happy working for his wife？ Hmm； let’s see here。 Are little baby
mammals squealing with glee when a predator swallows them whole？Why
of course； you putz； I’m deliriously happy working for your wife。
When neither of us is busy； we give each other mud masks and gossip
about our love lives。 It’s a lot like a slumber party among friends；
if you must know。 The whole thing is just one big laugh riot 。
“Mr。 Tomlinson； I love my job and I adore working for Miranda。” I
held my breath and prayed that he’d give it up。
“Well； Mr。 T。 is just thrilled that things are working out。”Great；
asshole； but are youthrilled？
“Sounds great； Mr。 Tomlinson。 Have a great lunch；” I cut him off
before he inevitably asked about my weekend plans； and hung up。
I sat back in my chair and gazed across the office suite。 Emily was
engrossed in trying to reconcile another one of Miranda’s 20；000
American Express bills； her highly waxed brow furrowed in
concentration。 The Harry Potter project loomed ahead of me； and I
had to get moving on it immediately if I ever wanted to get away
this weekend。
Lily and I had planned a movie marathon weekend。 I was exhausted
from work and she was stressed out from her classes； so we’d
promised to spend the whole weekend parked on her couch and subsist
solely on beer and Doritos。 No Snackwells。 No Diet Coke。 And
absolutely no black pants。 Even though we talked all the time； we
hadn’t spent any real time together since I’d moved to the city。
We’d been best friends since eighth grade； when I first saw Lily
crying alone at a cafeteria table。 She’d just moved in with her
grandmother and started at our school； after it became clear that
her parents weren’t ing Home any time soon。 They’d taken off a
few months before to follow the Dead （they’d had her when they were
both nineteen and were more into bong hits than babies）； leaving her
behind to be watched over by their whacked…out friends at the
mune in New Mexico （or as Lily preferred； the “collective”）。 When
they hadn’t returned almost a year later； Lily’s grandmother took
her from the mune （or as Lily’s grandmother preferred； the
“cult”） to live with her in Avon。 The day I found her crying alone
in the cafeteria was the day her grandmother had forced her to chop
off her dirty dreadlocks and wear a dress； and Lily was not happy
about it。 Something about the way she talked； the way she said；
“That’s so Zen of you；” and “Let’s just depress；” charmed me； and
we immediately became friends。 We’d been inseparable through the
rest of high school； had roomed together for all four years at
Brown。 Lily hadn’t yet decided whether she preferred MAC lipstick or
hemp necklaces and was still a little too “quirky” to do anything
totally mainstream； but we plemented each other well。 And I
missed her。 Because with her first year as a graduate student and my
being a virtual slave； we hadn’t seen a whole lot of each other
lately。
I couldn’t wait for the weekend。 My fourteen…hour workdays were
registering in my feet； my upper arms； my lower back。 Glasses had
replaced the contacts I’d worn for a decade because my eyes were too
dry and tired to accept them anymore。 I smoked a pack a day and
subsisted solely on Starbucks （expensed； of course） and takeout
sushi （further expensed）。 I’d begun losing weight already。 The
weight I’d lost from the dysentery had returned briefly； but after
my stint atRunway it had begun to disappear again。 Something in the
air there； I suppose； or perhaps it was the intensity with which
food was eschewed in the office。 I’d already weathered a sinus
infection and had paled significantly； and it had been only four
weeks。 I was only twenty…three years old。 And Miranda hadn’t even
been in the office yet。 Fuck it。 I deserved aweekend 。
Into this mix leaped Harry Potter； and I wasnot pleased。 Miranda had
called this morning。 It took only a few moments for her to outline
what she wanted； although it took me forever to interpret it。 I
learned quickly that in the Miranda Priestly world； it was better to
do something wrong and spend a great deal of time and money to fix
it than to admit you didn’t understand her convoluted and heavily
accented instructions and ask for clarification。 So when she mumbled
something about getting the Harry Potter books for the twins and
having them flown to Paris； intuition alone told me this was going
to interfere with my weekend。 When she hung up abruptly a few
minutes later； I looked to Emily with panic。
“What； oh； what； did she say？” I moaned； hating myself for being too
scared to ask Miranda to repeat herself。 “Why can I not understand a
single word that woman utters？ It’s not me； Em。 I speak English；
always have。 I know she does it to personally drive me crazy。”
Emily looked at me with her usual mix of disgust and pity。 “Since
the book es out tomorrow and they’re not here to buy it； she
wants you to pick up two copies and bring them to Teterboro。 The jet
will take them to Paris；” she summed up coldly； daring me to ment
on the ludicrousness of the instructions。 I was reminded once again
that Emily would do anything—really； anything—if it meant making
