one of those dog…training whistles； remaining steadfastly lukewarm
until just before I stepped out into the freezing…cold bathroom； at
which point the water turned scalding。 It took a mere three days
ofthat routine before I began sprinting from my bed； turning on the
shower fifteen minutes early； and heading back under the covers。
When I snoozed three more times with the alarm clock and went back
for round two in the bathroom； the mirrors would be all steamed up
from the gloriously hot—although trickling—water。
I got myself into my binding and unfortable outfit and out the
door in twenty…five minutes—a record。 And it took only ten minutes
to find the nearest subway； something I should’ve done the night
before but was too busy scoffing at my mother’s suggestion to take a
“run…through” so I wouldn’t get lost。 When I’d gone for the
interview the week before I’d taken a cab； and I was already
convinced that this subway experiment was going to be a nightmare。
But； remarkably； there was an English…speaking attendant in the
booth who instructed me to take the 6 train to 59th Street。 She said
I’d exit right on 59th and would have to walk two blocks west to
Madison。 Easy。 I rode the cold train in silence； one of the only
people crazy enough to be awake and actually moving at such a
miserable hour in the middle of November。 So far； so good—no
glitches until it was time to make my way up to street level。
I took the nearest stairs and stepped out into a frigid day where
the only light I saw was emanating from twenty…four…hour bodegas。
Behind me was Bloomingdale’s； but nothing else looked familiar。
Elias…Clark； Elias…Clark； Elias…Clark。 Where was that building？ I
turned in my place 180 degrees until I saw a street sign： 60th
Street and Lexington。 Well； 59th can’t be that far away from 60th；
but which way should I walk to make the streets go west？ And where
was Madison in parison to Lexington？ Nothing looked familiar from
my visit to the building the week before； since I’d been dropped off
right in front。 I strolled for a bit； happy to have left enough time
to get as lost as I was； and finally ducked into a deli for a cup of
Coffee。
“Hello； sir。 I can’t seem to find my way to the Elias…Clark
building。 Could you please point me in the right direction？” I asked
the nervous…looking man behind the cash register。 I tried not to
smile sweetly； remembering what everyone had told me about not being
in Avon anymore； and how people here don’t exactly respond well to
good manners。 He scowled at me； and I got nervous it was because he
thought me rude。 I smiled sweetly。
“One dollah；” he said； holding out his hand。
“You’re charging me for directions？”
“One dollah； skeem or bleck； you peek。”
I stared at him for a moment before I realized he knew only enough
English to converse about Coffee。 “Oh； skim would be perfect。 Thank
you so much。” I handed over a dollar and headed back outside； more
lost than ever。 I asked people who worked at newsstands； as street
sweepers； even a man who was tucked inside one of those movable
breakfast carts。 Not a single one understood me well enough to so
much as point in the direction of 59th and Madison； and I had brief
flashbacks to Delhi； Depression； dysentery。No！ I will find it。
A few more minutes of wandering aimlessly around a waking midtown
actually landed me at the front door of the Elias…Clark building。
The lobby glowed behind the glass doors in the early…morning
darkness； and it looked； for those first few moments； like a warm；
weling place。 But when I pushed the revolving door to enter； it
fought me。 Harder and harder I pushed； until my body weight was
thrust forward and my face was nearly pressed against the glass； and
only then did it budge。 When it did begin to move； it slid slowly at
first； prompting me to push ever harder。 But as soon as it picked up
some momentum； the glass behemoth whipped around； hitting me from
behind and forcing me to trip over my feet and shuffle visibly to
remain standing。 A man behind the security desk laughed。
“Tricky； eh？ Not the first time I seen that happen； and won’t be the
last；” he chortled； fleshy cheeks jiggling。 “They getcha good here。”
I looked him over quickly and decided to hate him and knew that he
would never like me； regardless of what I said or how I acted。 I
smiled anyway。
“I’m Andrea；” I said； pulling a knit mitten from my hand and
reaching over the desk。 “Today’s my first day of work atRunway 。 I’m
Miranda Priestly’s new assistant。”
“And I’m sorry！” he roared； throwing his round head back with glee。
“Just call me ‘Sorry for You’！ Hah！ Hah！ Hah！ Hey； Eduardo； check
this out。 She’s one of Miranda’s newslaves ！ Where you from； girl；
bein’ all friendly and shit？ Topeka fuckin’ Kansas？ She is gonna eat
you alive； hah； hah； hah！”
But before I could respond； a portly man wearing the same uniform
came over and with no subtlety whatsoever looked me up and down。 I
braced for more mocking and guffaws； but it didn’t e。 Instead； he
turned a kind face to mine and looked me in the eyes。
“I’m Eduardo； and this idiot here’s Mickey；” he said； motioning to
the first man； who looked annoyed that Eduardo had acted civilly and
