Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Knowing, Chasing Harry Winston, Last Night at Chateau Marmont. Lauren Weisberger

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      ‘Yes?’ I heard from a faraway place, jolting myself out of my self-help thoughts. It was Caroline who, at a mere ten years, had perfected her mother’s brusque phone manner perfectly. Cassidy at least had the courtesy to answer the phone with a ‘hello.’

      ‘Hi, sweetie,’ I crooned, hating myself for sucking up to a child. ‘It’s Andrea, from the office. Is your mom there?’

      ‘You mean my mum?’ she corrected as she always did when I used the American pronunciation. ‘Sure, I’ll get her.’

      A moment or two later, Miranda was on the line.

      ‘Yes, Ahn-dre-ah? This had better be important. You know how I feel about being interrupted when I’m spending time with the girls,’ she stated in her cold, clipped way. You know how I feel about being interrupted when I’m spending time with the girls? I wanted to scream. Are you fucking kidding me, lady? You think I’m calling for my goddamn health? Because I couldn’t bear to go a single weekend without hearing your miserable voice? And what about me spending time with my girls? I thought I’d pass out from anger, but I took a deep breath and dove right in.

      ‘Miranda, I’m sorry if this is a bad time, but I’m calling to ensure that you received the Harry Potter books. I heard your message saying that you hadn’t yet received them, but I’ve spoken to everyone and—’

      She interrupted me midsentence and spoke slowly and surely. ‘Ahn-dre-ah. You should really listen more closely. I said no such thing. We received the package early this morning. Incidentally, it came so early that they woke us all up for the silly thing.’

      I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I didn’t dream that she’d left the message, did I? I was still too young even for early-onset Alzheimer’s, right?

      ‘What I said was that we didn’t receive both copies of the book, as I had requested. The package included only one, and I’m sure you can imagine just how disappointed the girls are. They were really looking forward to each having their own copy, as I had requested. I need you to explain why my orders weren’t followed.’

      This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. I was definitely dreaming now, living some sort of alternate-universe existence where anything resembling rationality and logic were suspended indefinitely. I wouldn’t even let myself consider the absurdity of what was unfolding.

      ‘Miranda, I do recall that you requested two copies, and I ordered two,’ I stammered, hating myself yet again for pandering. ‘I spoke to the girl at Scholastic and am quite sure that she understood that you needed two copies of the book, so I can’t imagine—’

      ‘Ahn-dre-ah, you know how I feel about excuses. I’m not particularly interested in hearing yours now. I expect something like this will never happen again, correct? That’s all.’ She hung up.

      I stood there for what must have been five full minutes, listening to the squawking off-the-hook sound with the receiver pressed against my ear. My mind raced, full of questions. Could I kill her? I wondered, considering the probability of getting caught. Would they automatically assume it was me? Of course not, I concluded – everybody, at least at Runway, had a motive. Do I really have the emotional wherewithal to watch her die a long, slow, agonizingly painful death? Well, yes, that much was for sure – what would be the most enjoyable way to snuff out her wretched existence?

      I slowly replaced the receiver. Could I really have misunderstood her message when I listened to it earlier? I grabbed my cell phone and replayed the messages. ‘Ahn-dre-ah. It’s Mir-ahnda. It’s nine in the morning on Sunday in Pah-ris and the girls have not yet received their books. Call me at the Ritz to assure me that they will arrive shortly. That’s all.’ Nothing was really wrong. She may have received one copy instead of two, but she deliberately gave me the impression that I’d made a tremendous, career-ending mistake. She’d called with no concern that her nine A.M. call would have reached me at three A.M., on my most perfect weekend in months. She’d called to drive me a little crazier, push me a little bit harder. She’d called to dare me to defy her. She’d called to make me hate her that much more.

       7

      Lily’s New Year’s party was good and low-key, just a lot of paper cups of champagne at Lily’s place with a bunch of people from college and some others they managed to drag along. I was never a big fan of the holiday. I don’t remember who first called it ‘Amateur Night’ (I think it was Hugh Hefner), saying that he went out the other 364 days a year, but I tend to agree. All that forced drinking and merry-making did not a good time guarantee. So Lily had stepped up and thrown a little party to save us all the $150 tickets to some club or, even worse, any sort of ridiculous thoughts of actually freezing in Times Square. We’d each brought a bottle of something not too poisonous, and she had passed out noisemakers and glittery tiaras, and we got quite drunk and happy and toasted in the New Year on her rooftop overlooking Harlem. Although we’d all had way too much to drink, Lily was pretty much nonfunctional by the time everyone else had left. She had already thrown up twice, and I was scared to leave her alone in the apartment, so Alex and I had packed her a bag and dragged her in the cab with us. We all stayed at my place, Lily on the futon in the living room, and went out for a big brunch the next day.

      I was glad the whole holiday thing was over. It was time to get on with my life and get started – really started – on my new job. Even though it felt like I’d been working for a decade, I was technically just beginning. I had a lot of hope that things would improve once Miranda and I started working together day to day. Anyone could be a cold-hearted monster over the phone, especially someone who was uncomfortable with vacations and being so far away from work. But I was convinced that the misery of that first month would give way to a whole new situation, and I was excited to see how it would all unfold.

      It was a little after ten on a cold and gray January 3, and I was actually happy to be at work. Happy! Emily was gushing about some guy she met at a New Year’s party in LA, some ‘superhot, up-and-coming songwriter’ who had promised to come visit her in New York in the next couple weeks. I was chatting with the associate beauty editor who sat down the hall, a really sweet guy who’d graduated from Vassar and whose parents didn’t yet know – even despite the college choice and the fact that he was a beauty editor at a fashion magazine – that he did, in fact, sleep with guys.

      ‘Oh, come with me, please? It’ll be so fun, I promise. I’ll introduce you to some real hotties, Andy, you’ll see. I have some gorgeous straight friends. Besides, it’s Marshall’s party – it’s got to be great,’ James crooned, leaning against my desk as I checked my e-mail. Emily was chattering away happily on her side of the suite, detailing her rendezvous with the long-haired singer.

      ‘I would, you know I would, but I’ve had these plans with my boyfriend tonight since before Christmas,’ I said. ‘We’ve been planning on going out to a really nice dinner together for weeks, and I canceled on him last time.’

      ‘So see him after! Come on, it’s not every day you get a chance to meet the single most talented colorist in the civilized world, is it? And there will be loads of celebrities and everyone will look gorgeous, and, well, I just know it’ll be the most glamorous party of the week! Harrison and Shriftman is putting it on, for chrissake – you can’t beat that. Say yes.’ He squinted his face into exaggerated puppy eyes, and I had to laugh.

      ‘James, I’d really, really like to – I’ve never even been to the Plaza! But I really can’t change СКАЧАТЬ