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Eduardo when I’d heard my name； and I turned to see Benjamin； one of
Lily’s many ex…boyfriends from college； slumped against the building
just outside the entrance； not even seeming to notice that he was
sitting on the sidewalk。 He was only one of many of Lily’s guys； but
he’d been the first one she’d really； genuinely liked。 I hadn’t
spoken to good old Benji （he loathed being called that） since Lily
had walked in on him having sex with two girls from her a capella
singing group。 Walked right into his off…campus apartment and found
him sprawled out in his living room with one soprano and a
contralto； mousy girls who never did manage to look at Lily again。
I’d tried to convince her it was just a college prank； but she
didn’t buy it。 Cried for days； and made me promise not to tell
anyone what she’d discovered。 I didn’t have to tell anyone； though；
because he did—bragged to anyone who would listen about how he’d
“nailed two singing geeks；” as he’d put it； while “a third one
watched。” He’d made it sound as though Lily had been there the
entire time； agreeably perched on the couch and watching her big；
bad man go about being manly。 Lily had sworn to never let herself
really fall for another guy； and so far seemed to be keeping her
promise。 She slept with plenty of them； but she sure didn’t let them
stick around long enough to actually run the risk of discovering
something likable about them。
I looked at him again and tried to find the old Benji in this guy’s
face。 He had been athletic and cute。 Just a normal guy。 But Bergman
had turned him into a shell of a human。 He was wearing an oversize；
wrinkled suit and looked as though he was hoping to suck crack
cocaine out of his Marlboro。 He seemed already overworked even
though it was only seven o’clock； and this made me feel better。
Because it was payback for being an asshole to Lily； and because I
wasn’t the only one dragging myself to work at such an obscene hour。
He was probably getting paid 150；000 a year to be so miserable； but
whatever； at least I wasn’t alone。
Benji saluted me with his lit cigarette； glowing eerily in the still
dark winter morning； and motioned for me to e over。 I was nervous
I’d be late； but Eduardo gave me his “Don’t worry； she’s not here
yet—you’re fine” look and I walked over to Benji。 He looked
bleary…eyed and hopeless。 He probably thoughthe had a tyrannical
boss。 Hah！ If only he knew。 I wanted to laugh out loud。
“Hey； I noticed you’re the only one here this early every day；” he
muttered at me while I dug around in my bag for lipstick before
hitting the elevators。 “What’s the deal？”
He looked so tired； so beaten…down； that I felt a surge of sympathy
and kindness。 But then I felt my legs nearly give out from
exhaustion； and I remembered the way Lily had looked when one of
Benji’s dumb lacrosse buddies had asked if she’d been happy to watch
or really actually wanted to join in； and I lost my cool。
“Well； my deal is that I work for a rather demanding woman； and I
need to get here two and a half hours before the rest of the goddamn
magazine so that I’m prepared for her；” I said； my tone dripping
with anger and sarcasm。
“Whoa。 Just asking。 Sorry； though； it sounds pretty bad。 Which one
do you work for？”
“I work for Miranda Priestly；” I said； and prayed for a nonreaction。
Something about having a seemingly well…educated； successful
professional have no idea who Miranda was made me very； very happy。
Delighted almost。 And luckily； this one didn’t let me down。 He
shrugged and inhaled and looked at me expectantly。
“She’s the editor in chief ofRunway； ” I lowered my voice and began
with glee； “and pretty much the biggest bitch I’ve ever met。 I mean；
I’ve honestly never met anyone like her。 She’s really not even
human。” I had a litany of plaints I would’ve liked to have dumped
on Benji； but theRunway Paranoid Turnaround came on full…force。 I
became immediately nervous； almost paranoid； convinced that this
unknowing； uncaring person was somehow one of Miranda’s lackeys；
sent to spy on me from theObserver orPage Six。 I knew it was
ridiculous； pletely absurd。 After all； I had personally known
Benji for years now and was quite sure he wasn’t working for Miranda
in any capacity。 Just not totally sure。 After all； how could you be
totally sure？ And who knew who could be standing behind me at that
very second； overhearing every one of my nasty words？ Damage control
was required immediately。
“Of course； she IS the most powerful woman in fashion and
publishing； and you just can’t get to the top of two major
industries in New York City handing out candy all day long。 Um； it’s
understandable that she’s a little tough to work for； you know？ I
would be； too。 Yeah； so； um； I have to run now。 Good seeing you
again。” And I ducked away； as I often had the past few weeks when I
found myself talking to someone other than Lily or Alex or my
parents and I couldn’t help myself from bashing the witch。
“Hey； don’t feel too bad；” he called after me as I headed toward the
elevator bank。 “I’ve been here since last Thursday morning。” And
with that； he dropped his smoldering butt and half…heartedly stamped
it into the cement。
“Morning； Eduardo；” I said； looking at him with my best tired；
pathetic eyes。 “I fucking hate Mondays。”
“Hey； buddy； don’t worry。 At least you beat her here this morning；”
he said； smiling。 He was referring； of course； to those miserable
mornings when Miranda would show up at fiveA 。M。 and need to be
escorted upstairs since she refused to carry an access card。 She’d
then pace the office； calling Emily and me over and over until one
of us could manage to wake up； get ready； and get to work as if a
national security emergency were unfolding。
I pushed against the turnstile； praying that this Monday would be
the exception； that he’d let me pass without a performance。
Negative。
“Yo； tell me what you want； what you really； really want；”he sang
with his huge； toothy smile and Spanish accent。 And all the pleasure
of making the cabbie happy and finding out that I had arrived ahead