Miranda a bit more fortable。 I rolled my eyes and kept quiet。
Since I was NOT going to sacrifice a nanosecond of weekend to do her
bidding； and because I had an unlimited amount of money and power
（hers） at my personal disposal； I spent the rest of the day
arranging for Harry Potter to jet his way to Paris。 First； a few
words for Julia at Scholastic。
Dearest Julia；
My assistant； Andrea； tells me that you’re the sweetheart to whom I
should address my most heartfelt appreciation。 She has informed me
that you are the single person capable of locating a couple copies
of this darling book for me tomorrow。 I want you to know how much I
appreciate your hard work and cleverness。 Please know how happy
you’ll make my sweet daughters。 And don’t ever hesitate to let me
know if you need anything； anything at all； for a fabulous girl like
yourself。
XOXO；
Miranda Priestly
I forged her name with a perfect flourish （hour upon hour of
practicing with Emily standing over me； instructing me to make the
final “a” a little loopier； had finally paid off）； attached the note
to the latest issue ofRunway —one not yet on the newsstand—and
called for a rush messenger to deliver the entire package to
Scholastic’s downtown office。 If this didn’t work； nothing would。
Miranda didn’t care that we forged her signature—it saved her from
bothering with details—but she’d probably be livid to see that I’d
penned something so polite； soadorable； using her name。
Three short weeks earlier I would have quickly canceled my plans if
Miranda called and wanted me to do something for her on the
weekends； but I was now experienced—and jaded—enough to bend the
rules a little。 Since Miranda and the girls would not themselves be
at the airport in New Jersey whenHarry arrived the following day； I
saw no reason why I had to be the one to deliver him。 Acting under
the assumption and prayer that Julia would pull through for me with
a couple copies； I worked out some details。 Dial； dial； and within
an hour a plan had emerged。
Brian； a cooperative editorial assistant at Scholastic—whom I was
assured would have permission from Julia within a couple hours—would
take Home two office copies ofHarry that evening； so he wouldn’t
have to go back to the office on Saturday。 Brian would leave the
books with the doorman of his Upper West Side apartment building；
and I would have a car pick them up the following morning at eleven。
Miranda’s driver； Uri； would then call me on my Cell Phone to
confirm that he’d received the package and was on his way to drop it
at Teterboro airport； where the two books would be transferred to
Mr。 Tomlinson’s private jet and flown to Paris。 I briefly considered
conducting the entire operation in code to make it resemble a KGB
operation even more； but dropped that when I remembered that Uri
didn’t really speak regular English that well。 I had checked to see
how fast the fastest DHL option would have them there； but delivery
couldn’t be guaranteed until Monday； which was obviously
unacceptable。 Hence the private plane。 If all went as planned；
little Cassidy and Caroline could wake up in their private Parisian
suite on Sunday and enjoy their morning milk while reading about
Harry’s adventures—a full day earlier than all of their friends。 It
warmed my heart； it really did。
Minutes after the cars had been reserved and all the appropriate
people put on alert； Julia called back。 Although it’d be a grueling
task and she was likely to get in trouble； she’d be happy to give
Brian two copies for Ms。 Priestly。 Amen。
“Do you believe he gotengaged ？” Lily asked as she rewound the copy
ofFerris Bueller we’d just finished。 “I mean； we’re twenty…three
years old for goodness sake—what’s the rush？”
“I know； it does seem weird。” I called from the kitchen。 “Maybe Mom
and Dad won’t let him have access to the massive trust fund until
he’s settled down？ That’d be enough motivation to put a ring on her
finger。 Or maybe he’s just lonely？”
Lily looked at me and laughed。 “Naturally； he can’t just be in love
with her and ready to spend the rest of his life with her； right？ I
mean； we’ve established that that’s totally out of the question；
right？”
“Correct。 That’s not an option。 Try again。”
“Well； then； I’m forced to pick curtain number three。 He’s gay。 He
finally came to the realization himself—even though I’ve known
forever—and realizes that Mom and Dad won’t be able to handle it； so
he’ll cover by marrying the first girl he can find。 What do you
think？”
Casablancawas next on the list； and Lily fast…forwarded past the
opening credits while I microwaved cups of hot chocolate in the tiny
kitchen of her nonalcove studio in Morningside Heights。 We lazed
around straight through Friday night—breaking only to smoke and make
another Blockbuster run。 Saturday afternoon found us particularly
motivated； and we managed to saunter down to SoHo for a few hours。
We each bought new tank tops for Lily’s uping New Year’s party
and shared an oversize mug of eggnog from a sidewalk café。 By the
time we made it back to her apartment on Saturday； we were exhausted
and happy and spent the rest of t