wasn’t “particularly interested in the rules and regulations
regarding the use of electronics” and to “please bore someone else
with them。”
“But ma’am； it’s against the rules； and I’m going to have to ask
that you disconnect your call until we’ve reached a cruising
altitude。 It’s simply unsafe；” she said beseechingly。
“Ahn…dre…ah； can you hear me？ Are you listening 。 。 。”
“Ma’am； I’m going to have to insist。 Now please； hang up the phone。”
My mouth was starting to ache from smiling so widely—I could only
imagine how much Miranda was hating being addressed as “ma’am；”
which； as everyone knows； connotes old lady all the way。
“Ahn…dre…ah； thestewardess is forcing me to end this call。 I’ll call
you back when thestewardess allows me to do so。 In the meantime； I
want hair and makeup confirmed； and I’d like you to begin
interviewing new girls for the nanny position。 That’s all。” It
clicked off； but not before I heard the flight attendant call her
“ma’am” one last time。
“What did she want？” Emily asked； her forehead wrinkling in intense
worry。
“She called me the right name three times in a row；” I gloated；
happy to prolong her anticipation。 “Three times； do you believe it？
I think that means we’re best friends； doesn’t it？ Who would’ve
thought？ Andrea Sachs and Miranda Priestly； BFF。”
“Andrea； what did she say？”
“Well； she wants the Thursday hair and makeup confirmed because
clearly ninety…nine percent isn’t reassuring enough。 Oh； and she
said something about interviewing for a new nanny？ I must’ve
misunderstood that one。 Whatever—she’ll call back in thirty
seconds。”
Emily took a deep breath and willed herself to endure my stupidity
with grace and style。 It clearly wasn’t easy for her。 “No； I don’t
think you misunderstood at all。 Cara is no longer with Miranda； so
obviously she’ll be needing a new nanny。”
“What？ What do you mean no longer ‘with Miranda’？ If she’s no longer
‘with Miranda；’ then where the hell is she？” I found it really hard
to believe Cara wouldn’t have told me about her abrupt departure。
“Miranda thought Cara might be happier working for someone else；”
Emily said in what I’m sure was much more diplomatic phrasing than
Miranda herself had used。 As if Miranda had ever been attuned to
other people’s Happiness！
“Emily； please。 Please tell me what really happened。”
“I gathered from Caroline that Cara had grounded the girls in their
rooms after they talked back to her the other day。 Miranda didn’t
feel it was appropriate for Cara to be making these decisions。 And I
agree。 I mean； Cara is not these girls’ mother； you know？”
So Cara had gotten fired because she made two little girls sit in
their bedrooms after they’d surely given her attitude？ “Yeah； I see
your point。 It’s definitely not a nanny’s job to look out for the
well…being of her charges；” I said； nodding solemnly。 “Cara was out
of line there。”
Emily not only didn’t react to my dripping sarcasm； but didn’t seem
to detect so much as a hint of it。 “Exactly。 And besides； Miranda
never liked that Cara didn’t speak French。 How are the girls
supposed to learn to speak it without an American accent？”
Oh； I don’t know。 Maybe from their 18；000…a…year private school；
where French was a required subject and all three of the French
teachers were native speakers？ Or perhaps from their own fluent
mother who had herself lived in France； still visited a half…dozen
times a year and could read； write； and speak the language with
perfect； lilting pronunciation？ But instead I said； “Hey； you’re
right。 No French； no nanny。 I hear you。”
“Well； regardless； it’s going to be your responsibility to find the
girls a new nanny。 Here’s the number of the agency we work with；”
she said； sending it to me in an e…mail。 “They know how
discriminating Miranda is—and rightfully so； of course—so they
usually give us good people。”
I looked at her warily and wondered what her life had been before
Miranda Priestly。 I got to sleep with my eyes open for a little
while longer before the phone rang again。 Blessedly； Emily answered
it。
“Hello； Miranda。 Yes； yes； I can hear you。 No； no problem at all。
Yes； I have confirmed hair and makeup for that Thursday。 And yes；
Andrea has already begun looking for new nannies。 We’ll have three
solid candidates ready for you to interview on your first day back。”
She cocked her head to the side and touched her pen to her lips。
“Mmm； yes。 Yes； it’s definitely confirmed。 No； it’s not ninety…nine
percent； it’s one hundred percent。 Definitely。 Yes； Miranda。 Yes； I
confirmed it myself； and I’m quite positive。 They’re looking forward
to it。 OK。 Have a nice flight。 Yes； it’s confirmed。 I’ll fax it
right now。 OK。 Good…bye。” She hung up the phone and appeared to be
shaking。
“Why doesn’t that woman understand？ I told her the hair and makeup
were confirmed。 And then I told her again。 Why did I have to tell
her fifty more times？ And do you know what she said？”
I shook my head。
“Do you know what she said？ She said that since this has all been
such a headache for her； she’d like me to redo the itinerary so that
