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 singing the last couple words as if on autopilot. ‘Or the scarves!’

      ‘Of course not! They’re already on my list.’ Before Miranda packed for anything – or rather, had her housekeeper pack her – either Emily or I would purchase massive rolls of velvet at a fabric store and bring them to Miranda’s apartment. There, we’d work with the housekeeper to cut them in the exact shape and size of every article of clothing she was planning to bring, and individually wrap each item in the plush material. The velvet packages were then neatly stacked in dozens of Louis Vuitton suitcases, with plenty of extra pieces included for when she inevitably threw the first batch out upon unpacking in Paris. In addition, usually one half of a suitcase was occupied by a couple dozen orange Hermès boxes, each containing a single white scarf just waiting to be lost, forgotten, misplaced, or simply discarded.

      I hung up with Emily after making a good effort to sound sincerely sympathetic and found Lily stretched out on the couch, smoking a cigarette and sipping a clear liquid that was definitely not water from a cocktail glass.

      ‘I thought we weren’t allowed to smoke in here,’ I said, flopping down next to her and immediately putting my feet on the scuffed wooden coffee table my parents had handed down to us. ‘Not that I care, but that was your rule.’ Lily wasn’t a full-time, committed smoker like yours truly; she usually smoked only when she drank and wasn’t one to even buy packs. A brand-new box of Camel Special Lights peeked out of the chest pocket of her oversize button-down. I nudged her thigh with my slippered foot and nodded toward the cigarettes. She handed them over with a lighter.

      ‘I knew you wouldn’t care,’ she said, taking a leisurely drag off her cigarette. ‘I’m procrastinating and it helps me concentrate.’

      ‘What do you have due?’ I asked, lighting my own cigarette and tossing back the lighter. She was taking seventeen credits this semester in an effort to pull up her GPA after last spring’s mediocre showing. I watched as she took another drag and washed it down with a healthy gulp of her nonwater beverage. It didn’t appear that she was on the right track.

      She sighed heavily, meaningfully, and let the cigarette hang suspended from the corner of her mouth as she spoke. It flapped up and down, threatening to fall at any moment and, combined with her wild, unwashed hair and smeared eye makeup, made her look – just for a moment – like a defendant on Judge Judy (or maybe a plaintiff, since they always looked the same – lack of teeth, greasy hair, dull eyes, and propensity for using the double negative). ‘An article for some totally random, esoteric academic journal that no one will ever read but I still have to write, just so I can say I’m published.’

      ‘That’s annoying. When’s it due?’

      ‘Tomorrow.’ Total nonchalance. She looked completely unfazed.

      ‘Tomorrow? For real?’

      She shot me a warning look, a quick reminder that I was supposed to be on her team. ‘Yes. Tomorrow. It really blows, considering that Freudian Boy is the one who’s assigned to edit it. No one seems to care that he’s a candidate in psych, not Russian lit – they’re just short copy editors, so he’s mine. There’s no way I’m getting that to him on time. Screw him.’ Once again, she poured some of the liquid down her throat, making an obvious effort not to taste it, and grimaced.

      ‘Lil, what happened? Granted, it’s been a few months, but last I heard, you were taking things slow and he was perfect. Of course, that was before that, that thing you dragged home, but …’

      Another warning look, this time followed by a glare. I’d tried to talk to her about the whole Freak Boy incident a few dozen times, but it seemed like we were never really alone and neither of us had much time lately for heart-to-hearts. She immediately changed the subject whenever I brought it up. I could tell that more than anything she was embarrassed; she had acknowledged that he was vile, but she wouldn’t participate in any discussion whatsoever about the excessive drinking that was responsible for the whole episode.

      ‘Yes, well, apparently at some point that night I called him from Au Bar and begged him to come meet me,’ she said, avoiding eye contact, instead concentrating intently on using the remote control to switch tracks on the mournful Jeff Buckley CD that seemed to be on permanent replay in the apartment.

      ‘So? Did he come and see you talking to, uh, to someone else?’ I was trying not to push her away even more by being critical of her. There was obviously a lot going on inside her head, what with the problems at school and the drinking and the seemingly limitless supply of guys, and I wanted her to open up to someone. She’d never kept anything from me before, if for no other reason than I was all she had, but she hadn’t been telling me much of anything lately. It occurred to me how strange it was that we hadn’t bothered to discuss this until four months after the fact.

      ‘No, not quite,’ she said bitterly. ‘He came all the way there from Morningside Heights only to find me not there. Apparently he called my cell phone and Kenny answered and wasn’t all that nice.’

      ‘Kenny?’

      ‘That thing I dragged home at the beginning of the summer, remember?’ She said it sarcastically, but this time she smiled.

      ‘Ah-hah. I’m guessing Freudian Boy didn’t take that well?’

      ‘Not so much. Whatever. Easy come, easy go, right?’ She scampered off to the kitchen with her empty glass and I saw her pour from a half-full bottle of Ketel One. A very small splash of soda, and she was back on the couch.

      I was just about to inquire as gently as possible why she was inhaling vodka when she had an article due the next day, but the buzzer rang from downstairs.

      ‘Who’s there?’ I called to John by holding down the button.

      ‘Mr Fineman is here to see Ms Sachs,’ he announced formally, all business now that other people were around.

      ‘Really? Um, great. Send him up.’

      Lily looked at me and raised her eyebrows, and I realized that once again we weren’t going to have this conversation. ‘You look psyched,’ she said with obvious sarcasm. ‘Not exactly thrilled that your boyfriend is surprising you, are you?’

      ‘Of course I am,’ I said defensively, and we both knew I was lying. Things with Alex had been strained the past few weeks. Really strained. We went through all the motions of being together and we did it well: after almost four years, we certainly knew what the other wanted to hear or needed to do. But he’d compensated for all the time I spent at work by being even more angelic at school – volunteering to coach, tutor, mentor, and chair just about every activity someone could think up – and the time we did actually see each other was about as exciting as if we’d been married for thirty years. We had an unspoken understanding that we’d just wait things out until my year of servitude was over, but I wouldn’t let myself think about where the relationship might be headed then.

      But still. That made two close people in my life – first Jill (who’d called me out on the miserable state of affairs on the phone the other night), and now Lily – who’d pointed out that Alex and I were less than adorable together lately, and I had to admit that Lily had, in her buzzed but nonetheless perceptive way, noticed that I was not happy to hear that Alex had arrived. I was dreading telling him that I had to go to Europe, dreading the inevitable fight that would ensue, a fight I very much would have liked to put off for a few more days. Ideally, not until I was in Europe. But no such luck, as he was currently knocking on my door.

      ‘Hi!’ I said a bit too enthusiastically СКАЧАТЬ