按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
explain this phenomenon？” she asked。
Of course I could explain it； just not to her。 On the rare
occasion that Miranda was in her office alone； she sometimes
picked up the phone when it rang。 Naturally callers were so
shocked to hear her voice on the other end that they promptly
hung up。 No one was actually prepared tospeak with her when
they called； since the likelihood of being put through was
next to nil。 I’d gotten dozens of e…mails from editors or
assistants informing me—as if I didn’t know—that Miranda was
answering the phone again。 “Where are you guys？？？” The
panicked missives would read； one after another。 “She’s
answering her own phone！！！！”
I mumbled something about how I； too； received hang…ups every
now and then； but Miranda had already lost interest。 She was
peering not at me but at my cup of soup。 Some of the creamy
green fluid was dripping slowly down the side。 Her gaze turned
to one of disgust when she realized I was not only holding
something edible； but that I had clearly planned to consume it
as well。
“Dispose of that immediately！” she barked from fifteen feet
away。 “The smell of it alone is enough to make me ill。”
I dropped the offending soup in the garbage can and gazed
wistfully after the lost nourishment before her voice jerked
me back to reality。
“I’m ready for the run…throughs！” she screeched； settling back
into her chair more easily now that the food she’d spotted
atRunway had been discarded。 “And the moment we’re through
here； call the features meeting。”
Each word caused another adrenaline surge； since I was never
sure what exactly she’d be requesting； I was never sure if I’d
be able to handle it or not。 Since it was Emily’s job to
schedule the run…throughs and the weekly meetings； I had to
race over to her desk and check her appointment book。 In the
three o’clock slot she had scribbled：Sedona Shoot run…through；
Lucia/Helen 。 I jabbed Lucia’s extension and spoke as soon as
she picked up the phone。
“She’s ready；” I stated； like a military mander。 Helen；
Lucia’s assistant； hung up without saying a word； and I knew
she and Lucia were already halfway to the office。 If they
didn’t arrive within twenty to twenty…five seconds； I would be
sent out to hunt them down and remind them in person—just in
case they might have forgotten—that when I’d called thirty
seconds before and said that Miranda was ready right then； I
meant rightthen 。 Generally this was a mere annoyance； yet
another reason why the enforced footwear of spiky stilettos
made life even more miserable。 Running through the office；
frantically searching for someone who was most likely hiding
from Miranda was never fun； but it was only really miserable
when that person happened to be in the bathroom。 Whatever one
does in a men’s or ladies’ room； however； is no excuse for not
being available at the exact moment your presence is expected；
and so I had to charge right in—sometimes checking underneath
the stalls for recognizable footwear—and politely ask in
whatever humiliated way I could manage that they finish up and
head to Miranda’s office。 Immediately。
Luckily for everyone involved； Helen arrived within seconds；
pushing an overflowing； off…kilter wheeled rack in front of
her and pulling another behind her。 She hesitated briefly
outside Miranda’s French door before she received one of
Miranda’s imperceptible nods and then dragged the racks
through the thick carpeting。
“This is all of it？ Two racks？” Miranda asked； barely looking
up from the copy she was reading。
Helen was clearly surprised at being addressed； since； as a
rule； Miranda didn’t speak to other people’s assistants。 But
Lucia hadn’t shown up with her own racks yet； so there was
little choice。
“Um； uh； no。 Lucia will be here in just a moment。 She has the
other two。 Would you like me to； uh； begin showing you what
we’ve called in？” Helen asked nervously as she pulled her
ribbed tank top down over her prairie skirt。
“No。”
And then： “Ahn…dre…ah！ Find Lucia。 By my watch it’s three
o’clock。 If she’s not prepared； then I have better things to
do than sit here and wait for her。” Which wasn’t exactly true；
since it appeared she hadn’t yet stopped reading copy and it
was now only approximately thirty…five seconds since I’d made
the initial phone call。 But I wasn’t about to point this out。
“No need； Miranda； I’m right here；” sang a breathless Lucia；
herself pushing and pulling racks past me just as I stood to
begin the search。 “So sorry。 We were waiting for one last coat
from the YSL people。”
She arranged the racks； which were organized by clothing type
（shirts； outerwear； pants/skirts； and dresses） in a
half…circle in front of Miranda’s desk and gave the signal for
Helen to leave。 Miranda and Lucia then went through each item；
one by one； and bickered over its place or lack thereof in the
uping fashion shoot that was to take place in Sedona；
Arizona。 Lucia was pushing for an “urban cowgirl chic” look；
which she thought would play out perfectly against a backdrop
of the red…rock mountains； but Miranda kept announcing snidely
that she’d prefer “just chic；” since “cowgirl chic” was
clearly an oxymoron。 Maybe she’d had her fill of “cowgirl
chic” at B…DAD’s brother’s party。 I managed to tune them out
until Miranda called my name； this time ordering me to call in
the accessories people for their run…through。
Immediately I checked Emily’s book again； but it was just as I
thought： there was no accessories run…through scheduled。
Praying that Emily had simply forgotten to put it in the book；