it will reflect that hair and makeup is now confirmed and fax it to
the Ritz so she’ll have the correct one when she arrives。 I do
everything for that woman—I give her mylife —and this is how she
talks to me in return？” She looked ready to cry。 I was thrilled for
the rare opportunity to see Emily turn on Miranda； but I knew that
aRunway Paranoid Turnaround was imminent； so I had to proceed with
caution。 Strike just the right note of sympathy and indifference。
“It’s not you； Em； I promise。 She knows how hard you work—you’re an
amazing assistant to her。 If she didn’t think you did a great job；
she’d have gotten rid of you already。 She’s not exactly scared to do
it—you know what I mean？”
Emily had stopped tearing and was approaching the defiant zone
where； even though she agreed with me； she’d defend Miranda if I
said anything too outrageous。 I’d learned about the Stockholm
Syndrome in psych； in which the victims identify with their captors；
but I hadn’t really understood how it all played out。 Maybe I’d
videotape one of the little sessions here between Emily and me and
send it to the prof so next year’s freshmen could actually see it
happening firsthand。 All efforts to proceed carefully began to feel
superhuman； so I took a deep breath and dove right in。
“She’s a lunatic； Emily；” I said softly and slowly； willing her to
agree with me。 “It’s not you； it’s her。 She’s an empty； shallow；
bitter woman who has tons and tons of gorgeous clothes and not much
else。”
Emily’s face tightened noticeably； the skin on her neck and around
her cheeks pulling taut； and her hands stopped shaking。 I knew she
was going to bulldoze me at any moment； but I couldn’t stop。
“Have you ever noticed that she has no friends； Emily？ Have you？
Sure； her phone rings day and night with the world’s coolest people；
but they’re not calling to talk about their kids or their jobs or
their marriages； are they？ They’re calling because they need
something from her。 It sure seems awesome looking in； but can you
imagine if the only reason anyone ever called you was because they—”
“Stop it！” she screamed； the tears streaming down her face again。
“Just fucking shut up already！ You march into this office and think
you understand everything。 Little Miss I’m So Sarcastic and So Above
All This！ Well； you don’t understand anything。 Anything！”
“Em—”
“Don’t ‘Em；’ me； Andy。 Let me finish。 I know Miranda is difficult。 I
know she sometimes seems crazy。 I know what it’s like to never sleep
and always be scared she’s calling you and have none of your friends
understand。 I know all that！ But if you hate it so much； if you
can’t do anything but plain about it and her and everyone else
all the time； then why don’t you just leave？ Because your attitude
is really a problem。 And to say that Miranda is a lunatic； well； I
think there are many； many more people out there who think she’s
gifted and gorgeous and talented and would think you’re a lunatic
for not doing your best to help out someone so amazing。 Because she
is amazing； Andy—she really is！”
I considered this for a moment and decided she had a point。 Miranda
was； as far as I could tell； a truly fantastic editor。 Not a single
word of copy made it into the magazine without her explicit；
hard…to…obtain approval； and she wasn’t afraid to scrap something
and start over； regardless of how inconvenient or unhappy it made
everyone else。 Although the various fashion editors called in the
clothes to shoot； Miranda alone selected the looks she wanted and
which models she wanted wearing each one； the sittings editors might
be the ones at the actual shoots； but they were simply executing
Miranda’s specific and incredibly detailed instructions。 She had the
final—and often even the preliminary—say over every single bracelet；
bag； shoe； outfit； hair style； story； interview； writer； photo；
model； location； and photograph in every issue； and that made her；
in my mind； the main reason for the magazine’s stunning success each
month。Runway wouldn’t beRunway —hell； it wouldn’t be much of
anything at all—without Miranda Priestly。 I knew it and so did
everyone else。 What it hadn’t yet done was convince me that any of
this gave her a right to treat people the way she did。 Why was the
ability to put together a Balmain evening gown and a brooding； leggy
Asian girl on a side street in San Sebastian worshiped so much that
Miranda wasn’t accountable for her behavior？ I still wasn’t building
the bridge； but what the hell did I know？ Emily obviously got it。
“Emily； all I’m saying is that you’re a really great assistant to
her； that she’s lucky she has someone who works as hard as you do；
who’s so mitted to the job。 I just wish you’d realize that it’s
not your fault if she’s unhappy with something。 She’s just an
unhappy person。 There’s nothing more you could have done。”
“I know that。 I really do。 But you don’t give her enough credit；
Andy。 Think about it。 I mean； really think about it。 She is so
incredibly acplished； and she’s had to sacrifice a lot to get
there； but couldn’t the same be said of supersuccessful people in
every industry