when I was out gathering the goodies each morning； Emily was left
alone to handle all of the ringing phone lines and an alert；
early…morning Miranda and all of her demands。 I hated her for being
able to wear sleeveless shirts to work； where she wouldn’t ever have
to leave the warm office six times a day to race around New York
fetching； searching； hunting； gathering。 She hated me for having
excuses to leave the office； where she knew I always took longer
than necessary to talk on my Cell Phone and smoke cigarettes。
The walk back to the building usually took longer than the walk to
Starbucks； since I had to distribute my Coffees and snacks。 I
preferred to hand them out to the Homeless； a small band of regulars
who hung out on stoops and slept in doorways on 57th Street；
thumbing the city’s attempts to “clean them up。” The police always
hustled them away before rush hour kicked into high gear； but they
were still hanging out when I was doing the day’s first coffee run。
There was something so fantastic—invigorating； really—in making sure
that these overpriced； Elias…sponsored Coffee faves made it into the
hands of the city’s most undesirable people。
The urine…soaked man who slept outside the Chase Bank got a daily
Mocha Frappuccino。 He never actually woke up to accept it； but I
left it （with a straw； of course） next to his left elbow each
morning； and it was often gone—along with him—when I returned for my
next Coffee run a few hours later。
The old lady who propped herself up on her cart and set out a
cardboard sign that readNO Home/CAN CLEAN/NEED FOOD got the Caramel
Macchiato。 I soon found her name was Theresa； and I used to buy her
a tall latte； like Miranda’s。 She always said thank you； but she
never made a move to taste it while it was still hot。 When I finally
asked her if she wanted me to stop bringing them； she vigorously
shook her head and mumbled that she hates to be picky； but she’d
actually like something sweeter； that the coffee was too strong。 The
next day I had her coffee flavored with vanilla and topped with
whipped cream。 Was this better？ Oh yes； it was much； much better；
but maybe now it was a touch too sweet。 One more day and I finally
got it right： it turns out Theresa liked her Coffee unflavored；
topped with whipped cream and some caramel syrup。 She flashed a
near…toothless smile and began guzzling it each and every day； the
moment I handed it to her。
The third Coffee went to Rio； the Nigerian who sold CDs off a
blanket。 He didn’t appear to be Homeless； but he walked over to me
one morning when I was handing Theresa her daily fix and said； or；
rather； sang； “Yo； yo； yo； you like the Starbucks fairy or what？
Where’s mine？” I handed him a grande Amaretto Cappuccino the next
day； and we’d been friends ever since。
I expensed twenty…four dollars more every day on Coffee than
necessary （Miranda’s single latte should’ve cost a mere four
dollars） to take yet another passive…aggressive swipe at the
pany； my personal reprimand to them for Miranda Priestly’s free
rein。 I handed them out to the filthy； the smelly； and the crazy
because that—and not the wasted money—was what wouldreally piss them
off。
By the time I made it to the lobby； Pedro； the heavily accented
Mexican delivery boy from Mangia； was chatting in Spanish with
Eduardo near the elevator bank。
“Hey； here’s our girlie；” said Pedro as a few Clackers peered over
at us。 “I’ve got the usual： bacon； sausage； and one nasty…looking
cheese thing。 You only ordered one today！ Don’t know how you eat
this shit and stay so thin； girl。” He grinned。 I suppressed the urge
to tell him he didn’t have a clue what thin looked like。 Pedro knew
full well that I was not the one eating his breakfasts； but like
every one of the dozen or so people I spoke to before eightA 。M。
each day； he didn’t really know the details。 I handed him a ten； as
usual； for the 3。99 breakfast； and headed upstairs。
She was on the phone when I entered the office； her snakeskin Gucci
trench draped across the top of my desk。 My blood pressure increased
tenfold。 Would it kill her to take the extra two steps over to the
closet； open it； and hang up her own coat？ Why did she have to take
it off and fling it over my desk？ I put down the latte； looked over
at Emily； who was too busy answering three phone lines to notice me；
and hung up the snakeskin。 I shook off my own coat and bent down to
toss it underneath my desk； since mine might infect hers if they
mingled in the closet。
I grabbed two raw sugars； a stirrer； and a napkin from a stock I
kept in my desk drawer and wrapped them all together。 I briefly
considered spitting in the drink but was able to restrain myself。
Next； I pulled a small china plate from the overhead bin and dumped
out the greasy meat and the oozing Danish； wiping my hands on her
dirty dry cleaning； which was hidden beneath my desk so she couldn’t
see it hadn’t been picked up yet。 I was theoretically supposed to
clean her plate each day in the sink in our mock…up kitchen； but I
just couldn’t bring myself to bother。 The humiliation of doing her
dishes in front of everyone prompted me to wipe it down with tissues
