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worse。
“There’s only one couple I haven’t identified yet； so I guess I’ll
know them by default；” I said。
“Oh； my。 I don’t know how you do it。 I’m annoyed I have to be here
on a Friday night； but I can’t imagine doing your job。 How do you
take it？ How do you stand being spoken to and treated like that？”
It took me a moment to realize that this question caught me
off…guard： no one had really ever volunteered anything negative
about my job。 I’d always thought I was the only one—among the
millions of imaginary girls that would “die” for my job—who saw
anything remotely disturbing about my situation。 It was more
horrifying to see the shock in her eyes than it was to witness the
hundreds of ridiculous things I saw each and every day at work； the
way she looked at me with that pure； unadulterated pity triggered
something inside me。 I did what I hadn’t done in months of working
under subhuman conditions for a nonhuman boss； what I always managed
to keep suppressed for a more appropriate time。 I started to cry。
Ilana looked more shocked than ever。 “Oh； sweetie； e here！ I’m so
sorry！ I didn’t mean anything by it。 You’re a saint for putting up
with that witch； you hear me？ e with me。” She pulled me by the
hand and led me down another darkened hallway toward an office in
the back。 “Here； now sit for a minute and forget all about what
these stupid people look like。”
I sniffled and started to feel stupid。
“And don’t feel strange； you hear？ I have a feeling you kept that
inside for a long； long time and you have to have a good cry every
now and then。”
She was fumbling around in her desk for something while I tried to
wipe the mascara from my cheeks。 “Here；” she proclaimed proudly。
“I’m destroying this right after you see it； and if you even think
of telling anyone about it； I’ll wreck your life。 But just look；
it’s amazing。” She handed me a manila envelope sealed with a
“Confidential” sticker and smiled。
I tore off the sticker and pulled a green folder out。 Inside was a
photo—a color photocopy； actually—of Miranda stretched out on a
restaurant banquette。 I recognized it immediately as a picture taken
by a famous society photographer during a recent birthday party for
Donna Karan at Pastis。 It had already appeared on the pages ofNew
York magazine and was bound to keep showing up。 In it she was
wearing her signature brown and white snakeskin trench coat； the one
I always thought made her look like a snake。
Well； it seems I wasn’t alone； because in this version； someone had
subtly—expertly—attached a scaled…to…size cutout of a rattlesnake’s
rattle directly where her legs should have been。 The effect was a
fabulous rendition of Miranda as Snake： she rested her elbow on the
banquette； cradled her chiseled chin in her palm； and stretched out
across the leather； with her rattle curled in a semicircle and
hanging off the edge of the bench。 It was perfect。
“Isn’t it great？” Ilana asked； leaning over my shoulder。 “Linda came
into my office one afternoon。 She’d just spent the entire day on the
phone with Miranda； selecting which gallery they’d dine in。 Linda
naturally insisted on one gallery because it’s by far the best size
and most beautiful； but Miranda mandated that it be held in the
other one near the gift shop。 They went back and forth for a while
before Linda finally—after days of negotiations—got permission from
the board to hold it in Miranda’s gallery； and she was so excited to
call Miranda and tell her the great news。 Guess what happened when 。
。 。”
“She changed her mind； obviously；” I said quietly； feeling her
irritation。 “She decided to do exactly as Linda suggested in the
first place； but only once she was sure everyone would jump through
all her hoops。”
“Precisely。 Well； this irritated the hell out of me。 I’ve never seen
the entire museum turn itself upside down for anyone—I mean； christ；
the president of the United States could ask to have a State
Department dinner here and they wouldn’t let him！ And then your boss
thinks she can march in and order everyone around； make our lives a
living hell for days on end。 Anyway； I made this pretty little
picture as a pick…me…up for Linda。 You know what she did with it？
Shrunk it on the copier so she could have a little one for her
wallet！ I just thought you’d get a kick out of this。 Even if it’s
just to remind you that you’re not alone。 You’re definitely the
worst off； but you’re not alone。”
I stuck the picture back in its confidential envelope and handed it
back to Ilana。 “You’re the best；” I said； touching her shoulder。 “I
really； really appreciate it。 I promise to never； ever tell anyone
where I got this； but will you please send this to me？ I don’t think
it’ll fit in the Leiber bag； but I’d give anything if you’d send it
to me at Home。 Please？”
She smiled and motioned for me to write my address； and we both
stood up and walked （I hobbled） back to the museum’s foyer。 It was
just about seven； and the guests were due to arrive any minute。
Miranda and B…DAD were talking to his brother； the honored guest and
groom； who looked like he had played soccer； football； lacrosse； and
rugby at a Southern school—one where he was always surrounded by
cooing blondes。 The cooing blonde of twenty…six who was to bee
his bride was standing quietly by his side； gazing up at him
adoringly。 She was holding a snifter of something and chortling at
his jokes。
Miranda was hanging on to B…DAD’s forearm with the fakest of smiles
plastered across her face。 I didn’t have to hear what they were
