to get frustrated。
“Oh； I know which one you mean！” said Julia； a publicity assistant
for Scholastic Books。 “Great magazine。 I love all those letters
where girls write in their embarrassing period stories。 Are those
for real？ Do you remember reading the one where—”
“No； no； not the one for teenagers。 It’s most definitely for grown
women。” In theory； at least。 “Have you really never seenRunway ？”Is
it humanly possible that she hasn’t？ I wondered。 “Anyway； it’s
spelled P…R…I…E…S…T…L…Y。 Miranda； yes；” I said with infinite
patience。 I wondered how she’d react if she knew I actually had
someone on the line who’d never heard of her。 Probably not well。
“Well； if you could get back to me as soon as possible； I’dreally
appreciate it；” I told Julia。 “And if a senior publicist gets in
anytime soon；please have her call me。”
It was a Friday morning in the middle of December and the sweet；
sweet freedom of the weekend was only ten hours away。 I had been
trying to convince a fashion…oblivious Julia at Scholastic that
Miranda Priestly really was someone important； someone worth bending
rules and suspending logic for。 This proved significantly more
difficult than I had anticipated。 How could I have known that I’d
have to explain the weight of Miranda’s position to influence
someone who’d never even heard of the most prestigious fashion
magazine on earth—or its famous editor？ In my four short weeks as
Miranda’s assistant； I’d already figured out that such
weight…throwing and favor…currying was merely part of my job； but
usually the person I was attempting to persuade； intimidate； or
otherwise pressure yielded pletely at the mere mention of my
infamous boss’s name。
Unfortunately for me； Julia worked for an educational publishing
house where someone like Nora Ephron or Wendy Wasserstein was much
likelier to get VIP treatment than someone known for her impeccable
taste in fur。 I inherently understood this。 I tried to remember all
the way back to a time before I had ever heard of Miranda
Priestly—five weeks earlier—and couldn’t。 But I knew that such a
magical time had existed。 I envied Julia’s indifference； but I had a
job to do； and she wasn’t helping。
The fourth book in that wretched Harry Potter series was due to be
released the next day； a Saturday； and Miranda’s ten…year…old twin
daughters each wanted one。 The first copies wouldn’t arrive in
stores until Monday； but I had to have them in my hands on Saturday
morning—mere minutes after they were released from the warehouse。
After all； Harry and the crew had to catch a private flight to
Paris。
My thoughts were interrupted by the phone。 I picked it up as I
always did now that Emily trusted me enough to speak to Miranda。 And
boy； did we speak—probably in the vicinity of two dozen times a day。
Even from afar； Miranda had managed to creep into my life and
pletely take over； barking orders and requests and demands at a
rapid…fire pace from sevenA 。M。 until I was finally allowed to leave
at nineP 。M。
“Ahn…dre…ah？ Hello？ Is anyone there？ Ahn…dre…ah！” I jumped out of my
seat the moment I heard her pronounce my name。 It took a moment to
remember and accept that she was not； in fact； in the office—or even
in the country； and for the time being； at least； I was safe。 Emily
had assured me that Miranda was pletely unaware that Allison had
been promoted or I had been hired； that these were insignificant
details lost on her。 As long as someone answered the phone and got
her what she needed； that person’s actual identity was irrelevent。
“I simply do not understand what takes you so long to speak after
you pick up the phone；” she stated。 From any other person on earth
that would have sounded whiny； but from Miranda it sounded
appropriately cold and firm。 Just like her。 “In case you haven’t
been here long enough to notice； when I call； you respond。 It’s
actually simple。 See？ I call。 You respond。 Do you think you can
handle that； Ahn…dre…ah？”
I nodded like a six…year…old who’d just been reprimanded for
throwing spaghetti on the ceiling； even though she couldn’t see me。
I concentrated on not calling her “ma’am；” a mistake I’d made a week
earlier that had almost gotten me fired。 “Yes； Miranda。 I’m sorry；”
I said softly； head bowed。 And for that moment Iwas sorry； sorry
that her words hadn’t registered in my brain three…tenths of a
second faster than they had； sorry that my tardiness in saying
“Miranda Priestly’s office” had taken a fraction of a second longer
than absolutely necessary。 Her time was； as I was constantly
reminded； much more important than my own。
“All right then。 Now； after wasting all that time； may we begin？ Did
you confirm Mr。 Tomlinson’s reservation？” she asked。
“Yes； Miranda； I made a reservation for Mr。 Tomlinson at the Four
Seasons at one o’clock。”
I could see it ing a mile away。 A mere ten minutes earlier she’d
called and ordered me to make a reservation at the Four Seasons and
call Mr。 Tomlinson and her driver and the nanny to inform them of
the plans； and now she’d want to rearrange them。
“Well； I’ve changed my mind。 The Four Seasons is not the appropriate