after each meal and scrape off any leftover cheese with my
fingernails。 If it was really dirty or had been sitting for a long
time； I’d open a bottle of the Pellegrino we kept by the case and
dump a little bit on。 I figured she should be thankful I wasn’t
using a spritz or two of desk cleaner。 I was reasonably sure that I
had reached a new moral low—what was worrisome was that I’d sunk to
it so naturally。
“Remember； I want my girls smiling；” she was saying into the phone。
I could tell from her tone she was talking to Lucia； the fashion
director who’d be in charge of the uping Brazil shoot； about how
the models should appear。 “Happy； lots of teeth； clean healthy
girls。 No brooding； no anger； no frowning； no dark makeup。 I want
them shining。 I mean it； Lucia： I will accept nothing less。”
I set the plate on the edge of her desk and placed the latte and the
napkin with all necessary accessories next to it。 She didn’t look at
me。 I paused for a moment to see if she’d hand me a pile of papers
off her desk； things to fax or find or file； but she ignored me and
I walked out。 Eight…thirtyA 。M。 I’d been awake now for three full
hours； felt like I’d already worked for twelve； and could finally
sit down for the very first time all morning。 Just as I was logging
on to Hotmail； anticipating some fun e…mails from people on the
outside； she walked out。 The belted jacket cinched her already tiny
waist and plemented the perfectly fitted pencil skirt she wore
beneath it。 She looked dynamite。
“Ahn…dre…ah。 The latte is ice cold。 I don’t understand why。 You were
certainly gone long enough！ Bring me another。”
I inhaled deeply and concentrated on keeping the look of hatred off
my face。 Miranda set the offending latte on my desk and flipped
through the new issue ofVanity Fair that a staffer had set on the
table for her。 I could feel Emily watching me and knew her look
would be one of sympathy and anger： she felt bad that I had to
repeat the hellish ordeal all over again； but she hated me for
daring to be upset about it。 After all； wouldn’t a million girls die
for my job？
And so with an audible sigh—something I’d perfected lately； so it
was just enough Miranda could hear but not nearly enough she could
ever call me on it—I once again put on my coat and willed my legs to
move toward the elevators。 It was going to be another long； long
day。
The second coffee run in twenty minutes went much more smoothly； the
lines at Starbucks had thinned a little and Marion had e on duty。
She herself got to work on a tall latte as soon as I walked in the
door。 I didn’t bother overspending on a larger order this time
because I was too desperate to just get back and sit down； but I did
addventi cappuccinos for both Emily and me。 Just as I was paying for
the coffee； my phone rang。 Goddamn it to hell； this woman was
impossible。 Insatiable； impatient； impossible。 I hadn’t been gone
for more than four minutes； she couldn’t possibly be freaking out
yet。 Again； I balanced my tray in one hand and pulled my phone from
my coat pocket。 I’d already decided that such behavior on her part
warranted my having another cigarette—if just to hold up her Coffee
a few minutes longer—when I saw that it was Lily calling from her
Home phone。
“Hey； bad time？” she asked； sounding excited。 I looked at my watch
and saw that she should’ve been in class。
“Um； sort of。 I’m on my second Coffee run； which is really great。
I’m really； really enjoying myself； just in case you were wondering。
What’s up？ Don’t you have class now？”
“Yeah； but I went out with Pink…Shirt Boy again last night and we
each drank a few too many margaritas。 Like； eight too many。 He’s
still passed out here； so I can’t just leave him。 But that’s not why
I’m calling。”
“Yeah？” I was barely listening； since one of the cappuccinos was
starting to leak and I had the phone wedged in between my neck and
my shoulder as I used my one free hand to pluck a cigarette from the
box and light it。
“My landlord had the nerve to knock on my door at eight o’clock this
morning to tell me that I’m being evicted；” she said with not a
little bit of glee in her voice。
“Evicted？ Lil； why？ What are you going to do？”
“It seems they finally caught on that I’m not Sandra Gers and that
she hasn’t lived here in six months。 Since she’s technically not
family； she wasn’t allowed to pass down the rent…controlled
apartment to me。 I knew that； of course； so I’ve just been saying
I’m her。 I don’t really know how they found out。 But whatev； it
doesn’t really matter； because now you and I can live together！ Your
lease with Shanti and Kendra is just month by month； right？ You
subletted because you had no place to live； right？”
“Right。”
“Well； now you do！ We can get a place together； anywhere we like！”
“That’s great！” It sounded hollow to my ears even though I was
genuinely excited。
“So you’re up for it？” she asked； her enthusiasm sounding a bit
dampened。
“Lil； definitely。 Honestly； it’s an awesome idea。 I don’t mean to
sound negative； it’s just that it’s sleeting and I’m standing
outside and I have burning hot Coffee running d