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“Of course； Miranda。Thank you； ” I said with a smile。 I could sense
her pausing on the other end of the line； wondering how to respond。
Did she know I was calling attention to her refusal to say thank
you？ Did it seem odd to her that I was thanking her for ordering me
around？ I had recently begun thanking her after every one of her
sarcastic ments or nasty phone…in mands； and the tactic was
oddly forting。 She knew I was mocking her somehow； but what could
she say？Ahn…dre…ah； I never want to hear you thank me again。 I
forbid you to express your gratitude in such a manner！ e to think
of it； that might not be that much of a stretch。
Le Cirque； Le Cirque； Le Cirque；I said over and over in my head；
determined to make that reservation ASAP so I could get back to the
significantly more difficult Harry Potter challenge。 The Le Cirque
reservationist immediately agreed to have a table ready for Mr。
Tomlinson and Irv whenever they arrived。
Emily walked in a from a stroll around the office and asked me if
Miranda had called at all。
“Only three times； and she didn’t threaten to fire me during any of
them；” I said proudly。 “Of course； she did intimate it； but she
didn’t all…out threaten。 Progress； no？”
She laughed in the way she did only when I made fun of myself； and
she asked what Miranda； her guru； had wanted。
“Just wanted me to switch around B…DAD’s lunch reservation。 Not sure
why I’m doing that when he has his own assistant； but hey； I don’t
ask questions around here。” Mr。 Blind； Deaf； and Dumb was our
nickname for Miranda’s third husband。 Although to the general public
he appeared to be none of those； those of us in the know were quite
confident he was all three。 There was； quite simply； no other
explanation for how a nice guy like him could tolerate living
withher 。
Next； it was time to call B…DAD himself。 If I didn’t call soon； he
may not be able to get to the restaurant in time。 He’d flown back
from their vacation for a couple days of Business meetings； and this
lunch with Irv Ravitz—Elias…Clark’s CEO—was among the most
important。 Miranda wanted every detail perfect—as though that were
something new。 B…DAD’s real name was Hunter Tomlinson。 He and
Miranda had gotten married the summer before I started working；
after what I’d heard was a rather unique courtship： she pursued； he
demurred。 According to Emily； she’d chased him relentlessly until
he’d yielded from the mere exhaustion of ducking her。 She’d left her
second husband （the lead singer of one of the most famous bands from
the late sixties and the twins’ father） with absolutely no warning
before her lawyer delivered the papers； and was married again
precisely twelve days after the divorce was finalized。 Mr。 Tomlinson
followed orders and moved into her penthouse apartment on Fifth
Avenue。 I’d only met Miranda once and I’d never met her new husband；
but I’d logged enough phone hours with each that I felt；
unfortunately； like they were family。
Three rings； four rings； five rings 。 。 。hmm； I wonder where his
assistant is？ I prayed for an answering machine； since I wasn’t in
the mood for the mindless； friendly chitchat of which B…DAD seemed
so fond。 Instead； I got his secretary。
“Mr。 Tomlinson’s office；” she trilled in her deep southern drawl。
“How may I help you today？”How mah I hep ya tuhday？
“Hi； Martha； it’s Andrea。 Listen； I don’t need to talk to Mr。
Tomlinson； can you just give him a message for me？ I made a
reservation for—”
“Darlin’； you know Mr。 T。 always wants to talk to you。 Hold just a
sec。” And before I could protest； I was listening to the elevator
version of “Don’t Worry； Be Happy” by Bobby McFerrin。 Perfect。 It
was fitting that B…DAD had picked the most annoyingly optimistic
song ever written to entertain callers when they were put on hold。
“Andy； is that you； sweetheart？” He asked quietly in his deep；
distinguished voice。 “Mr。 Tomlinson is going to think you’re
avoiding him。 It’s been ages since I’ve had the pleasure of speaking
with you。” A week and a half； to be precise。 In addition to his
blindness； deafness； and dumbness； Mr。 Tomlinson had the added
irritating habit of constantly referring to himself in the third
person。
I took a deep breath。 “Hello； Mr。 Tomlinson。 Miranda asked me to let
you know that lunch is at one today at Le Cirque。 She said that
you’d—”
“Sweetheart；” he said slowly； calmly。 “Enough with all that
plan…making for just a second。 Give an old man a moment of pleasure
and tell Mr。 Tomlinson all about your life。 Will you do that for
him？ So tell me； dear； are you happy working for my wife？” Was I
happy working for his wife？ Hmm； let’s see here。 Are little baby
mammals squealing with glee when a predator swallows them whole？Why
of course； you putz； I’m deliriously happy working for your wife。
When neither of us is busy； we give each other mud masks and gossip
about our love lives。 It’s a lot like a slumber party among friends；
if you must know。 The whole thing is just one big laugh riot 。
“Mr。 Tomlinson； I love my job and I adore working for Miranda。” I
held my breath and prayed that he’d give it up。
“Well； Mr。 T。 is just thrilled that things are working out。”Great；
asshole； but are youthrilled？
“Sounds great； Mr。 Tomlinson。 Have a great lunch；” I cut him off
before he inevitably asked about my weekend plans； and hung up。
I sat back in my chair and gazed across the office suite。 Emily was
engrossed in trying to reconcile another one of Miranda’s 20；000
American Express bills； her highly waxed brow furrowed in
concentration。 The Harry Potter project loomed ahead of me； and I
had to get moving on it immediately if I ever wanted to get away
this weekend。
Lily and I had planned a movie marathon weekend。 I was exhausted
from work and she was stressed out from her classes； so we’d
promised to spend the whole weekend parked on her couch and subsist
solely on beer and Doritos。 No Snackwells。 No Diet Coke。 And
absolutely no black pants。 Even though we talked all the time； we
hadn’t spent any real time together since I’d moved to the city。