venue for his lunch with Irv。 Reserve a table for two at Le Cirque；
and remember to remind the maî；tre d’ that they will want to sit in
theback of the restaurant。 Not on display in the front。The back 。
That’s all。”
I had convinced myself when I first spoke with Miranda on the phone；
that by uttering “that’s all；” she really intended those words to
mean “thank you。” By the second week I’d rethought that。
“Of course； Miranda。Thank you； ” I said with a smile。 I could sense
her pausing on the other end of the line； wondering how to respond。
Did she know I was calling attention to her refusal to say thank
you？ Did it seem odd to her that I was thanking her for ordering me
around？ I had recently begun thanking her after every one of her
sarcastic ments or nasty phone…in mands； and the tactic was
oddly forting。 She knew I was mocking her somehow； but what could
she say？Ahn…dre…ah； I never want to hear you thank me again。 I
forbid you to express your gratitude in such a manner！ e to think
of it； that might not be that much of a stretch。
Le Cirque； Le Cirque； Le Cirque；I said over and over in my head；
determined to make that reservation ASAP so I could get back to the
significantly more difficult Harry Potter challenge。 The Le Cirque
reservationist immediately agreed to have a table ready for Mr。
Tomlinson and Irv whenever they arrived。
Emily walked in a from a stroll around the office and asked me if
Miranda had called at all。
“Only three times； and she didn’t threaten to fire me during any of
them；” I said proudly。 “Of course； she did intimate it； but she
didn’t all…out threaten。 Progress； no？”
She laughed in the way she did only when I made fun of myself； and
she asked what Miranda； her guru； had wanted。
“Just wanted me to switch around B…DAD’s lunch reservation。 Not sure
why I’m doing that when he has his own assistant； but hey； I don’t
ask questions around here。” Mr。 Blind； Deaf； and Dumb was our
nickname for Miranda’s third husband。 Although to the general public
he appeared to be none of those； those of us in the know were quite
confident he was all three。 There was； quite simply； no other
explanation for how a nice guy like him could tolerate living
withher 。
Next； it was time to call B…DAD himself。 If I didn’t call soon； he
may not be able to get to the restaurant in time。 He’d flown back
from their vacation for a couple days of Business meetings； and this
lunch with Irv Ravitz—Elias…Clark’s CEO—was among the most
important。 Miranda wanted every detail perfect—as though that were
something new。 B…DAD’s real name was Hunter Tomlinson。 He and
Miranda had gotten married the summer before I started working；
after what I’d heard was a rather unique courtship： she pursued； he
demurred。 According to Emily； she’d chased him relentlessly until
he’d yielded from the mere exhaustion of ducking her。 She’d left her
second husband （the lead singer of one of the most famous bands from
the late sixties and the twins’ father） with absolutely no warning
before her lawyer delivered the papers； and was married again
precisely twelve days after the divorce was finalized。 Mr。 Tomlinson
followed orders and moved into her penthouse apartment on Fifth
Avenue。 I’d only met Miranda once and I’d never met her new husband；
but I’d logged enough phone hours with each that I felt；
unfortunately； like they were family。
Three rings； four rings； five rings 。 。 。hmm； I wonder where his
assistant is？ I prayed for an answering machine； since I wasn’t in
the mood for the mindless； friendly chitchat of which B…DAD seemed
so fond。 Instead； I got his secretary。
“Mr。 Tomlinson’s office；” she trilled in her deep southern drawl。
“How may I help you today？”How mah I hep ya tuhday？
“Hi； Martha； it’s Andrea。 Listen； I don’t need to talk to Mr。
Tomlinson； can you just give him a message for me？ I made a
reservation for—”
“Darlin’； you know Mr。 T。 always wants to talk to you。 Hold just a
sec。” And before I could protest； I was listening to the elevator
version of “Don’t Worry； Be Happy” by Bobby McFerrin。 Perfect。 It
was fitting that B…DAD had picked the most annoyingly optimistic
song ever written to entertain callers when they were put on hold。
“Andy； is that you； sweetheart？” He asked quietly in his deep；
distinguished voice。 “Mr。 Tomlinson is going to think you’re
avoiding him。 It’s been ages since I’ve had the pleasure of speaking
with you。” A week and a half； to be precise。 In addition to his
blindness； deafness； and dumbness； Mr。 Tomlinson had the added
irritating habit of constantly referring to himself in the third
person。
I took a deep breath。 “Hello； Mr。 Tomlinson。 Miranda asked me to let
you know that lunch is at one today at Le Cirque。 She said that
you’d—”
“Sweetheart；” he said slowly； calmly。 “Enough with all that
plan…making for just a second。 Give an old man a moment of pleasure
and tell Mr。 Tomlinson all about your life。 Will you do that for
him？ So tell me； dear； are you happy working for my wife？” Was I
happy working for his wife？ Hmm； let’s see here。 Are little baby
mammals squealing with glee when a predator swallows them