saying to know that she was barely responding at the appropriate
time。 Social graces were not her strength； as she had little
tolerance for small talk—but I knew she’d be on her best kiss…ass
behavior tonight。 I’d e to realize that her “friends” all fell
into one of two categories。 There were those she perceived as
“above” her and who must be impressed。 This list was short； but it
generally included people like Irv Ravitz； Oscar de la Renta；
Hillary Clinton； and any first…rate； A…list movie star。 Then there
were those “below” her； who must be patronized and belittled so they
don’t forget their place； which included basically everyone else：
allRunway employees； all family members； all parents of her
children’s friends—unless they coincidentally fell into category
number one—almost all designers and other magazine editors； and
every single solitary person in the service industry； both here and
abroad。 Tonight was sure to be amusing because these were category
two people who would have to be treated like category ones； merely
because of their association with Mr。 Tomlinson and his brother。 I
always enjoyed the rare occasions when I got to watch Miranda try to
impress those around her； mostly because she wasn’t naturally
charming。
I felt the first guests arrive before I saw them。 The tension in the
room was palpable。 Remembering my color printouts； I rushed over to
the couple and offered to take the woman’s fur wrap。 “Mr。 and Mrs。
Wilkinson； thank you so much for joining us this evening。 Please；
I’ll take that。 And Ilana here will show you to the atrium； where
cocktails are being served。” I hoped I wasn’t staring during my
monologue； but the spectacle was truly outrageous。 I’d seen women
dressed like hookers and men dressed like women and models not
dressed at all at Miranda’s parties； but never before had I seen
people dressed like this。 I knew it wasn’t going to be a trendy New
York crowd； but I was expecting them to look like something out
ofDallas ； instead； they looked like a dressier version of the cast
fromDeliverance 。
Mr。 Tomlinson’s brother； himself distinguished looking with silver
hair； made the horrible mistake of wearing white tails—in May； no
less—with a plaid handkerchief and a cane。 His fiancée had on an
emerald green taffeta nightmare。 It swirled and puffed and gathered
and forced her enormous bust up and over the top of the dress so
that it appeared her own silicon breasts might actually suffocate
her。 Diamonds the size of Dixie cups hung from her ears； and an even
larger one sparkled from her left hand。 Her hair was bleached white
with peroxide； as were her teeth； and her heels were so high and so
skinny； she walked as if she’d been a running back in the NFL for
the past twelve years。
“Dah…lings； I amso delighted you could join us for a little pah…ty！
Everyone loves pahties； now don’t they？” Miranda sang in a falsetto
voice。 The soon…to…be Mrs。 Tomlinson looked as if she’d pass out。
Right there before her was the one and only Miranda Priestly！ Her
glee embarrassed us all； and the whole wretched crowd moved into the
atrium with Miranda leading the way。
The rest of the night went on much like the beginning。 I recognized
all the guests’ names and managed not to utter anything too
humiliating。 The parade of white tuxes； chiffon； big hair； bigger
jewels； and barely postadolescent women ceased to amuse me as the
hours wore on； but I never grew tired of watching Miranda。 She was
the true lady and the envy of every woman in that museum that night。
And even though they understood that all the money in the world
could never buy them her class and elegance； they never stopped
wanting it。
I smiled genuinely when she dismissed me halfway through dinner； as
usual without a thank…you or a good…night。 （“Ahn…dre…ah； we won’t be
needing you anymore this evening。 See yourself out。”） I looked for
Ilana； but she had already sneaked out。 The car took only about ten
minutes to arrive after I called for it—I had briefly considered
taking the subway； but wasn’t sure how well the Oscar or my feet
would’ve held up—and I sunk； exhausted but calm； into the backseat。
When I walked past John on my way to the elevator； he reached under
his little table and pulled out a manila envelope。 “Just got this a
few minutes ago。 It says ‘Urgent。’ ” I thanked him and sat down in a
corner of the lobby； wondering who would be messengering me
something at ten o’clock on a Friday night。 I tore it open and
pulled out a note：
Dearest Andrea；
It was so great to meet you tonight！ Can we please get together next
week for sushi or something？ I dropped this off on my way Home—
figured you could use the pick…me…up after a night like the one we
just had。 Enjoy。
Xoxo；
Ilana
Inside was the picture of Miranda as Snake； only Ilana had enlarged
this one to a ten by thirteen size。 I looked at it carefully for a
few minutes； massaging the feet I’d finally pulled from the Manolos；
and looked into Miranda’s eyes。 She looked intimidating and mean and
just like the bitch I stared at every day。 But tonight she’d also
looked sad； and not a little lonely。 Adding this picture to my
fridge and making fun of it with Lily and Alex wasn’t going to make
my feet hurt any less； or give me back my Friday night。 I tore it up
and hobbled upstairs。
15
“Andrea； it’s Emily；” I heard a voice croak from the phone。
“Can you hear me？” It had been months since Emily had called
me at Home late at night； so I knew it had to be serious。
“Hi； sure。 You sound like hell；” I said； bolting upright in
bed； immediately wondering if Miranda had done something to
make her sound that way。 T