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 a man I could tell she absolutely despised but who was, unfortunately, family. Jack Tomlinson was B-DAD’s younger and wilder brother, and he’d just announced he was leaving his wife and three children and marrying his masseuse. Although he and B-DAD were both quintessential East Coast prep school aristocracy, Jack had shed his Harvard persona in his late twenties and moved to South Carolina, where he’d immediately made a fortune in real estate. Judging from everything Emily had told me, he’d morphed into a first-class Southern boy, a real straw-chewin’, tobacco-spittin’ hick, which of course appalled Miranda, the epitome of class and sophistication. B-DAD had asked Miranda to organize an engagement party for his baby brother, and Miranda, blinded by love, had no choice but to oblige. He had left all the details to her so, quite naturally, Miranda has set about to make things as difficult as humanly possible.

      Rather than host the dinner party at, oh, a restaurant, Miranda had decided that it would have ‘more impact’ for the guests to dine in a museum, although she eliminated most of them as though they were take-out joints (the Met is ‘too stiff,’ the Guggenheim ‘too dark,’ the Museum of Natural History ‘an eyesore now that it includes that dreadful planetarium’). She finally settled on the Whitney (‘understated, modern, intimate’). I’d been delighted when the museum immediately agreed to the dinner party in their lower-level restaurant or their first-floor lobby space, but I should’ve known that was too simple. The moment I’d conveyed the news to Miranda, she’d sighed deeply, shook her head in sympathy for my stupidity, and informed me that she’d never agree to a dinner anywhere except the de Kooning gallery in the permanent collection. Obviously. Dear Honored Members, blah, blah, blah … would like to request permission to host a fabulous little soiree, preferably in the back room of the second floor, blah, blah, blah … will be hiring only the finest caterers, florists, and band, of course, blah, blah, blah, would welcome your input, blah, blah. Making sure one last time that there were no glaring errors, I quickly forged her name and called for a messenger to come pick it up.

      The knock on the office suite door – which I kept closed this early in the morning since no one was in yet anyway – came almost immediately, and I was impressed with their turnaround time, but the door swung open to reveal B-DAD, who was sporting a grin much too enthusiastic for pre-eight A.M.

      ‘Andrea,’ he sang, immediately walking over to my desk and smiling so genuinely it made me feel guilty for not liking him.

      ‘Good morning, Mr Tomlinson. What brings you here so early?’ I asked. ‘I’m sorry to tell you that Miranda’s not in yet.’

      He chuckled, his nose twitching like a rodent’s. ‘Yes, yes, she won’t be in until after lunch, or so I believe. Andy, it really has been too long since you and I caught up. Tell Mr T. now: How is everything?’

      ‘Here, let me take those,’ I said, pulling the monogrammed duffel full of Miranda’s dirty clothes that she’d given him to give to me. I also relieved him of the beaded Fendi tote bag that had surfaced again recently. It was a one-of-a-kind tote that had been hand-beaded in an elaborate crystal design just for Miranda from Silvia Venturini Fendi, as a thank-you for all of her support, and one of the fashion assistants had put its value at just under ten grand. But I noticed today that one of the skinny leather handles had broken loose yet again, even though the accessories department had returned it to Fendi for hand-stitching two dozen times already. It was intended to hold a delicate ladies’ wallet, perhaps accompanied by a pair of sunglasses or maybe, if absolutely necessary, a small cell phone. Miranda didn’t really care about that. She had currently crammed in an extra-large bottle of Bulgari perfume, a sandal with a broken heel that I was probably supposed to get fixed, the blotter-size Hermès daily planner that weighed more than an entire laptop, an oversize spiked dog collar that I thought either belonged to Madelaine or was for an upcoming fashion shoot, and the Book I had delivered to her the night before. I would have hocked a bag worth ten thousand dollars and paid my rent for a year, but Miranda preferred to use it as a trash receptacle.

      ‘Thank you, Andy. You really are a big help to everyone. So Mr T. would sure like to hear more about your life. What’s going on?’

      What’s going on? What’s going on? Hmm, well, let’s see here. Really not all that much, I suppose. I spend most of my time trying to survive my term of indentured servitude with your sadistic wife. If there are ever any free minutes during the workday when she’s not making some belittling demand, then I’m trying to block out the brainwash drivel that’s spoon-fed to me by her assistant in chief. On the increasingly rare occasions that I find myself outside the confines of this magazine, I’m usually trying to convince myself that it really is OK to eat more than eight hundred calories a day and that being a size six does not put me in the plus-size category. So I guess the short answer is, not much.

      ‘Well, Mr Tomlinson, not too much. I work a lot. And I guess when I’m not working I hang out with my best friend, or my boyfriend. Try to see my family.’ I used to read a lot, I wanted to say, but I’m too tired now. And sports have always been a pretty big part of my life, but there wasn’t time anymore.

      ‘So, you’re twenty-five, right?’ he non-sequitured. I couldn’t even imagine where he was going with this one.

      ‘Uh, no, I’m twenty-three. I only graduated last May.’

      ‘Ah-hah! Twenty-three, huh?’ He looked like he was trying to decide whether to say something or not. I braced myself. ‘So tell Mr T., what do twenty-three-year-olds do in this city for fun? Restaurants? Clubs? That sort of thing?’ He smiled again, and I wondered if he really needed the attention as much as he appeared to: there was nothing sinister behind his interest, just a seemingly driving need to talk.

      ‘Um, well, all sorts of things, I guess. I don’t really go to clubs, but bars and lounges and places like that. Go out for dinner, see movies.’

      ‘Well, that sounds like a lot of fun. Used to do that kind of stuff, too, when I was your age. Now it’s just a lot of work events and fund-raisers. Enjoy it while you can, Andy.’ He winked like a dorky father would.

      ‘Yeah, well, I’m trying,’ I managed. Please leave, please leave, please leave, I willed, staring longingly at the bagel that was just calling my name. I get three minutes of peace and quiet a day, and this man was stealing all of it.

      He opened his mouth to say something, but the doors swung open and Emily stomped in. She was wearing her headphones and moving to the music. I watched her mouth drop open when she saw him standing there.

      ‘Mr Tomlinson!’ she exclaimed, yanking off her headphones and tossing her iPod in her Gucci tote. ‘Is everything OK? Nothing’s wrong with Miranda, is it?’ She looked and sounded genuinely concerned. An A-plus performance: always the perfectly attentive, unfailingly polite assistant.

      ‘Hello there, Emily. Nothing wrong at all. Miranda will be here shortly. Mr T. just came by to drop off her things. How are you doing today?’

      Emily beamed. I wondered if she actually enjoyed his presence. ‘Just fine. Thanks so much for asking. And you? Did Andrea help you with everything?’

      ‘Oh, she sure did,’ he said, throwing smile number 6,000 in my direction. ‘I wanted to go over a few things about my brother’s engagement party, but I realize that it’s probably a little early for that, right?’

      For a moment I thought he meant too early in the morning and I almost shouted ‘Yes!’ but then I realized that he meant it was too early in the planning to discuss details.

      He turned back to Emily and said, ‘You’ve got yourself a great junior assistant here, don’t you think?’

      ‘Absolutely,’ СКАЧАТЬ