Revenge Wears Prada: The Devil Returns. Lauren Weisberger

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СКАЧАТЬ the Hamptons. The traffic, the crowds, the pressure to get dressed up and look great and be at the right place … none of it felt particularly relaxing. Certainly not much of an escape from the city. Better to stay in the city alone, wander the summer street fairs and lay out in Sheep Meadow and ride her bike along the Hudson. She could walk into any restaurant without a reservation and explore new, uncrowded neighborhoods. She loved summer weekends spent reading and sipping iced coffees in the city and never felt the least bit left out, a fact that Emily simply refused to accept. One weekend a season Emily dragged Andy out to her husband’s parents’ place and insisted Andy experience the fabulousness of white parties and polo matches and enough Tory-Burch-clad women to outfit half of Long Island. Every year Andy swore to herself she’d never go back, and every summer she dutifully packed her bag and braved the Jitney and tried to act like she was having a great time mingling with the same people she saw at industry events in the city. This weekend was different, though. This particular weekend would potentially determine her professional future.

      There was a brief knock at the door before Emily barged in. Judging from her expression, she was displeased to find Andy flopped on the luxurious duvet, one towel wrapped around her hair and another under her arms, staring helplessly at a suitcase exploding with clothes.

      ‘Why aren’t you dressed yet? People are going to be here any minute!’

      ‘I have nothing to wear!’ Andy cried. ‘I don’t understand the Hamptons. I’m not of them. Everything I brought is wrong.’

      ‘Andy …’ Emily’s hip jutted out in her magenta silk dress, just under where the billowy fabric was cinched tight by a triple-wrapped gold chain belt that wouldn’t have fit around most women’s thighs. Her coltish legs were tanned and accessorized with gold gladiator sandals and a glossy pedicure in the same shade of pink as her dress.

      Andy studied her friend’s perfectly blown-out hair, glimmering cheekbones, and pale pink lip gloss. ‘I hope that’s some sort of sparkle powder and not just your natural exuberance,’ she said uncharitably, motioning toward Emily’s face. ‘No one deserves to look that good.’

      ‘Andy, you know how important tonight is! Miles called in a trillion favors to get everyone over here, and I’ve spent the past month dealing with florists and caterers and my fucking mother-in-law. Do you know how hard it was to convince them to let us host this dinner here? You’d think we were seventeen and planning a kegger the way that woman went over all the rules with me. All you had to do was show up, look decent, and be charming, and look at you!’

      ‘I’m here, aren’t I? And I’ll do my best to be charming. Can we agree on two out of three?’

      Emily sighed and Andy couldn’t help but smile.

      ‘Help me! Help your poor, style-challenged friend put together something remotely appropriate to wear so that maybe she’ll look good while begging a bunch of strangers for money!’ Andy said this to appease Emily, but she knew she’d made some strides in the style department over the past seven years. Could she ever hope to look as good as Emily? Of course not. But she wasn’t a total train wreck, either.

      Emily grabbed a pile of the clothes from the middle of the bed and scrunched her nose at all of them. ‘What, exactly, were you planning to wear?’

      Andy reached into the mess and extracted a navy linen shirtdress with a rope belt and coordinating platform espadrilles. It was simple, elegant, timeless. Perhaps a touch wrinkled. But certainly appropriate.

      Emily blanched. ‘You’re lying.’

      ‘Look at these gorgeous buttons. This dress wasn’t inexpensive.’

      ‘I don’t give a shit about the buttons!’ Emily shrieked, tossing it clear across the room.

      ‘It’s Michael Kors! Isn’t that worth something?’

      ‘It’s Michael Kors beachwear, Andy. It’s what he has models throw on over bathing suits. What, did you order it online from Nordstrom?’

      When Andy didn’t say anything, Emily threw up her hands in frustration.

      Andy sighed. ‘Can you just help me, please? I’m at a reasonably high risk of getting back under these covers right now …’

      With that, Emily flew into high gear, muttering about how hopeless Andy was despite Emily’s constant efforts to tutor her in cut, fit, fabric, and style … not to mention shoes. The shoes were everything. Andy watched as Emily ferreted through the tangle of clothing and held a few things aloft, immediately scowling at each one and unceremoniously discarding it. After five frustrating minutes of this, she disappeared down the hallway without a word and reappeared a few moments later holding a beautiful pale blue jersey maxidress with the most exquisite turquoise and silver chandelier earrings. ‘Here. You have silver sandals, right? Because you’ll never fit into mine.’

      ‘I’ll never fit into that,’ Andy said, eyeing the beautiful dress warily.

      ‘Sure you will. I bought it in a size bigger than I normally wear for when I’m bloated, and there’s all this draping around the midsection. You should be able to get into it.’

      Andy laughed. She and Emily had been friends for so many years now that she barely even noticed those kinds of comments.

      ‘What?’ Emily asked, looking confused.

      ‘Nothing. It’s perfect. Thank you.’

      ‘Okay, so get dressed.’ As if to punctuate her command, the girls heard a doorbell ring downstairs. ‘First guest! I’m running down. Be adorable and ask all about the men’s work and the women’s charities. Don’t explicitly talk about the magazine unless someone asks, since this isn’t really a work dinner.’

      ‘Not really a work dinner? Aren’t we going to be hitting everyone up for money?’

      Emily sighed exasperatedly. ‘Yes, but not until later. Before then we pretend we’re all just socializing and having fun. It’s most important now that they see we’re smart, responsible women with a great idea. The majority are Miles’s friends from Princeton. Tons of hedge fund guys who just love investing in media projects. I’m telling you, Andy, smile a lot, show interest in them, be your usual adorable self – wear that dress – and we’ll be set.’

      ‘Smile, show interest, be adorable. Got it.’ Andy pulled the towel off her head and began to comb out her hair.

      ‘Remember, I’ve seated you between Farooq Hamid, whose fund was recently ranked among the fifty most lucrative investments this year, and Max Harrison of Harrison Media Holdings, who’s now acting as their CEO.’

      ‘Didn’t his father just die? Like, in the last few months?’ Andy could remember the televised funeral and the two days’ worth of newspaper articles, eulogies, and tributes paid to the man who had built one of the greatest media empires ever before making a series of terrible investment decisions right before the 2008 recession – Madoff, oil fields in politically unstable countries – and sending the company into a financial tailspin. No one knew how deep the damage ran.

      ‘Yes. Now Max is in charge and, by all accounts, doing a very good job so far. And the only thing Max likes more than investing in start-up media projects is investing in start-up media projects that are run by attractive women.’

      ‘Oh, Em, are you calling me attractive? Seriously, I’m blushing.’

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