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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СКАЧАТЬ after-school program was shaping up, but I was sorry it had to be the same night as this party. I’d been reading about it in the papers for the past week: it seemed that all of Manhattan was ecstatically waiting for Marshall Madden, hair colorist extraordinaire, to host his annual post-New Year’s blowout. They were saying that this year was going to be even bigger than usual because Marshall had just published a new book, Color Me Marshall. But I wasn’t going to cancel on my boyfriend to go to some star party.

      ‘Well, OK, but don’t say I never asked you to go anywhere. And don’t come crying to me when you read in Page Six tomorrow that I was spotted with Mariah or J-Lo. Just don’t.’ And he huffed away, half joking that he was angry, half not, since he seemed to be in a perpetual snit anyway.

      So far, the week after New Year’s had been easy. We were still unwrapping and cataloging presents – I had gotten to unveil the most stunning pair of Swarovski-encrusted stilettos this morning – but there were none left to send and the phones were quiet since many people were still away. Miranda would be returning from Paris at the end of the week but wouldn’t be in the office until Monday. Emily felt confident that I was ready to handle her, and so was I. We’d run through everything, and I’d taken nearly an entire legal pad full of notes. I glanced down at it, hoping I’d remember everything. Coffee: Starbucks only, tall latte, two raw sugars, two napkins, one stirrer. Breakfast: Mangia delivery, 555-3948, one soft cheese Danish, four slices bacon, two sausage links. Newspapers: newsstand in lobby, New York Times, Daily News, New York Times, the Financial Times, the Washington Post, USA Today, the Wall Street Journal, Women’s Wear Daily, and the New York Observer on Wednesdays. Weekly magazines, available Mondays: Time, Newsweek, U.S. News, The New Yorker(!), Time Out New York, New York, the Economist. And on and on it went, listing her favorite flowers and her most-hated flowers, her doctors’ names and addresses and home phone numbers, her household help, her snack preferences, her preferred bottled water, every size she wore in every article of clothing from lingerie to ski boots. I made lists of people she wanted to talk to (Always), and separate lists for people she never wanted to talk to (Never). I wrote and wrote and wrote as Emily revealed these things throughout our weeks together, and when we were finished, I felt there was nothing I did not know about Miranda Priestly. Except, of course, what exactly made her so important that I’d filled a legal pad with likes and dislikes. Why, exactly, was I supposed to care?

      ‘Yeah, he’s amazing,’ Emily was sighing, twisting the phone cord round and round her forefinger. ‘It was the most romantic weekend I think I’ve ever had.’

      Ping! You have a new e-mail from Alexander Fineman. Click here to open. Oooh, fun. Elias-Clark had firewalled instant messenger, but for some reason I could still receive instant notifications that I’d received a new e-mail. I’d take it.

      Hey baby, how’s your day?? Things are crazy here, as usual. Remember I told you that Jeremiah had threatened all the little girls with a box cutter he’d brought from home? Well, it seems he was serious – he brought another one to school today and sliced one of the girls’ arms at recess and called her a bitch. Not a deep cut at all, but when the teacher on duty asked him where he’d gotten such an idea, he said he saw his mom’s boyfriend do it to his mom. He’s six years old, Andy, can you believe it? Anyway, the principal called an emergency faculty meeting tonight, so I’m afraid I can’t make dinner. I’m so sorry! But I have to say, I’m happy that they’re responding to this at all – it’s more than I had hoped for. You understand, don’t you? Please don’t be mad. I’ll call you later, and I promise to make it up to you. Love, A

      Please don’t be mad? I hope you understand? One of his fourth-graders had slashed another student and he was hoping I’d be OK with him cancelling dinner? I’d cancelled on him my first week because I’d thought my week of riding around in a limo and wrapping presents had been too demanding. I wanted to cry, to call him and tell him it was more than OK, that I was proud of him for caring about these kids, for taking the job in the first place. I hit ‘reply’ and was just about to write as much when I heard my name.

      ‘Andrea! She’s on her way in. She’ll be here in ten minutes,’ Emily announced loudly, obviously struggling to remain calm.

      ‘Hmm? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what—’

      ‘Miranda is on her way into the office this moment. We need to get ready.’

      ‘On her way into the office? But I thought she wasn’t even coming back to the country until Saturday …’

      ‘Well, clearly she changed her mind. Now, move! Go downstairs and get her papers and lay them out just the way I told you. When you’re done, wipe down her desk and leave a glass of Pellegrino on the left-hand side, with ice and a lime. And make sure that her bathroom is stocked, OK? Go! She’s already in the car, so she should be here in less than ten minutes, depending on traffic.’

      As I raced out of the office, I could hear Emily rapid-fire dialing four-digit extensions and all but screaming, ‘She’s on her way – tell everyone.’ It took me only three seconds to wind through the hallways and pass through the fashion department, but I already heard panicked cries of ‘Emily said she’s on her way in’ and ‘Miranda’s coming!’ and a particularly blood-curdling cry of ‘She’s baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!’ Assistants were frantically straightening clothes on the racks that lined the halls, and editors were racing into their offices, where I could see one changing from her kitten-heeled shoes to four-inch stilettos while another lined her lips, curled her lashes, and adjusted her bra strap without so much as slowing down. As the publisher walked out of the men’s room, I glanced past him and saw James, looking frenzied, checking his black cashmere sweater for lint while spastically popping Altoids in his mouth. Unless the men’s room was wired with loudspeakers for these very occasions, I wasn’t even sure how he’d heard yet.

      I was dying to stop and watch the scene unfold, but I had less than ten minutes to prepare for my first meeting with Miranda as her actual assistant, and I wasn’t going to blow it. Until then I’d been trying not to appear as if I’d been actually running, but upon witnessing the utter lack of dignity everyone else had demonstrated, I broke into a sprint.

      ‘Andrea! You know Miranda’s on her way here, don’t you?’ Sophy called from the reception desk as I flew by.

      ‘Yeah, I know, but how do you know?’

      ‘Sweetie pie, I know everything. Now I suggest you get your butt in gear. One thing’s for sure: Miranda Priestly does not like to be kept waiting.’

      I leapt onto the elevator and called out a thank you. ‘I’ll be back in three minutes with the papers!’

      The two women on the elevator stared at me in disgust, and I realized that I had been screaming.

      ‘Sorry,’ I said, trying to catch my breath. ‘We just found out that our editor in chief is on her way to the office and we weren’t prepared, so everyone’s a little edgy now.’ Why am I explaining myself to these people?

      ‘Ohmigod, you must work for Miranda! Wait, let me guess. You’re Miranda’s new assistant? Andrea, right?’ The leggy brunette flashed what must’ve been four dozen teeth and moved forward like a piranha. Her friend instantly brightened.

      ‘Um, yeah. Andrea,’ I said, repeating my own name as though I wasn’t entirely sure it was mine. ‘And yes, I’m Miranda’s new assistant.’

      At that moment the elevator hit the lobby and the doors opened to the stark white marble. I moved ahead of the women and bolted through before the doors had opened entirely СКАЧАТЬ