I called Stef and told her Miranda was ready for the Sedona
run…through。
No such luck。 They weren’t scheduled for their run…through
until late afternoon the following day； and at least a quarter
of the things they needed hadn’t been delivered yet from their
PR panies。
“Impossible。 Can’t do it；” announced Stef； sounding much less
confident than her words implied。
“Well； what the hell do you expect me to tell her？” I
whispered back。
“Tell her the truth： the run…through wasn’t supposed to take
place until tomorrow and a lot of the stuff isn’t here。 I
mean； seriously！ Right now we’re still waiting for one evening
bag； one clutch； three different fringed purses； four pairs of
shoes； two necklaces； three—”
“OK； OK； I’ll tell her。 But wait by the phone and pick up if I
call you back。 And if I were you； I’d get ready。 I’m betting
she doesn’t really care when it was scheduled for。”
Stef hung up on me without another word and I approached
Miranda’s doors and waited patiently for her to acknowledge
me。 When she looked in my general direction and waited； I
said； “Miranda； I just spoke with Stef and she said that since
the run…through wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow； they’re still
waiting for quite a few items。 But they should all be here
by—”
“Ahn…dre…ah； I simply cannot visualize how these models will
look in these clothes without shoes or bags or jewelry and by
tomorrow I’ll be in Italy。 Tell Stef I want her to give me a
run…through of whatever she’s got and be prepared to show me
photos of whatever isn’t here yet！” She turned back to Lucia
and together they returned to the racks。
Conveying this to Stef gave new meaning to “don’t shoot the
messenger。” She freaked。
“I cannot fucking pull a run…through together in thirty
seconds； do you understand me？ It’s fucking impossible！ Four
of my five assistants aren’t here； and the only one who is
here is a plete fucking idiot。 Andrea； what the fuck am I
going to do？” She was hysterical； but there wasn’t much room
for negotiation。
“OK； great then；” I said sweetly； eyeing Miranda； who had a
knack of hearing everything。 “I’ll tell Miranda you’ll be
right here。” I hung up before she dissolved into tears。
I wasn’t surprised to see Stef arrive two and a half minutes
later with her one fucking idiot accessories assistant； a
fashion assistant she’d borrowed； and James； also borrowed
from beauty； all looking terrified as they carried oversize
wicker baskets。 They stood cowering by my desk until Miranda
gave another imperceptible nod； at which point they all
shuffled forward for the genuflection exercises。 Since Miranda
obviously refused to leave her office—ever—she required that
all the overflowing racks of clothes and carts full of shoes
and baskets brimming over with accessories must be schlepped
to her。
When the accessories people finally managed to lay out their
wares in neat rows on the carpet for her to inspect； Miranda’s
office morphed into a Bedouin bazaar—one that just so happens
to look more Madison Avenue than Sharm…el…Sheik。 One editor
was presenting her with 2；000 snakeskin belts while another
tried to sell her a large Kelly bag。 A third hawked a short
Fendi cocktail dress； while someone else tried to sell her on
the merits of chiffon。 Stef had managed to assemble a
near…perfect run…through with only thirty seconds’ notice and
a whole lot of pieces missing； I saw she had filled the gaps
with things from past photo shoots； explaining to Miranda that
the accessories they were still waiting for were similar but
even better。 They were all masters at what they do； but
Miranda was the ultimate。 She was the ever…aloof consumer；
coolly moving from one gorgeous stall to the next； never
feigning any show of interest。 When she finally； blessedly；
did decide； she pointed and manded （much like a judge at a
dog show； “Bob； she’s chosen the Border Collie 。 。 。”）； and
the editors nodded obsequiously （“Yes； excellent choice；” “Oh；
definitely； the perfect choice”） and they wrapped up their
wares and scuttled back to their respective departments before
she inevitably changed her mind。
The whole hellish ordeal only took a few minutes； but by the
time it was over； we were all exhausted from anxiety。 She’d
already announced earlier in the day that she’d be leaving
early； around four； to spend a couple hours with the girls
before the big trip； so I canceled the features meeting； to
the relief of the entire department。 At precisely 3：58P 。M。
she began packing her bag to leave； a not…so…strenuous
activity； since I’d be bringing anything of any heft or
significance to her apartment later on that evening in time
for her flight。 Basically； it involved tossing her Gucci
wallet and her Motorola Cell Phone into that Fendi bag that
she kept abusing。 The past few weeks； the 10；000 beauty had
been serving as Cassidy’s school bag and many of the beads—in
addition to one of the handles—had snapped off。 Miranda had
dropped it on my desk one day and ordered me to have it fixed
or； if it was impossible to fix； to just throw out。 I’d
proudly resisted all temptation to tell her the bag was
unfixable so I could keep it and instead had a leatherworker
repair it for her for a mere twenty…five dollars。
When she finally walked out； I instinctively reached for the
phone to call Alex and whine about my day。 It wasn’t until I’d
dialed half of his number that I remembered we were taking a
break。 It hit me that this would be the first day in more than
three years that we wouldn’t talk。 I sat with the phone in my
hand；