We’d been best friends since eighth grade； when I first saw Lily
crying alone at a cafeteria table。 She’d just moved in with her
grandmother and started at our school； after it became clear that
her parents weren’t ing Home any time soon。 They’d taken off a
few months before to follow the Dead （they’d had her when they were
both nineteen and were more into bong hits than babies）； leaving her
behind to be watched over by their whacked…out friends at the
mune in New Mexico （or as Lily preferred； the “collective”）。 When
they hadn’t returned almost a year later； Lily’s grandmother took
her from the mune （or as Lily’s grandmother preferred； the
“cult”） to live with her in Avon。 The day I found her crying alone
in the cafeteria was the day her grandmother had forced her to chop
off her dirty dreadlocks and wear a dress； and Lily was not happy
about it。 Something about the way she talked； the way she said；
“That’s so Zen of you；” and “Let’s just depress；” charmed me； and
we immediately became friends。 We’d been inseparable through the
rest of high school； had roomed together for all four years at
Brown。 Lily hadn’t yet decided whether she preferred MAC lipstick or
hemp necklaces and was still a little too “quirky” to do anything
totally mainstream； but we plemented each other well。 And I
missed her。 Because with her first year as a graduate student and my
being a virtual slave； we hadn’t seen a whole lot of each other
lately。
I couldn’t wait for the weekend。 My fourteen…hour workdays were
registering in my feet； my upper arms； my lower back。 Glasses had
replaced the contacts I’d worn for a decade because my eyes were too
dry and tired to accept them anymore。 I smoked a pack a day and
subsisted solely on Starbucks （expensed； of course） and takeout
sushi （further expensed）。 I’d begun losing weight already。 The
weight I’d lost from the dysentery had returned briefly； but after
my stint atRunway it had begun to disappear again。 Something in the
air there； I suppose； or perhaps it was the intensity with which
food was eschewed in the office。 I’d already weathered a sinus
infection and had paled significantly； and it had been only four
weeks。 I was only twenty…three years old。 And Miranda hadn’t even
been in the office yet。 Fuck it。 I deserved aweekend 。
Into this mix leaped Harry Potter； and I wasnot pleased。 Miranda had
called this morning。 It took only a few moments for her to outline
what she wanted； although it took me forever to interpret it。 I
learned quickly that in the Miranda Priestly world； it was better to
do something wrong and spend a great deal of time and money to fix
it than to admit you didn’t understand her convoluted and heavily
accented instructions and ask for clarification。 So when she mumbled
something about getting the Harry Potter books for the twins and
having them flown to Paris； intuition alone told me this was going
to interfere with my weekend。 When she hung up abruptly a few
minutes later； I looked to Emily with panic。
“What； oh； what； did she say？” I moaned； hating myself for being too
scared to ask Miranda to repeat herself。 “Why can I not understand a
single word that woman utters？ It’s not me； Em。 I speak English；
always have。 I know she does it to personally drive me crazy。”
Emily looked at me with her usual mix of disgust and pity。 “Since
the book es out tomorrow and they’re not here to buy it； she
wants you to pick up two copies and bring them to Teterboro。 The jet
will take them to Paris；” she summed up coldly； daring me to ment
on the ludicrousness of the instructions。 I was reminded once again
that Emily would do anything—really； anything—if it meant making
Miranda a bit more fortable。 I rolled my eyes and kept quiet。
Since I was NOT going to sacrifice a nanosecond of weekend to do her
bidding； and because I had an unlimited amount of money and power
（hers） at my personal disposal； I spent the rest of the day
arranging for Harry Potter to jet his way to Paris。 First； a few
words for Julia at Scholastic。
Dearest Julia；
My assistant； Andrea； tells me that you’re the sweetheart to whom I
should address my most heartfelt appreciation。 She has informed me
that you are the single person capable of locating a couple copies
of this darling book for me tomorrow。 I want you to know how much I
appreciate your hard work and cleverness。 Please know how happy
you’ll make my sweet daughters。 And don’t ever hesitate to let me
know if you need anything； anything at all； for a fabulous girl like
yourself。
XOXO；
Miranda Priestly
I forged her name with a perfect flourish （hour upon hour of
practicing with Emily standing over me； instructing me to make the
final “a” a little loopier； had finally paid off）； attached the note
to the latest issue ofRunway —one not yet on the newsstand—and
called for a rush messenger to deliver the entire package to
Scholastic’s downtown office。 If this didn’t work； nothing would。
Miranda didn’t care that we forged her signature—it saved her from
bothering with details—but she’d probably be livid to see that I’d
penned something so polite； soadorable； using her name。
Three short weeks earlier I would have quickly canceled my plans if
Miranda called and wanted me to do something for her on the
weekends； but I was now experienced—and jaded—enough to bend the
rules a little。 Since Miranda and the girls would not themselves be
at the airport in New Jersey whenHarry arrived the following day； I
saw no reason why I had to be the one to deliver him。 Acting under
the assumption and prayer that Julia would pull through for me with
a couple copies； I worked out some details。 Dial； dial； and within
an hour a plan had emerged。
Brian； a cooperative editorial assistant at Scholastic—whom I was
assured would have permission from Julia within a couple hours—would
take Home two office copies ofHarry that evening； so he wouldn’t
have to go back to the office on Saturday。 Brian would leave the
books with the doorman of his Upper West Side apartment building；
and I would have a car pick them up the follow