ruined all the fun。 “Don’t make no never mind of him； he’s just
kiddin’ with you。” He spoke with a mixed Spanish and New York
accent； as he picked up a sign…in book。 “You just fill out this here
information； and I’ll give you a temporary pass to go upstairs。 Tell
’em you need a card wit your pitcher on it from HR。”
I must have looked at him gratefully； because he got embarrassed and
shoved the book across the counter。 “Well； go on now； fill ’er out。
And good luck today； girl。 You gonna need it。”
I was too nervous and exhausted at this point to ask him to explain；
and besides； I didn’t really have to。 About the only thing I’d had
time to do in the week between accepting the job and starting work
was to learn a little bit about my new boss。 I had Googled her and
was surprised to find that Miranda Priestly was born Miriam
Princhek； in London’s East End。 Hers was like all the other orthodox
Jewish families in the town； stunningly poor but devout。 Her father
occasionally worked odd jobs； but mostly they relied on the
munity for support since he spent most of his days studying
Jewish texts。 Her mother had died in childbirth with Miriam； and it
washer mother who moved in and helped raise the children。 And were
there children！ Eleven in all。 Most of her brothers and sisters went
on to work blue…collar jobs like their father； with little time to
do anything but pray and work； a couple managed to get themselves
into and through the university； only to marry young and begin
having large families of their own。 Miriam was the single exception
to the family tradition。
After saving the small bills her older siblings would slip her
whenever they were able； Miriam promptly dropped out of high school
upon turning seventeen—a mere three months shy of graduation—to take
a job as an assistant to an up…and…ing British designer； helping
him put together his shows each season。 After a few years of making
a name for herself as one of the darlings of London’s burgeoning
fashion world and studying French at night； she scored a job as a
junior editor at the FrenchChic magazine in Paris。 By this time； she
had little to do with her family： they didn’t understand her life or
ambitions； and she was embarrassed by their old…fashioned piety and
overwhelming lack of sophistication。 The alienation from her family
was pleted shortly after joining FrenchChic when； at twenty…four
years old； Miriam Princhek became Miranda Priestly； shedding her
undeniably ethnic name for one with more panache。 Her rough；
cockney…girl British accent was soon replaced by a carefully
cultivated； educated one； and by her late twenties； Miriam’s
transformation from Jewish peasant to secular socialite was
plete。 She rose quickly； ruthlessly； through the ranks of the
magazine world。
She spent ten years at the helm of FrenchRunway before Elias
transferred her to the number…one spot at AmericanRunway； the
ultimate achievement。 She moved her two daughters and her rock…star
then husband （himself eager to gain more exposure in America） to a
penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue at 76th Street and began a new
era atRunway magazine： the Priestly years； the sixth of which we
were nearing as I began my first day。
By some stroke of dumb luck； I would be working for nearly a month
before Miranda was back in the office。 She took her vacation every
year starting a week before Thanksgiving until right after New
Year’s。 Typically； she’d spend a few weeks at the flat she kept in
London； but this year； I was told； she had dragged her husband and
daughters to Oscar de la Renta’s estate in the Dominican Republic
for two weeks before spending Christmas and New Year’s at the Ritz
in Paris。 I’d also been forewarned that even though she was
technically “on vacation；” she’d still be fully reachable and
working at all times； and therefore； so should every single other
person on staff。 I was to be appropriately prepped and trained
without her highness present。 That way； Miranda wouldn’t have to
suffer my inevitable mistakes while I learned the job。 Sounded good
to me。 So at 7：00A 。M。 on the dot； I signed my name into Eduardo’s
book and was buzzed through the turnstiles for the very first time。
“Strike a pose！” Eduardo called after me； just before the elevator
doors swept shut。
Emily； looking remarkably haggard and sloppy in a fitted but
wrinkled sheer white T…shirt and hypertrendy cargo pants was waiting
for me in the reception area； clutching a cup of Starbucks and
flipping though the new December issue。 Her high heels were placed
firmly on the glass coffee table； and a black lacy bra showed
obviously through the pletely transparent cotton of her shirt。
Lipstick； smeared a bit around her mouth by the Coffee cup； and
unbed； wavy red hair that spilled down over her shoulders made
her look as though she’d spent the last seventy…two hours in bed。
“Hey； wele；” she muttered； giving me my first official up…down
look…over by someone other than the security guard。 “Nice boots。”
My heart surged。 Was she serious？ Or sarcastic？ Her tone made it
impossible to tell。 My arches ached already and my toes were jamme