of Miranda vanished。 I was left； as I was every morning； wanting to
reach across the security counter and tear the flesh from Eduardo’s
face。 But since I was such a good sport and he was one of my only
friends in the place； I weakly acquiesced。“I’ll tell you what I
want； what I really； really want； I wanna—I wanna—I wanna—I wanna—I
really； really； really wanna zigga zig aaaaaahhhh；” I sang meekly in
a pitiful tribute to the Spice Girls’ nineties hit。 And once again；
Eduardo grinned and buzzed me through。
“Hey； don’t forget： July sixteenth！” he called after me。
“I know； July sixteenth 。 。 。” I called back； a reference to our
shared birthdays。 I don’t remember how or why he had discovered my
birthdate； but he adored that we had the same one。 And for some
inexplicable reason； it became a part of our personal morning
ritual。 Every single goddamn day。
There were eight elevators on the Elias…Clark side； half for floors
one to seventeen； half for seventeen and up。 Only the first bank
really mattered since most of the big names were on the first
seventeen floors； they advertised their presence with illuminated
panels over the elevator doors。 There was a free； state…of…the…art
gym on the second floor for employees； plete with a full Nautilus
circuit and at least a hundred Stairmasters； treadmills； and
elliptical machines。 The locker rooms had saunas； hot tubs； steam
rooms； and attendants in maids’ uniforms； and a salon offered
emergency manicures； pedicures； and facials。 There was even
plimentary towel service； or so I’d heard—not only did I not have
the time； the place was always too damn crowded between the hours of
sixA 。M。 and tenP 。M。 to so much as walk around。 Writers and editors
and sales assistants called three days ahead of time to book
themselves into the yoga or kick…boxing classes； and even then they
lost their place if they didn’t get there fifteen minutes in
advance。 Like nearly everything at Elias…Clark designed to make
employees’ lives better； it just stressed me out。
I’d heard a rumor that there was a daycare center in the basement；
but I didn’t know anyone who actually had children； so I still
wasn’t entirely positive。 The real action began on the third floor
with the dining room； where so far Miranda had refused to eat among
the peons unless she was lunching with Irv Ravitz； Elias’s CEO； who
liked to eat there in a show of unity with his employees。
Up； up； up we went； past all the other famous titles。 Most of them
had to share floors； with one flanking each side of the
receptionist’s desk； facing off behind separate glass doors。 I
hopped off at the seventeenth floor； checking my butt in the
reflection of the door’s glass。 In a stroke of empathy and genius；
the architect had kindly left mirrors out of the elevators in 640
Madison。 As usual； I’d forgotten my electronic ID card—the very same
one that tracked all our movements； purchases； and absences in the
building—and had to break onto the floor。 Sophy didn’t e in until
nine； so I had to bend down under her desk； find the button that
would release the glass doors； and sprint from the middle of the
reception area to the doors and yank them open before they snapped
locked again。 Sometimes I’d have to do this three or four times
until I finally caught it； but today I made it on my second attempt。
The floor was always dark when I arrived； and I took the same route
to my desk every morning。 To my left when I walked in was the
advertising department； the girls who most loved adorning themselves
in Chloé T…shirts and spike…heeled boots while handing out Business
cards that screamed “Runway。” They were removed； wholly and
entirely； from anything and everything that took place on the
editorial side of the floor： it was editorial that picked the
clothes for the fashion spreads； wooed the good writers； matched the
accessories to the outfits； interviewed the models； edited the copy；
designed the layouts； and hired the photographers。 Editorial
traveled to hot spots around the world for shoots； got free gifts
and discounts from all the designers； hunted for trends； and went to
parties at Pastis and Float because they “had to check out what
people were wearing。”
Ad sales was left to try and sell ad space。 Sometimes they threw
promotional parties； but they were celebrity…free and therefore
boring to New York’s hipster scene （or so Emily had sneeringly told
me）。 My phone would ring off the hook on a day during aRunway ad
sales party with people I didn’t know really well looking for an
invite。 “Um； like； I hearRunway ’s having a party tonight。 Why am I
not invited？” I always found out from someone on the outside that
there was a party that night： editorial was never invited because
they wouldn’t go anyway。 As if it wasn’t enough for theRunway girls
to mock； terrorize； and ostracize any and every person who wasn’t
one of them； they had to create internal class lines as well。
The ad sales department gave way to a long； narrow hallway。 It
seemed to stretch forever before arriving at a tiny kitchen on the
left side。 Here were an assortment of Coffees and teas； a fridge for
stored lunches—all superfluous； since Starbucks had a monopoly on
employees’ daily caffeine fixes and all meals were carefully
selected in the dining room or ordered in from any one of a thousand
midtown takeout places。 But it was a nice touch； almost cute； it
said；“Hey； look at us； we have Lipton tea packets and Sweet’N Lows
and even a microwave in case you want to warm up some of last
night’s dinner！ We’re just like everyone else！”
I finally made it to Miranda’s enclave at 7：05； so tired I could
barely move。 But as with everything； there was yet another routine
that I never thought to question or alter； so I began in earnest。 I
unlocked her office and turned on all the lights。 It was still dark
outside； and I loved the drama of standing in the dark in the power
monger’s office； staring out at a flashing and restless New York
City and picturing myself in one of those movies （take your pick—any
that have lovers embracing on the expansive terra