 We didn’t share anything with them；
not even an elevator bank； but it didn’t stop their rich bankers and
our fashion beauties from checking each other out in the lobby。
“Hey； Andy。 What’s up？ Long time； no see。” The voice behind me
sounded sheepish and unwilling； and I wondered why whoever it was
didn’t just leave me alone。
I’d been mentally preparing myself to start the morning routine with
Eduardo when I’d heard my name； and I turned to see Benjamin； one of
Lily’s many ex…boyfriends from college； slumped against the building
just outside the entrance； not even seeming to notice that he was
sitting on the sidewalk。 He was only one of many of Lily’s guys； but
he’d been the first one she’d really； genuinely liked。 I hadn’t
spoken to good old Benji （he loathed being called that） since Lily
had walked in on him having sex with two girls from her a capella
singing group。 Walked right into his off…campus apartment and found
him sprawled out in his living room with one soprano and a
contralto； mousy girls who never did manage to look at Lily again。
I’d tried to convince her it was just a college prank； but she
didn’t buy it。 Cried for days； and made me promise not to tell
anyone what she’d discovered。 I didn’t have to tell anyone； though；
because he did—bragged to anyone who would listen about how he’d
“nailed two singing geeks；” as he’d put it； while “a third one
watched。” He’d made it sound as though Lily had been there the
entire time； agreeably perched on the couch and watching her big；
bad man go about being manly。 Lily had sworn to never let herself
really fall for another guy； and so far seemed to be keeping her
promise。 She slept with plenty of them； but she sure didn’t let them
stick around long enough to actually run the risk of discovering
something likable about them。
I looked at him again and tried to find the old Benji in this guy’s
face。 He had been athletic and cute。 Just a normal guy。 But Bergman
had turned him into a shell of a human。 He was wearing an oversize；
wrinkled suit and looked as though he was hoping to suck crack
cocaine out of his Marlboro。 He seemed already overworked even
though it was only seven o’clock； and this made me feel better。
Because it was payback for being an asshole to Lily； and because I
wasn’t the only one dragging myself to work at such an obscene hour。
He was probably g